Chapter 1: The Golden Boy Returns

At the class reunion, Adam walked in looking like he’d made it—tailored suit, confidence in every step, and a fiancée on his arm who looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine. For a second, my stomach twisted at the sight. He had the aura of someone who’d already won.

He strolled through the doors like he owned the place—shoulders squared, that easy, self-assured grin that used to make my knees weak. Confidence didn’t just radiate off him; it filled the room, thick as cologne. It was like the whole room tilted his way. Everyone—old friends, rivals, people who barely remembered his name—craned to get a better look. I caught myself holding my breath. His fiancée, tall and elegant in a sapphire dress, stuck to him like she owned the place. Her laughter rang out, a little too bright, almost forced, echoing above the clink of glasses. I watched her for a beat, trying to read the truth behind that perfect smile.

She turned to me and said, “If you hadn’t walked away back then, you’d be Mrs. Foster now.” My chest tightened, but I kept my face blank.

Her voice dripped syrupy-sweet, every word coated in that casual, pointed cruelty only women at these reunions seem to master. She flashed a blinding smile—teeth flawless, eyes sharp. Her fingers curled tighter around Adam’s arm, like she was planting a flag. For a split second, I wondered if she was more nervous than she let on.

He sat across from me, arm draped around his fiancée, looking straight past me, his expression pure frost. “That’s all in the past.”

His tone was so cold it could’ve frozen the wine in our glasses. He didn’t even glance my way when he said it—his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, as if the memory of us was just an itch he refused to scratch. I felt a flush creep up my neck, the air between us thick with everything we weren’t saying.

The rest of them, never ones to miss drama, started stirring the pot.

You could practically see the sharks circling. Old classmates traded looks, nudged each other under the table, hungry for the next juicy bit. Someone snorted. Another leaned in, eyes lighting up with the scent of fresh gossip. In small-town Ohio, nothing was more delicious than someone else’s mess.

Under his gaze, I slipped my hand over the scar on my wrist, trying to hide it, and forced a smile. “Yeah, we haven’t been a thing in forever.” The words tasted weird in my mouth, but I made myself sound casual.

“I remember it was Julia Tang who called it quits, right?” someone piped up from the far end, their tone just a little too eager.

The question hung in the air, sharp as a knife. Judgment baked into every syllable. It was always easier for them to remember my mistakes than their own.

The second the bathroom door swung shut, the whispers started. Heads leaned in, voices dropped to hushed, gossipy murmurs. The air in the restaurant thickened with that familiar tension—the kind that means old secrets are about to crawl back out into the open.

I’m Julia Tang.

Adam Foster sat across from me. There was a faint smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold as ice.

His smile looked polite, almost gentle, but his eyes were pure winter—sharp, distant, unyielding. I felt like I was staring at a stranger wearing the skin of someone I used to love.

This was the first time we’d seen each other since our breakup six years ago. My heart did a weird little lurch in my chest.

Six years. Long enough to change your hair, your job, your address—maybe even your heart. But not long enough to forget the way he once looked at me, or how it felt to lose him. I wondered if he remembered too.

It all felt so sudden. My pulse hammered in my ears.

Like being shoved into cold water without warning. My breath caught in my throat. My mind scrambled to catch up. I hadn’t prepared for this. I hadn’t prepared for him.

I only came because the class president swore Adam wouldn’t show. I could almost laugh at my own gullibility.

I checked the guest list twice, even texted the president—twice. He’d promised—"Don’t worry, Julia, Adam’s still overseas." I should’ve known better. People always come back when you least want them to.

Never thought we’d run into each other like this. Figures, right?

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he had to walk into mine. I almost laughed at the cliché, but my heart thudded painfully in my chest instead.

Adam’s a local success story now—an up-and-coming entrepreneur in Cleveland, just back from overseas. Sharp suit, movie-star looks, and the watch on his wrist probably cost more than my rent for the year. Everybody wanted a piece of him. I watched from the sidelines, feeling like an extra in my own story.

He looked every inch the American dream—tailored navy suit, designer shoes, hair perfectly styled. That Rolex flashed every time he lifted his glass. People drifted toward him like moths to a porch light, hoping for a little of that shine.

As for me, I was nothing like I used to be. The thought stung, but I shrugged it off.

I caught my reflection in the window—hair pulled back, makeup just enough to cover the exhaustion. The sparkle I once had was gone, replaced by something harder, more guarded. I’d learned how to disappear, how to take up less space.

“It’s true, she was the one who broke it off,” Adam said, his voice flat as he answered the group’s question.

His words were clipped, almost bored. Like he’d said the line a hundred times before, and it barely registered anymore. Still, it hit me like a slap, pressing on an old bruise.

Everyone started speculating. In their eyes, I must’ve been greedy. Couldn’t handle hard times. Bet on the wrong horse, lost everything. I could feel the judgment rolling off them.

You could see it in their faces—their eyes flicking from my thrift-store boots to Adam’s fiancée’s diamond earrings. The story wrote itself: Julia Tang, golden girl turned cautionary tale.

“Julia, I heard the guy you dated after him ended up in jail, right?”

The words landed like a grenade, some voice sharp with fake concern. A few people giggled. My cheeks burned, but I kept my head up.

“And you took on his debts. You’re not here to ask for a handout, are you?”

A guy from our old math class snickered, elbowing his friend. The implication was thick in the air. I stared at my hands, knuckles white, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

As everyone mocked me, Adam’s gaze never left me. He didn’t say a word.

His silence felt like a verdict. He just sat there, watching, letting the others pick me apart. The old Adam would’ve jumped in. This one? He just let it happen. I felt something twist inside me.

I managed a smile. Said nothing.

My lips stretched into something meant to look brave, but my jaw trembled. My tongue felt too heavy, so I kept it trapped behind my teeth, waiting for it to pass.

The door opened, and Adam’s fiancée came back in. She paused, sensing the weird vibe, then smiled and asked, “Did something happen while I was gone?”

She glanced around, gaze sharp beneath the practiced smile. Her eyes landed on me and lingered a second too long, as if she already knew what had gone down.

Adam broke his silence and gently took her hand. “Nothing, just catching up.”

He laced his fingers through hers, the gesture so practiced it almost looked tender. His voice softened, but he still wouldn’t look at me.

She sat down gracefully, her eyes finding mine, a dimpled smile on her cheek. “Adam told me about you. If you hadn’t let go, you’d be Mrs. Foster now.”

Her words were casual, almost playful, but the message was sharp. She tilted her head, glossy hair tumbling over one shoulder, her smile never wavering. The rest of the table went silent, watching to see if I’d bite back.

I caught the glint of schadenfreude in more than a few eyes. It was like being under a spotlight, every flaw magnified.

A few people smirked, others looked away, pretending not to listen. I felt like I was on stage, every move dissected, every flaw magnified.

Back in the day, the Tang family was riding high. We were the ones to know, the ones everyone watched. Wherever I went, I was the center of attention. That kind of jealousy doesn’t just fade—it just turns into a reason for them to kick you while you’re down.

I remembered the parties my parents used to throw, the way people fawned over us, hoping for an invitation. Now those same faces seemed to delight in my downfall, their envy sharpened into something bitter.

Adam broke the awkward silence, his voice cool and commanding. “That’s all in the past.”

His tone left no room for argument. The table fell silent, tension snapping like a rubber band. Even the waitstaff seemed to sense the shift, moving quieter around us.

Everyone fell quiet, picking up on his cue. They changed the subject without another word.

Someone cleared their throat, another asked about the weather, and just like that, the conversation lurched forward, leaving the mess behind.

His fiancée raised her glass to me. “Thanks for moving on. When we get married, you have to come.” Her words floated between us like a dare.

She lifted her glass, her eyes sparkling with something that definitely wasn’t friendliness. I clinked mine against hers. The sound was sharp, hollow.

I quietly covered the scar on my wrist again and numbly said, “Congratulations.” My voice sounded far away, even to me.

My fingers found the scar again, tracing its outline beneath the table. My voice was barely a whisper, but I forced it out, praying no one noticed the way my hand shook.

“Why didn’t you explain things to him?”

On the other end of the line, my best friend Casey was furious for me. I could hear it in every word.

Her voice crackled through the speaker, righteous anger coloring every syllable. I could picture her pacing her tiny kitchen, mug of chamomile tea in hand, ready to march over and give Adam a piece of her mind.