Chapter 1: A Change of Pace.
(Rory's POV)
The moment I stepped out of the airport, the crisp evening air hit me like a wave of clarity, sharp and invigorating. I tilted my head back, letting the city skyline unfold before me.
a dazzling tapestry of golden lights stretching across the horizon, each glowing window a story, a life, a promise. It felt like an old friend, this city, welcoming me home after months of being a stranger in foreign lands. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the familiar hum of car horns and distant chatter wash over me, grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I'd been craving.
The past year abroad had been a whirlwind of exhilaration and exhaustion. Long nights hunched over textbooks in dimly lit cafés, the melodic cadence of unfamiliar languages swirling around me, the thrill of conquering challenges I never thought I'd face.
Like acing exams in a language I'd only half-mastered or clutching my hard-earned graduation certificate, the weight of it in my hands feeling like a victory over every doubt I'd ever had. But even those triumphs couldn't compare to the quiet comfort of being back here, on streets that knew me, where every corner held a memory I cherished so dearly.
I adjusted the strap of my luggage, its wheels clicking softly against the pavement as I rolled it to the curb. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket, a familiar vibration that made me smirk before I even glanced at the screen.
" Mom. Of course she'd be calling me." I fished out my phone, the caller ID glowing with her name, and swiped to answer.
"Evening, Mom," I said, my voice tinged with amusement as I leaned against my luggage, scanning the line of taxis pulling up to the curb.
"Aurora! You're finally back!" Her voice was warm, like a hug through the phone, but there was an undercurrent of urgency that I knew all too well. "I need you to come home right away."
I sighed, already anticipating the theatrics. "Mom, I literally just stepped off the plane. My feet had barely enough rest during the flight. Besides, I was planning to crash at Jonathan's tonight. I'll be home tomorrow, I promise."
A dramatic gasp crackled through the speaker, and I could practically see her clutching her chest in mock offense. "Oh, my own daughter doesn't even want to see her mother first? After all the sleepless nights I spent worrying about her safety in a foreign country? The nerve!"
I chuckled, shaking my head as I waved down a bright yellow taxi. "Mom, you're impossible. I'll be there first thing in the morning, okay? I just… I need a night to decompress."
"Fine, fine," she huffed, her tone softening but still carrying that exaggerated pout she'd perfected over the years. "But don't make me wait too long, sweetheart. I've missed you."
"I won't," I said, my smile softening. "Oh, and tell Dad I said hi when he gets back, will you?"
"Fine, I'll tell him his little princess doesn't want anything to do with him anymore," she teased, her voice dripping with playful martyrdom.
"Mom, come on, don't be like that," I groaned, but I was grinning now, the familiarity of her antics wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
"Fine, fine," she relented, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Love you, Rory."
"Love you more," I replied, the words automatic but no less sincere.
The call ended with a soft beep, and I slid my phone back into my pocket, the weight of it grounding me as I hailed a cab, opened the taxi door and sank into the worn leather seat.
The faint smell of air freshener and old coffee lingered in the cab, a stark contrast to the sterile airports and sleek trains I'd grown accustomed to overseas.
"Where to, miss?" the driver asked, his voice gruff as he adjusted his rearview mirror, catching my eye for a brief moment.
I rattled off Jonathan's apartment address, my voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping into my bones. I leaned my head back against the seat, letting my eyes drift to the window as the city blurred past in a kaleidoscope of neon signs and rain-slicked streets.
The anticipation in my chest was a quiet, fluttering thing, like the first notes of a song I hadn't heard in too long. I pictured Jonathan's face, the way his eyes would light up when he saw me, the warmth of his arms pulling me close.
We'd kept in touch, using late-night video calls, grainy but filled with laughter and promises to pick up where we'd left off. But nothing could replace the real thing, the tangible comfort of being in the same room, breathing the same air as my lovely boyfriend.
The taxi slowed to a stop in front of Jonathan's modern high-rise, its glass exterior catching the moon's silver glow like a mirror. I paid the driver, murmuring a quick thank you as I stepped out, my luggage rolling smoothly behind me. The night air was colder now, biting at my cheeks, but I barely noticed, my focus fixed on the building's entrance. I pushed through the revolving doors, the lobby's sleek marble floors and soft lighting were complete opposites to the chaotic energy of the city outside.
The elevator ride felt like an eternity, the soft instrumental music doing little to ease the sudden, inexplicable tension coiling in my gut.
I shifted my weight, adjusting my grip on the suitcase handle, trying to shake the feeling. It was probably just jet lag, I told myself, or the weight of being back after so long. But as the doors slid open on Jonathan's floor, my heels clicking against the polished tiles, that tension tightened, a quiet warning I couldn't quite place.
I reached his apartment door, my fingers brushing the doorknob. To my surprise, it turned easily under my touch, unlocked.
My left brow arched, a flicker of unease sparking in my chest. "Well, that's… odd," I muttered under my breath, my voice barely audible in the silent hallway. Jonathan was usually meticulous about locking up. I shook my head, pushing the thought aside. I was probably overthinking it. Jet lag, right?
I pushed the door open and stepped inside, expecting the familiar warmth of his apartment, the faint scent of his cedarwood candles, maybe the low static of the TV.
Instead, I was hit with a wave of expensive cologne and the sharp tang of red wine, heavy and cloying in the air. My heart stuttered, my body freezing as my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the living room.
And then I saw them.
Jonathan—my Jonathan, the man I'd crossed oceans to come back to—was sprawled on the couch, his lips locked with another woman's. Her perfectly manicured fingers were tangled in his dark hair, her dress hiked up just enough to make my stomach churn with a sickening lurch. The world tilted, the edges of my vision blurring as my pulse roared in my ears, drowning out everything else.
"Rory?" Jonathan's voice was hoarse, jagged with disbelief as he caught sight of me from the corner of his eye. He shoved the woman away, scrambling to his feet, his movements frantic and clumsy. "Wait—just let me explain—"
'Explain?'
The word ricocheted through my mind, like a sharp remark. ' What was there to explain?'
The scene before me was as clear as the betrayal slicing through my chest, raw and genuine, like a little girl who's favorite doll was stolen. My hands trembled, not with fear but with a fury so potent it burned away the tears threatening to spill. I barely registered the pain, the heartbreak, the way my carefully constructed plans for tonight—for us—crumbled like ash.
I didn't think. I didn't need to. My body moved on instinct, years of suppressed anger and hurt condensing into a single, fluid motion.
I clenched my fist, my knuckles whitening, and swung. The impact was sharp and unexpected, a sickening crack as my fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his body limp like a discarded puppet.
The woman gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her wide eyes darting between me and Jonathan's sprawled form. I didn't look at her, nor did I bother to acknowledge her existence.
My glare burned, a silent inferno directed at the space where Jonathan had been moments before, now just a heap on the floor. Hot tears stung my cheeks, but I swiped them away with the back of my hand, refusing to let them fall freely.
I grabbed the handle of my luggage, the plastic cool against my palm, and turned on my heel. My footsteps echoed in the silent apartment as I walked out, leaving Jonathan unconscious and the woman frozen in shock, her dress still askew, her mouth agape. The door clicked shut behind me, a final punctuation to the life I'd thought I was coming back to.
Outside, the cold night air slapped against my skin, sharp and unforgiving. The city pulsed around me car horns, the hum of traffic, bursts of laughter from strangers passing by, but it all felt distant, like I was underwater, the sounds muffled and far away. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, the screen's glow harsh against the darkness, reflecting my pale, tear-streaked face.
I pressed the call button, my thumb hovering over Mom's name before I tapped it. The line rang once, twice, before her voice came through, warm but tinged with surprise.
"Rory? I thought you were staying at Jonathan's tonight—"
I exhaled sharply, trying to steady the tremor in my voice, but it cracked anyway. "Mom?"
Her tone shifted instantly, the lightness replaced by concern. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat, tangled in the mess of emotions I couldn't yet name. The city blurred around me, the lights smearing into streaks of gold and white, and for the first time in months, I didn't know where I was going.