I sat in the back seat. Neither of us said a word the whole ride.

My mom had mentioned that Adam had already built a solid position within our family's company.

That surprised me.

After all, when he dumped me, he'd been pretty adamant: "You're nothing but a spoiled princess with a pretty face. Don't let me see you again."

Now he was in a tailored suit, sharp and distant — a completely different person from the boy he'd been five years ago, when he was still on my sponsorship, a college freshman, clean-cut and naive as they come.

Adam lost both his parents young. His grandparents raised him on government assistance.

If my dad hadn't dragged me along to a charity event in his hometown when I was in eighth grade, our paths would never have crossed.

He stood out from the crowd — tall, straight-backed, with a tiny beauty mark at the corner of his eye.

My heart was pounding.

When I found out he was struggling financially but dreaming of Harvard, I decided to sponsor him.

At that point, I genuinely had no ulterior motives.

But then again, he was nineteen — young, energetic, and painfully innocent. Every time he saw me, his eyes would crinkle into a smile.

"Good morning!"

"Have you had breakfast? I packed extra — want to share?"

"You really need to stop drinking so much. It's bad for you."

That bright, earnest voice calling out to me every day — something snapped, and I kissed him.

Then, on impulse, I half-dragged him to a hotel, pushed him down, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Adam's eyes welled up. He clenched his jaw and bit out, "Anna, if I'd known you were this kind of person, I never would've touched your money."

But his body was honest. He leaned in and deepened the kiss.

I'd always loved that beauty mark by his eye, and it was still magnetic. Noah had one in the exact same spot.

Couldn't be that much of a coincidence, right?

The silence in the car was getting awkward. I broke it with something random.

"You've changed a lot."

In the rearview mirror, his eyes flicked to me — cold, dismissive — and he scoffed.

"You haven't changed at all."

Then his gaze dropped to Noah, lingering on those features that looked so much like mine. His knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

"Even got yourself a kid. Impressive, Anna."

I could hear the edge in his voice.

Noah shrank into my arms, his soft little voice trembling. "Mommy, why is that man looking at me so mean?"

Maybe he disliked me, so he didn't like Noah either.

I smiled and smoothed it over. "He's not, sweetheart. That's just his face."

Adam stiffened. Coughed twice.

Noah whispered, "Good thing Mommy doesn't like him. Being with someone that scary would be miserable."

Before I could react, the brakes screeched and I threw my arms around Noah as we lurched forward.

Once the car steadied, I lit into Adam. "Adam, what the hell? You could've killed us!"

He shot Noah a wounded look.

Noah burrowed deeper into my arms.

I got it then. Adam had always been proud to a fault, and getting roasted by a five-year-old probably stung.

After all, he was the one who'd dumped me.

"You actually take a kid's words seriously? How childish."

I tapped Noah's head gently. "And you — don't talk to strangers like that. Got it?"

Noah pouted but nodded.

Meanwhile, Adam was staring at me with reddened eyes, looking exactly like he had the first time I'd pinned him down — hurt and indignant.

What now? What did I do this time?

We got home.

Adam carried in my luggage.

My parents greeted him warmly. "Adam, what's wrong? You look awful."

I nearly choked on my drink.

Since when were they this close?

Noah piped up from behind me. "Mommy says he's mean and scary. He's probably just been dumped!"

Adam froze mid-step, luggage still in hand, wearing that wounded puppy look again.

This kid's mouth was absolutely savage, as if I wasn't embarrassed enough already. What if this guy turned out to be his actual father?

I could only smile through the pain.

Adam insisted on cooking dinner himself.

In an apron, he actually looked domestic — husband material, almost.

Back in the day, I practically had to beg on my hands and knees before he'd grudgingly make me a bowl of noodles.

And every time we were together, I'd just lie there enjoying myself while he did all the work until my back ached.

I'd never once said anything nice about it.

Then I tried to make up for it with money.

No wonder he used to hate me.

During dinner, Noah kept running his mouth, and Adam kept white-knuckling his fork.

The whole meal was a minefield.

Then Mom, with zero filter, brought up my so-called fiancé.

"Anna, after you bailed on the engagement, that guy never found anyone else. Maybe he's waiting for you. Want me to put in a word?"

I was about to shut it down when Adam slammed his fork on the table.

"I'm done. Something came up at the office. Thanks for dinner."

As he passed me, his eyes were pure ice.

Goosebumps everywhere.

He still hated me, obviously.

That night, I was putting Noah to bed. He clutched my fingers and wouldn't let go.

"Mommy, please don't find me a daddy. I just want you."

I pinched his cheek. "Who said anything about finding you a daddy?"

Noah pulled the blanket up to his chin, pouting. "So you don't like that Adam, right?"

I froze, almost laughing.

"Of course not. Just friends."

But life has a way of throwing exactly what you don't want right in your face.

Noah needed to start kindergarten now that we were back, but after years in Europe, his English was all listening and no writing.

Mom found him a tutor — supposedly the son of one of her old admirers, the smartest guy in the bunch.

"He's brilliant, handsome, the whole package."

I did my full makeup. Had to make a good impression for Noah's sake.

The doorbell rang right on cue.

I opened the door.

And nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Janus.

He was wearing the same navy wool sweater from the day we'd first met, lips curved in a slight smile.

He looked genuinely surprised — or maybe he'd been expecting this all along.

"Anna. Long time no see."

Back in the days when Adam was calling my money dirty, I'd been finding comfort in another man's arms.

That man was Janus.

A university professor with wire-rimmed glasses, always in white, cool and pristine.

The day I met him, Adam and I had just had a fight.

I'd left a hickey on Adam's neck, and his roommate noticed. Adam lost it, left me on the side of the road, and said, "Anna, you have absolutely no shame."

I crouched on the curb and cried until my makeup was ruined.

I'd been the princess of my household my whole life. I'd never been treated like that.

Then a handkerchief appeared in my line of sight.

I looked up — into the softest pair of fox-like eyes I'd ever seen.

He froze, stared at my face for a few seconds as if caught off guard, then his lips curved and his slender fingers gently wiped my tears away.

Adam was right about one thing: I really had no shame.

It hadn't been long at all before I was drowning in Janus's tenderness.

I went to his lectures every day, ate cafeteria food with him.

He was gentle, restrained — the type who blushed to his ears just from holding hands. It drove me crazy.

Naturally, I showered him with designer bags and watches.

Janus turned down every single one.

Then I saw a post online:

[For the intellectual cold-type guy, give something heartfelt and handmade.]

I knitted him the ugliest scarf in existence and even embroidered a little bear on it.

I "accidentally" showed him my pricked-up fingers, squeezing out tears.

"It doesn't hurt. Not at all."

It worked like a charm.

Janus took me home, made me dinner, washed my feet, then carried me to bed.

Lips brushing lips, skin against skin — and one thing led to another.

"Anna, your eyes are so beautiful. Your fingers, too."

There was something barely perceptible in his gaze, something unhinged — nothing like the man who used to blush at holding hands.

Gentleman on one side, absolute menace on the other.

I tried to escape the bed more times than I could count, and every time, he dragged me back.

Turning a refined professor into this — I did feel a little guilty.

Until I saw the photo on his nightstand.

The girl in the picture had a familiar face.

She wore a ponytail, held a trophy, and was beaming in the sunlight like an angel.

And beside her stood a younger Janus, shy and starry-eyed, staring at her like she was everything.

My features, my hands — all identical to that girl.

So I was a stand-in.

Janus had put the photo right on his nightstand — he clearly didn't care if I knew.

He walked out of the bathroom, hair still damp, the hickeys on his neck fully exposed.

Equal parts awkward and scorching.

To change the subject, I asked casually, "Who's the girl?"

Janus shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "A girl I used to like. My junior. What your generation would call 'the one that got away.'"

I nodded, unbothered, and started getting dressed.

"Aren't you worried I'll get jealous?"

Janus stopped smiling. Kissed me once more.

"Would you?"

My answer, at the time, was of course not.