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.

With Janus in the picture, I graciously gave Adam a long break.

He said coldly that he wasn't falling for my hot-and-cold games.

Maybe so. When you hated someone, you hated everything about them.

Unlike Adam, Janus spoiled me rotten.

Daily check-in texts, random gifts, and night after night of absolutely unhinged intensity.

He'd have me put on his dream girl's clothes. I'd make him wear a plumber's uniform.

He grinned. "Your taste is something else."

Yet he threw himself into the act wholeheartedly.

We pinned each other to the headboard.

Burning skin pressed together, fitting like puzzle pieces, as if we'd melt into each other.

His slender palms traced over me, ticklish and maddening.

Then Janus saw a text from Adam on my phone, and the light in his eyes went dead.

He pressed down on me, gripping my wrist until it ached, eyes narrowed with quiet menace.

"Who is this guy?"

I blurted out without thinking, "Just a guy from school."

He slammed into me hard.

"'Just a guy from school' who's telling you to 'be ready tonight'?"