Roman Armstrong’s eyes went wide, and Sabrina Cole, standing close by, heard the notification chime as well.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Just moments before boarding my flight, I had snapped a photo of the divorce papers and hit send on a post that would burn my old life to the ground.

"For everyone asking what I made Roman sign in that video: it was a divorce agreement."

"I apologize for the deception. There was no secret boyfriend, only a husband of seven years."

"As for the house, I was the one who applied for the mortgage. His name is the only one on the deed."

With that, I powered off my phone and disappeared into the cabin.

The last thing I expected was to find a familiar face waiting in the aisle.

"Ms. Hunter? What a coincidence."

William Graham adjusted his baseball cap and gave a small, friendly wave. He glanced down at his boarding pass before looking back at me with a soft smile. "It seems I’m sitting right next to you."

I offered a stiff nod and stepped aside to let him slide into his seat. We didn't speak for the duration of the flight. When we finally touched down, William turned to me. "Where are you heading, Genevieve?"

I tightened my grip on my carry-on. "Just exploring my options."

He chuckled, dropping the subject.

I had already tossed my old SIM card into the trash before leaving the terminal. Once I landed, I activated a new burner, messaged Joseph Howell to let him know I’d arrived safely, and pointedly ignored the digital firestorm I’d left behind.

I found a modest studio apartment and began the intake process for the International Military News Bureau. But on my first day, as I walked toward the office, I froze. There was William, stepping out of the high-security military research institute right next door.

I stood there, speechless.

William beamed at me. "Small world, isn't it, Ms. Hunter?"

After our first shift, he invited me to dinner. He explained that he’d been stationed at the institute for five years. "My schedule is fairly flexible. If you ever need a hand with anything, just let me know."

I realized then that the way he addressed me—Ms. Hunter—felt strangely jarring. It had been fine back home, but here, it felt like an invisible wall.

"Please, just call me Genevieve."

"Understood, Genevieve."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

As the weeks passed, I threw myself into my work. William and I grew closer, a steady presence in my new, chaotic life. I wasn't naive—I knew exactly what his intentions were. But I had no time, no emotional reserves, and absolutely no desire to start over with someone else.

I finally found a moment to address it directly.

William just leaned back and smiled. "That’s your prerogative. But me liking you? That’s my business. You can’t exactly control my thoughts, can you?"

I was silent. I suppose he had a point.

He never overstepped, never pressured me, and our dynamic remained surprisingly calm and professional. I almost managed to forget the life I’d left behind—until three months later, when the past finally caught up with me in the form of Roman Armstrong.