Flashback #1
"Dr. Laurent. Welcome." The therapist shook my hand firmly, her expression calm but watchful. She motioned for me to sit down, her small office decorated with neutral tones and warm lighting, probably designed to make people feel safe.
I sat, crossing my legs, my fingers nervously tapping against my knee.
"So, Remi," she began, settling into her chair. "What brings you here today?"
I hesitated, my eyes flickering toward the framed certificates on her wall. The words felt heavy, like admitting them out loud would solidify the chaos I was feeling. Finally, I took a breath and spoke.
"I'm feeling something for someone I… shouldn’t," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "The same man who broke me into pieces years ago."
Her brow lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt, waiting for me to continue.
“It’s complicated,” I added quickly. “But I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About… everything that happened.”
Her pen hovered over her notebook. "Why don’t you start from the beginning? What happened between you two?"
I hesitated again, swallowing the knot in my throat before leaning back into the chair. “It started… eight years ago.”
\---
"Taxi!" I shouted, waving my hand desperately as another yellow cab zipped past me without slowing.
The morning rush hour in Manhattan was a nightmare, as usual. My shoes were pinching my feet, my bag strap was digging into my shoulder, and my aunt’s voice still rang in my ears from earlier that morning.
“You’re useless, just like your mother,” she’d hissed, throwing a pile of laundry at me before turning to coo at Jules. “You’ll never amount to anything.”
The words had stuck, but I didn’t have the time—or the luxury—to cry over them. I needed to get to my first job, the breakfast shift at the café near Madison Avenue. My second job as a barista started two hours later, and if I hustled, I’d just make it.
By some miracle, a taxi screeched to a stop, and I threw myself inside, barking the café’s address. As we sped through the crowded streets, my mind wandered to Jules.
Jules was the only bright spot in the otherwise bleak existence of living with my aunt and uncle. When he was born, I had clung to him like a lifeline, pouring all the love I’d never received into him. He was the reason I endured their cruelty—their cutting words, the neglect, the constant belittling.
And as the cab pulled up in front of the café, I shook myself out of my thoughts. Today was just another day, and I needed to get through it.
\---
The café was bustling when I arrived, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sounds of clinking cups and chatter. I tied on my apron quickly, slipping behind the counter to take over orders.
“Good morning! What can I get for you?” I asked a man in a crisp suit.
As I handed him his latte, I glanced up and froze.
He was here again.
Rowan Vaughn, the CEO everyone in New York whispered about.
He always sat in the corner, alone, his sharp jawline and tailored suits making him look more like a model than a businessman. He had an air of quiet confidence, the kind that made people straighten their backs when he walked in.
I glanced away quickly, afraid he’d catch me staring, but my cheeks burned. He was the kind of man who existed in another world entirely, a world I didn’t belong to. But that didn’t stop me from noticing him, from stealing glances when I thought he wasn’t looking.
It was ridiculous, of course. A silly little crush on a man who would never even remember my name.
“Remi, table five!” my coworker called, snapping me out of my thoughts. I grabbed the tray and carried it over, focusing on anything but the man in the corner.
But as I set the drinks down, I couldn’t help it—my eyes drifted toward him again. He was staring at his phone, his expression unreadable. And just like that, I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name.
\---
Later that night, after my second shift ended, I trudged back to my aunt and uncle’s apartment. The tiny, dimly lit space smelled of burnt toast, and I could hear Jules giggling in the living room.
“Jules!” I called, dropping my bag by the door. He ran over, throwing his small arms around me, and I scooped him up, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
“You’re late,” my aunt snapped from the kitchen. “Where’s the money?”
I sighed, setting Jules down before handing her the envelope. It was barely enough to cover groceries and rent, but she always acted like I was holding out on her.
“This is it?” she demanded, her lips curling in disdain.
“Yes,” I replied tightly, my jaw clenching.
She muttered something under her breath, but I didn’t care. I went to Jules, who was drawing on the coffee table, and sat beside him.
“Whatcha working on, buddy?”
“It’s a rocket!” he said excitedly, holding up the paper.
“It’s amazing,” I said, ruffling his hair. “One day, you’re going to build a real rocket, and it’s going to take us to the moon.”
He grinned, and for a moment, everything felt okay.
But then everything changed.
\---
The diagnosis came two weeks later. Leukemia.
I sat in the hospital with Jules, my heart racing as the doctor explained the treatments, the costs, the long road ahead. My aunt and uncle barely reacted, as if the gravity of it all was lost on them.
“We’ll figure something out,” I said, my voice trembling.
My aunt shot me a sharp look as we left the hospital. “Oh, I know exactly how we’ll pay for this.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, already dreading her answer.
She smirked. “You’re going to seduce that CEO you’re always talking about. What’s his name? Rowan Vaughn.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“You heard me,” she said, her tone casual, as if she were asking me to run an errand. “Get close to him. Get him to… you know. And then make sure he pays for Jules’s treatment.”
“That’s disgusting!” I shouted, my hands trembling. “I’m not doing that!”
“Well, how else are we going to pay, huh?” she snapped. “You’re already working yourself to the bone, and it’s not enough. Or do you want Jules to die?”
Her words cut deep, but I shook my head, refusing to give in. “I’ll find another way. I’ll figure it out.”
She scoffed, turning away. “Suit yourself. But don’t come crying to me when he’s gone.”
Her cruelty left me shaking, and I clenched my fists, vowing to prove her wrong.
\---
The next day, I was back at the café, wiping down tables as the morning rush began. I felt raw, like my emotions were simmering just beneath the surface.
And then he walked in.
Rowan Vaughn, looking as composed as ever, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. He ordered his coffee and sat in his usual spot, and for the first time, I felt anger alongside my nervousness.
He had no idea who I was, no idea of the impossible situation I was in. And yet, some twisted part of me wanted to tell him everything.
Instead, I stayed behind the counter, gripping the edge as I watched him sip his coffee, wondering how my life had spiraled so far out of control.
\---
Back to present.
I exhaled shakily, my hands gripping the armrests of the therapist’s chair.
“Eight years ago,” I repeated softly. “That’s when everything started.”
The therapist leaned forward slightly, her pen poised. “What happened next?”
I hesitated, my chest tig
htening as I thought of what came after. “They didn’t wait for me to do anything. My aunt went behind my back… and contacted his family.”
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