105
She kept going to that restaurant across from Kingsley’s mansion every single day for almost a week. It had become her silent ritual: order something small, sit by the window, and wait. Wait for the man who once swore he’d fight for her. Wait for the truth to show itself in the flesh.
And then, finally, it happened.
One late morning, just as she was stirring the last of her coffee with a trembling spoon, the mansion gates opened. Her heart jumped. A sleek black car rolled out from the driveway. And there he was, Kingsley, stepping into the driver’s seat. The breath caught in her throat when she saw Beth walking out after him, dressed in a flowing pastel dress that shimmered in the sunlight. Kingsley walked around and opened the door for her.
Katherine was already on her feet.
She rushed out, flagging down the nearest cab with urgency written all over her face. “Please,” she told the driver, “follow that car. Don’t lose them.”
The cab driver didn’t ask questions. He nodded and tailed the vehicle as it weaved through the elegant streets of Manhattan.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to an opulent five-star restaurant, with ornate pillars, valet parking, and hostesses in black silk uniforms. Kingsley stepped out and offered his hand to Beth, helping her down like they were still in a fairytale.
Katherine paid the driver quickly and got out, pulling her hoodie up around her face to stay hidden. She waited a beat, watching them walk through the double doors into the restaurant. A doorman greeted them with a bow. A waiter soon appeared to escort them to their table.
Katherine inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and walked in behind them.
She made her way to the furthest table at the back, close to the kitchen, half-hidden behind a tall floral arrangement. It was dimly lit, nestled in the far back of the grand restaurant, obscured by hanging plants and partitioned décor. Her heart pounded beneath her simple blouse. She tugged her hoodie forward slightly, just enough to cast a shadow over her face, praying no one would notice her.
She sat, hands clammy and heart racing.
The waiter came back, a neatly dressed man with a warm, polite voice. “Good evening, ma’am. Are you ready to order?”
Katherine glanced at the glossy menu, her eyes scanning the prices. It was an elite, high-end place, and nearly everything looked like it could swallow half her rent. She swallowed hard, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and gave a quick, rehearsed smile. “Just a vanilla milkshake for now,” she said, forcing a polite smile. “My date will be ordering when he arrives.”
The waiter nodded and left.
From her vantage point, she could just see Kingsley’s back—broad, tall, confident as ever. Beth sat across from him, laughing lightly, her hand resting over his as the waiter poured wine into crystal glasses. Beth leaned in, saying something, and Kingsley chuckled, an easy, familiar sound that stabbed Katherine in the chest.
A moment later, their food arrived, artfully plated, steaming, luxurious.
Beth immediately reached for her phone, panning the camera over their meals like a professional influencer. Then she handed it to the waiter, gesturing excitedly. She scooted close to Kingsley, placing a hand lightly on his chest. Kingsley turned slightly toward her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He smiled as the waiter snapped the picture.
Katherine watched it all.
Like an out-of-body experience, she saw her replacement living the life she had been promised. Every kiss, every touch, every smile was a crack in her heart. Her fingers trembled around the cold glass of the milkshake. She couldn’t drink. She couldn’t even cry.
Her eyes locked on Kingsley as he leaned in to kiss Beth on the cheek for the camera, his lips pressing softly against her skin, his smile wide.
Katherine’s chest ached.
He said he was divorcing her. He said I was the one. He said he loved me.
And now here he was, acting like nothing had happened. Like she never existed.
Her fingers curled tightly around her napkin under the table, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She felt the cold sting of betrayal again, more brutal now that she was watching it play out in front of her eyes.
The waiter returned with her milkshake. She didn’t even notice him at first.
“Here you go, ma’am,” he said softly, placing the drink down. “Let me know when your guest arrives.”
Katherine gave him a distracted nod, her eyes never leaving the couple at the center of the restaurant. A single tear escaped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly before anyone could see.
Katherine sat frozen in her chair, her hands wrapped around the cold glass of her untouched milkshake. Her heart was in pieces, scattered across the distance between her and the man who had once vowed to build a forever with her. She couldn’t look away, watching as Beth laughed, touched his arm, and leaned into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And then, suddenly, he moved.
Kingsley pushed his chair back and stood up from the table.
Katherine’s breath caught in her throat. She ducked her head instinctively, but her eyes stayed locked on him.
He said something to Beth, who simply nodded, busy adjusting her curls in her phone’s front-facing camera. Then he turned and walked away from the table, heading toward the restroom. His gait was still that confident, self-assured stride she knew so well, as the world bowed around his presence.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage. This was it. Her chance. Her moment.
For days, she had rehearsed everything she would say if she saw him again. She had imagined yelling, crying, asking him why. But now that he was here, breathing the same air, everything inside her twisted and trembled.
She waited until he disappeared around the corner, then stood up slowly, quietly.
She took one last look at Beth, who was still glued to her phone, sipping champagne between poses and selfies. Then Katherine turned and began walking toward the restroom hallway, her pulse thundering with every step. Her fingers shook. Her knees threatened to give way.
The men’s restroom was quiet, with polished marble floors gleaming under soft overhead lights. Katherine stepped inside slowly, cautiously, her fingers trembling against the cold door handle. The sharp, clean scent of aftershave and disinfectant filled her nose. She peered inside, empty except for the sound of water running faintly somewhere deeper inside. Her heart thundered in her chest like it was trying to break free.
It was only Kingsley.
She crept a few steps forward, each footfall careful, her breath held tightly in her lungs. The private sinks lined the far end of the room. She stepped back, hiding in a narrow alcove, waiting.
And then, he emerged.
Kingsley rounded the corner casually, walking toward the sink and drying his hands on a crisp white towel. He looked relaxed, unhurried, as though he hadn’t vanished for a month, as though he hadn’t broken her into pieces and left her to put herself back together alone.
When he glanced up and saw her in the mirror, he froze.
Then slowly, he turned to face her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
His brows furrowed lightly. His voice, when it came, was calm and casual.
“Sorry,” he said, eyes scanning her quietly. “This is the men’s restroom.”
Katherine blinked.
Her lips parted, her heart aching so loudly it felt like it echoed in the walls.
That was it? That’s what he said?
Not “Katherine?”
Not “Oh my God, are you okay?”
Not “You’re awake?”
Just that, like she was a stranger intruding on his day.
She took a slow step forward, her gaze locked on his.
And for a split second, a strange chill crept through her veins.
Yes, it was him. His face. His voice. His body. The strong jaw she used to trace with her fingers. The scent of his cologne was still as sharp and clean as ever.
But his eyes.
His eyes were wrong.
Cold. Distant. Soulless.
The man she loved always had warmth flickering behind his gaze, even when he was angry, even when he was broken. There was none of that now.
This wasn’t the Kingsley who made her feel seen.
This wasn’t the Kingsley who held her while she cried.
This wasn’t the man who once whispered, “I will always come back to you.”
No.
Something was off.
Very, very off.
Katherine stepped closer, barely able to breathe. Her voice wavered, fragile and stunned.
“Kingsley?” she said, her eyes searching his face like it held a puzzle she was desperate to solve.
The man gave a casual, almost dismissive smile.
“Yes. Sorry, do I know you?”
The words struck her like ice water to the face.
She blinked, stepping back as if slapped.
“What… what do you mean, do you know me? It’s me. It’s Katherine.”
His brow creased slightly, like he was reaching into a fog, and then with a faint nod of recognition, he said, “Oh. You. What are you doing here? I thought you were in a coma.”
Silence clung to the air like smoke. Katherine stared at him, disbelief flooding every inch of her.
His tone. His words. Even his posture—cold, detached, unbothered.
This wasn’t Kingsley.
At least not the Kingsley she had loved.
Her heart twisted as she struggled to make sense of it.
“What do you mean you thought I was in a coma?” she said slowly, carefully. “So, you knew? You knew I was fighting for my life, and you just… left me? After everything you promised me?” Her voice broke, hot tears rushing to her eyes. “After everything we shared, all those words, you made me fall in love with you again. Were you just going to break my heart a second time?”
He shrugged, almost apologetically, but with no real emotion.
“I’m really sorry if I promised you anything,” he said flatly. “But I was just playing around. I belong to Beth. I love Beth. I’ve come to realize that now. If I led you on, I apologize. I was just having some fun. I hope you understand.”
The words sliced through her.
Katherine’s breath caught. Her legs trembled. She reached for him, desperate, frantic, as if touching him would pull him back to the man she remembered. She held his hand.
But nothing.
No warmth.
No spark.
No soul.
It felt unfamiliar, like holding a stranger.
She looked down, her fingers still wrapped around his.
Even his hands… they weren’t the same.
Frantically, she moved closer, burying her head in his chest, trying to feel it—the heartbeat, that familiar rhythm she once lay on every night. But even that was off. Faint. Empty. Cold.
Then, suddenly,
“What are you doing?” he snapped, yanking himself away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He stormed out of the restroom, leaving Katherine trembling and shattered, frozen where she stood. She barely breathed as the door swung shut behind him.
And then, in the trembling stillness, she whispered to herself, soft, haunted, and afraid, “That’s not Kingsley.”
And right there, she knew.
Something was deeply, terrifyingly wrong.
Kingsley stormed out of the men’s restroom, face taut with irritation, adjusting the cuff of his shirt as he moved swiftly back to their table. Beth, still sitting and sipping her sparkling water, looked up immediately.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, brows knitting together. “Why are you looking like that?”
Kingsley sat down hard, jaw clenched.
“I just saw Katherine. She followed me into the men’s restroom. She was all over me, hugging me, asking why I left her. Like, what the hell? I didn’t permit her to touch me. That shit is so annoying.”
Beth’s entire expression shifted in an instant from confusion to fury.
She shot up from her seat without another word and marched straight toward the restroom, heels clicking like firecrackers against the restaurant floor.