His Fathers's Ring, His Son's Touch

Amara's Pov

I stepped up to the counter, pulling my coat tighter against the draft.

"The usual, Amara?" the barista, a guy named Theo with tired eyes and a kind smile, asked before I could even open my mouth.

I offered a small, weary smile. "Please. A large iced Americano with three pumps of white chocolate mocha and a heavy splash of cream. I need the sugar to survive this morning's presentation."

"Coming right up. Big day at the firm?"

"The biggest," I murmured, checking my watch. I still had time before heading to the office. If I was late one bit, Mr. Henderson would kill me.

Theo slid the plastic cup toward me, the dark espresso marbling beautifully with the thick cream. "Break a leg."

"Thanks, Theo."

I grabbed the cup, the condensation chilling my palm, and turned with a sharp, hurried pivot, colliding with a wall of solid muscle and expensive perfume. The lid of my cup popped, and splashed on him, soaking into his white shirt and a charcoal blazer that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"Oh, God! I'm so sorry-I was in such a rush-"

My hands went out instinctively to brush at the mess, but my breath hitched in my throat, dying there. My eyes traveled up from the coffee-stained silk tie, past a sharp jawline, and landed on a pair of blue eyes.

Lucas.

The world outside the cafe windows blurred into a gray smear. Two years. Two years since he had walked out of our apartment in the middle of the night without a note, a word, or a backward glance. He had broken up with me without any explanation, and now, here he was.

He looked older. Harder. His hair was slicked back, and his presence felt heavy.

"Amara?" His voice was a low rasp, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Lucas," I breathed, the name tasting like ash.

"Babe? Is everything okay?"

A woman stepped out from behind him. She was beautiful in that effortless, polished way that suggested she had never known a day of struggle in her life. Her brunette hair was gathered in a perfect chignon, and she immediately reached for a silk handkerchief from her clutch.

"Oh, no, your shirt is ruined," she said, her voice soft and genuinely concerned. She didn't look at me with anger; she looked at me with the pity one reserves for a clumsy stranger. She turned to Lucas, dabbing at his chest. "It's fine, honey. We can just stop at the boutique on the way to the office and get you a new one. Are you hurt?"

*Honey.* My gaze dropped to his hand as he reached up to catch her wrist. There, on his ring finger, sat a silver ring.

He was married.

Lucas didn't answer her. His eyes were locked on mine, intense and unreadable. He looked like he wanted to reach out; he looked like he wanted to scream.

"Do you know her, Lucas?" the woman asked, her head tilting as she finally registered the charged silence between us. "You've been staring for a long time."

I felt the sting in the back of my eyes-a hot, humiliating burn. "I'm sorry," I managed to choke out, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. "I... I have to go."

I didn't wait for him to find his tongue. I reached into my pocket, slapped a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter for the mess, and bolted. A staff member was already approaching with a mop, but I didn't look back.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors and inhaled a breath of freezing air, my lungs burning.

What was he doing here? He was supposed to be gone. He had made my life miserable, his sudden disappearance triggering a spiral that had forced me out of the city and into a job that nearly cost me my life in Italy. I had come back to New York to start over, but seeing him felt like a curse.

He looked happy. He looked rich. He looked like he hadn't spent a single night wondering if I was dead or alive.

"Don't think about him," I whispered to myself, clutching my empty hands into fists. "He's a ghost. He doesn't matter."

Thirty minutes later, the universe decided I hadn't suffered enough.

"You're late, Amara."

My boss, Mr. Henderson didn't even look up from his desk.

"I am so sorry, sir. There was an accident on my way, and then the subway-"

"The Sterling Group doesn't care about the subway," he snapped, finally looking up. His face was flushed with a dangerous shade of red. "They pulled out. They felt our firm lacked the 'attention to detail' they require. They were in the lobby for ten minutes, waiting for the lead junior on the project, and you weren't here."

"I have the renders right here," I said, my voice trembling as I held up my portfolio. "I can call them, I can-"

"You can pack your things."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Sir?"

"You've been distracted since you started here, Amara. I took a chance on you despite the gap in your resume. Clearly, that was a mistake. Give your badge to security."

I stood there for a moment, the floor feeling like it was tilting beneath my feet. I wanted to scream that it wasn't fair.

Instead, I just nodded.

I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at my desk, staring at the screen until it went black. I didn't move. I watched my coworkers leave one by one, their glances a mix of pity and awkwardness. By the time I finally stood up to leave, the cleaning crew was making their rounds.

I walked out of the doors of the office building and was met with a wall of freezing rain.

I didn't have an umbrella. I didn't have a job. And I definitely didn't have a plan.

I started walking, my cheap flats soaking through within minutes. The rain was heavy, blurring the neon lights of the city into long streaks of red and yellow.

"It's his fault," I thought, a sob catching in my throat. It's all Lucas's fault. He brought the bad luck back with him.

I was crossing 5th Avenue, my head down, the hood of my coat doing nothing to stop the water from dripping down my neck. I didn't hear the screech of tires. I didn't see the headlights cutting through the gloom.

A horn blared, and suddenly, the world was blindingly white.

I froze in the middle of the asphalt, my heart leaping into my throat, as a black sedan skidded toward me.