Ghosts Of Girlfriends Past -

Each memory felt like a physical weight. He had always seen himself as a charming rogue, a man who left them wanting more. But through Allison’s eyes, he saw a trail of small, jagged ruins. He saw women who weren't just "past flings," but people whose confidence he had chipped away at just to feel tall.

"Allison?" he croaked. "You’re... you’re supposed to be in Duluth. And forty." Ghosts of Girlfriends Past

They flickered through the years like a glitching film reel. He saw the faces he’d blurred out: the intern who lost her job because he forgot to tell her the meeting time; the artist who stopped painting after he told her her dreams were 'unrealistic' over a breakup text. Each memory felt like a physical weight

He froze. Standing beside him was Allison Vandermeersh. She looked exactly as she did in 1989—frizzy hair, braces, and a "Save the Whales" t-shirt. She was his first heartbreak, or rather, the first heart he broke. He saw women who weren't just "past flings,"

The air in the ballroom was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and the kind of forced cheer that only exists at high-society weddings. Connor Mead, a man who treated hearts like disposable cameras—clicking once and moving on—stood by the bar, nursing a scotch. He wasn’t here for the romance; he was here because his brother, Paul, was the only person left who still believed Connor had a soul.