Chapter 3
The first package arrived at our hotel suite the morning after the reunion.
I was sipping coffee on the balcony when room service knocked, wheeling in a garment bag with a signature that made my stomach clench.
"Mrs. Howell, this just arrived for you," the attendant said, hanging the bag in the closet before discreetly exiting.
I approached it slowly, already knowing who it was from. The logo of Manhattan's most exclusive boutique gleamed from the corner of the bag.
"Drew," I called, my voice wavering slightly. "Can you come here?"
He appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a casual button-down and jeans that somehow still looked tailored to perfection. "What is it?"
I unzipped the bag with trembling fingers. Inside hung a designer dress in exactly my size—navy blue silk with delicate beadwork along the neckline.
"There's a card," Drew said quietly, plucking an envelope from the pocket.
I opened it, recognizing Xander's bold handwriting immediately.
*You always looked beautiful in blue. Remember our first formal? I've waited long enough. -X*
"Jesus," Drew muttered, taking the card from my hands. "Does he not understand what 'no' means?"
Before I could answer, another knock came at the door. This time, it was a small velvet box.
Inside lay a vintage guitar—identical to one I'd played in college. The kind with a slightly cracked neck that gave it a distinctive sound.
"How did he even know about this?" I whispered, running my fingers over the worn wood.
Drew's expression darkened. "He's been tracking you, Julia."
The third day brought a necklace that looked suspiciously like one my mother had worn to my college graduation—a delicate silver pendant with a small diamond that caught the light just so.
Each gift came with variations of the same message: destiny, waiting, belonging together.
"I think we should go back to London," Drew said on the third night, watching me stare at the necklace with haunted eyes. "We can be on a plane tomorrow morning."
I shook my head, setting the necklace down carefully. "No."
"Julia—"
"I ran away once," I said firmly. "I won't do it again."
Drew sighed, sitting beside me on the bed. "He's not going to stop."
"I know," I replied, leaning against his shoulder. "But neither am I."
---
The restaurant was Drew's suggestion—a small Italian place in the West Village where he claimed the pasta was "life-changing." I'd made reservations weeks ago, looking forward to a quiet dinner away from the chaos of the reunion.
We were seated at a corner table, the soft glow of candlelight creating an intimate atmosphere. For a moment, I almost forgot about Xander's campaign.
Then I saw him.
He sat at a table across the room, alone but commanding attention in his perfectly tailored suit. Our eyes met briefly before a waiter approached our table with a bottle of wine.
"From Mr. Montgomery," the waiter said, gesturing toward Xander. "With his compliments."
Drew's hand tightened around his menu. "We didn't order this."
"Mr. Montgomery insisted," the waiter continued, producing a small card.
*I remember how you loved this vintage in college. Some tastes never change. -X*
"He's at every turn," I murmured after the waiter left.
Drew's jaw tightened. "Let's just enjoy our meal."
But Xander wasn't finished. Throughout dinner, he sent over course after course—appetizers we hadn't ordered, dessert we couldn't possibly finish.
And then came the theater.
Drew had tickets to a Broadway show he was considering for his next project. We settled into our orchestra seats, the theater darkening as the lights dimmed.
"Julia."
I froze at the sound of Xander's voice directly behind me.
He leaned forward between our seats, speaking only to me as if Drew weren't there at all.
"Remember when we performed that duet in college?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear. "Everyone said we had perfect harmony."
I stiffened but said nothing.
"I've kept every recording," he continued, undeterred by my silence. "You were always meant to be on stage—with me."
During intermission, he followed us to the lobby, standing too close as he reminisced about our college performances.
"The way you used to look at me when we sang together," he said, his voice dropping to an intimate tone. "You can't tell me you don't remember how right we felt."
---
"You used to belong to me first."
Xander's words hung in the air like poison as Drew's hand closed around his wrist, removing it from my arm where it had rested possessively during his latest unsolicited touch.
"Touch my wife again without permission," Drew said quietly, his actor's voice carrying just enough threat to make Xander's smile falter, "and we'll have a problem."
Xander laughed—a cold, dismissive sound that sent chills down my spine.
"She was mine long before she was yours," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "We both know it."
I pulled my arm away from his reach, stepping closer to Drew.
"No, Xander," I said firmly. "I was never yours. I was never anyone's property."
His expression hardened, the mask of charm slipping to reveal something darker underneath—something I recognized from our past that made my heart race with fear rather than longing.
"This isn't over," he said again, but this time there was no mistaking the threat in his voice.
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