Julian Astor had that kind of aura. The kind you read about. I decided he was the perfect "first love." Even if we broke up, the memory alone would be worth it. So, I chased him. Hard. He was finally cornered, and maybe a little charmed, so he agreed to date me. But he had rules. A three-point contract: We date. We do not get married. We break up the day we graduate. I agreed immediately. We were together for three years, performing the part of the perfect college romance. The day we graduated, I was the one who brought it up. "Well, this is it." He refused. I was stunned. "But we had a deal! We agreed. Graduate, then break up." I remember clearly how that conversation ended. It was a disaster. Julian, who never had to lower his head for anyone, gave this broken, self-deprecating laugh. "Summer," he said, "you better pray we never see each other again." From that day on, I avoided his entire world. But sometimes, God just flicks a domino, and no matter how big the world is, two people are destined to collide. 1 Julian and I had an unspoken rule. We were a campus-only couple. The second we left for a holiday, we were done. We went back to our respective homes and had zero contact. In those silent weeks, he was Julian Astor, the heir to a New York dynasty. I was just Summer Davis from Charlotte, North Carolina. No texts. No calls. We didn't ask where the other was. It was like we were single again. I thought this... niche... arrangement would work perfectly until we broke up. But sophomore year, the summer break was unusually long. Eighty days. Before we left, he asked me, "Will you miss me?" I wrapped my arms around his neck, playing the part. "Mmm, I'll miss you so much." He just kissed the top of my head. He didn't say, "Text me if you do." That's what I loved about Julian. He was logical. His family was top-tier. His future wife would be chosen from the same pool. We both knew we had no future. This was just... an experience. A taste of a normal college romance. And I, apparently, was his "type." On campus, I was his girlfriend. Off campus, when he was "Julian Astor," he didn't want to be disturbed. I played my part perfectly. I never crossed the line. I never, ever expected him to be the one to break the rules. The summer was dragging on. He texted me. He was coming back to campus early. A full month before classes started. I was shocked. I teased him: Why, miss me already? He never replied to that text. But after that, the rules started to bend. During the next long break, he asked, "Want to go on a trip?" Most of the time, I said yes. We went everywhere. We watched the stars in Joshua Tree. We saw the sunset over the Keys. I'd get lost in the view, and he'd always startle me by kissing me. He loved to cup my face, that dominant, top-down kiss. He always liked being in control, liked seeing me overwhelmed. But every single time, right at the critical moment, I'd be the one to kill the mood. I'd stop him. Julian, his eyes dark with desire, his throat working, would just raise an eyebrow. What's wrong? My answer was always the same. "I don't want to." He would be sweating, completely wired, but if I said stop, he stopped. He'd get up, take an ice-cold shower, and come back to bed to just hold me. After I'd done this a dozen times, I think he figured it out. He'd feel the mood shift, and before I even had to say anything, he'd get up and head for the shower himself. There was one exception. He saw a text on my phone from a friend back home. "Who's this?" he asked. "Just a friend from Charlotte," I told him. He didn't say anything else about it. But that night, he was rough. He wouldn't stop. I pushed against him. He grabbed my wrists, pinned them. I turned my head away. "Julian, I said no!" "Why?" he demanded, his voice low. "Because of that 'friend' from Charlotte?" He was such a proud guy, but when he got jealous, he was impossible. I never said it out loud, but he knew. The reason I wouldn't go all the way was because I knew he wasn't the man I'd end up with. I didn't want the bond to be any deeper than it already was. Julian was a gentleman. He understood, and he backed off. But after that night, every time we got close, it felt like he was fighting a war with himself. 2 Junior year. We were getting close to the deadline. The thought of it ending started to sting. To protect myself, I started to emotionally check out. That year, he planned a trip to the UK. The second day we were in Kent, I was dead asleep, still jet-lagged, when a group of people burst into the hotel room. I was forcibly put into a wedding dress, my makeup was done, and I was hurried into a horse-drawn carriage. I have no idea when Julian planned it. He'd arranged a wedding. At Canterbury Cathedral. With a real priest. There were no guests. Just us. A wedding that meant nothing. It wasn't until we exchanged rings that I understood. Months ago, he'd asked for a ring for his birthday—a simple gold band. It was so he'd have one to give me when I gave him his. It was an invalid ceremony. We both knew it. But that night, when Julian got up, breathing hard, heading for his usual cold shower, I grabbed his hand. I pulled him back onto the bed and kissed him. He shuddered, his voice cracking. "Summer." "It's our wedding night, Julian," I whispered. "Don't be a buzzkill." Who cares. That's what I thought. Whatever happens, happens. Today, right now, I was his bride. I let myself go. Just this once. ...What I thought was "just once" turned into... many times. Once a boundary is broken, it's gone. We were both out of control. The brakes were gone. I told myself it was just a final countdown. A last, wild indulgence. I didn't know when he would bring up the breakup. The contract just said "graduation." I waited. He never said a word. My flight back to Charlotte was booked. I couldn't wait any longer. I needed a clean break. I asked him to dinner. A quiet restaurant near campus. I thought I knew how he'd react. He'd be his usual, unflappable self. A sophisticated nod, a "Thanks for the memories," and a handshake. I didn't expect him to just stare at me and say, "No." I blinked. "No, what?" His eyes locked on mine. "Summer. I'm not breaking up with you." 3 My brain short-circuited. Julian wasn't the type to go back on his word. He was defined by his integrity. I had always assumed the breakup was set in stone. I never saw this coming. When did he change his mind? I was panicking. I had never, ever, planned on a future with him. This was supposed to be a win-win. His last-minute reversal knocked me off my feet. I couldn't speak. I just stared. My reaction must not have been what he was hoping for. His voice suddenly sounded urgent. "I know what you're worried about. Summer, give me five years." "Five years. I promise you, after five years, no one in my family will be able to interfere with my marriage." "We'll have another wedding. A real one. With our families, a license, telling the whole world we're for each other." "Summer," he asked, "what do you say?" I just looked at him, my heart hammering, and I finally forced the words out, my voice sounding weak. "But... we had a deal. Graduate, then break up." He flinched, as if I'd slapped him. "What?" This was it. If I didn't make it clean, it would be a mess. I took a deep breath. "I want to break up, Julian." His gaze shot toward me, sharp enough to hurt. "Why?" His voice was dead calm. I’d never felt this kind of pressure from him. I just had to rip the Band-Aid off. I let it all spill out. "Because we don't match." "Because I have no ambition. I just want a quiet life. I want to eat good food and sleep well." "I don't want to be criticized because my 'bloodline' isn't good enough." "I don't want to deal with the complicated, toxic world of the rich." "Marrying you means all of that is unavoidable." "So," I finished, my voice getting quiet, "I never, ever planned on this going anywhere." I suddenly felt... cruel. He was planning a future, and I was calculating my losses. He was ready to fight a war for me, and I was already planning my escape. "I've said what I needed to say." I stood up, desperate to leave. "I'm going. Take care." I turned. His hand shot out and grabbed my arm. A steel grip. I looked back. He was still sitting, staring up at me. This proud, untouchable man looked like he'd been left in the rain. "If you never wanted a future," he asked, his voice hollow, "why did you let me touch you?" I flinched. I ripped my arm out of his grasp. I forced a cold laugh. "I didn't realize you were so old-fashioned. It wasn't a big deal to me." He looked like I’d physically struck him. He slowly pushed his chair back and stood up. He was so tall, he cast a shadow over me. "Summer," he said, his voice terrifyingly low. "You better pray we never see each other again. Because if we do, I don't know what I'll do to you." My palms were sweating, but I kept my face blank. I shouldn't have done this. I should never have gotten involved with him. I fled the restaurant. I flew back to Charlotte and I didn't look back. I even avoided New York when I traveled. I thought I would never see him again. I really, really thought that. 4 My cousin Mia was marrying into new money. She invited me to the wedding. In New York City. I immediately declined. But the groom's family had "vetted" the guest list from Mia's side. I was the only one they approved. My own aunt wasn't allowed to see her daughter get married. So, I was "respectfully requested" to be the sole representative of the bride's family. We were all put up in a luxury hotel. The night before the wedding, Mia gets a text. A dozen photos of her fiancé, Zach, with another woman. And a video. There was a "Single's Ending" party happening at a mansion 20 miles away. In the video, Zach was making out with some girl. Mia stared at her phone, turned it off, and looked at me and her six bridesmaids. "Alright, girls," she said. "We're going to a party." I never thought I'd see Julian Astor. Not in a city this big. The odds... But God has a twisted sense of humor. Mia was there to make a point. She found the girl from the video and slapped her. The girl looked to Zach, who just grinned, not offering to help. Turns out, Mia and Zach had a "contract" of their own. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as the other women didn't bother her. If they did, Mia had a green light, and Zach wouldn't interfere. Mia dragged the girl out by her hair. Zach just shut the door behind her, put his arm around Mia's waist, and said, "Babe, don't be rude. You're here, you have to go say hi to Julian." Mia, her hair a mess, just smoothed her dress. "Right. Let me fix my face." Zach left her and went over to a quieter, more intimidating table. Mia looked at the table. "Okay, bridesmaids," she whispered. "See that table? Everyone is fair game... except the one in the middle." I looked. My blood turned to ice. I saw him. He hadn't seen me. It was Julian. Four years older, the last traces of college gone. He was sharper, heavier... just... more. One of the bridesmaids, Isabelle, the most beautiful one, immediately asked, "Why not him?" Mia's voice was serious. "He's out of our league. Don't even think about it. It's not worth the trouble."
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