The clock had already passed midnight when Nerissa stumbled through the front door.
Her heels clicked unevenly against the marble floor as she tried to steady herself, a faint scent of wine clinging to her hair and skin.
George, sitting on the couch with a glass of water in his hand, looked up sharply.
"Where have you been?" His voice was low, controlled—but his eyes betrayed a flicker of worry.
She swayed a little, her bag slipping off her shoulder.
"I was… celebrating," she said with a soft, lopsided smile. "Or maybe… just trying to forget."
He stood and crossed the room, taking her arm before she could trip.
"You're drunk," he muttered, but there was no anger in his tone—only concern.
Nerissa looked up at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused, yet strangely tender.
"Do you remember… that summer when we were kids?" she asked suddenly.
"You… you saved me."
George froze. "What are you talking about?"
She chuckled faintly, a sad little laugh.
"The lake… you idiot. I slipped from the boat, remember? I couldn't breathe. I was screaming, but the water just—"
She broke off, blinking as tears welled in her eyes.
"You… jumped in. You didn't even think. You just… pulled me out."
George's jaw tightened. He remembered.
He remembered the sheer panic, her small hands flailing in the water, the way she clung to him like she'd never let go.
"I owed you my life from that day," she whispered.
"And I think… maybe… I never said thank you. So… thank you, George."
Her head drooped against his chest, and he caught her before she collapsed completely.
The smell of wine mixed with the faint perfume she always wore.
He sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
"You were always trouble," he murmured. "Even back then."
But he held her a little tighter—just like he did all those years ago when he pulled her from the water.
The door swung open with a soft creak, and Nerissa stumbled inside, the faint click of her heels uneven against the cold marble floor.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted slightly as if she were about to speak—but only a faint sigh escaped.
George was there, sitting in the dim light of the living room. He had been waiting.
The moment he saw her sway, he rose in an instant, crossing the distance with long, deliberate strides.
"You're drunk," he murmured, catching her arm before she could fall.
Nerissa looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, the smell of wine lingering between them.
"Maybe…" she whispered. "Or maybe I'm just… braver tonight."
His brows furrowed. "Braver for what?"
She gave a small, tipsy laugh—soft, almost wistful.
"For telling you something I should've said years ago."
Her voice dropped to a tender whisper.
"Do you remember that summer? By the lake?"
George stiffened, his grip on her tightening. "Yes."
"I fell into the water. I couldn't breathe… I thought I was going to die."
Her voice trembled now, breaking at the edges.
"And then… you. You jumped in without thinking. You wrapped your arms around me and pulled me up."
He swallowed hard. "I remember every second."
She gave a weak smile, tears glistening in her lashes.
"You saved me, George. You didn't just save my life… you became it."
His breath caught. The air between them seemed to grow heavy, thick with words neither of them had ever dared speak.
Her small, trembling hand lifted to touch his chest, right where his heart beat hard beneath her touch.
"I never thanked you," she whispered. "And maybe… maybe that's why I keep running back to you. Because part of me never left that day. Part of me is still in your arms… in the water… trusting you to keep me alive."
He closed his eyes, his jaw tight as if holding back something dangerous.
When he opened them again, his gaze burned into hers.
"You have no idea," he said hoarsely, "how many times I've wanted to keep you there—in my arms—and never let you go."
Her lips parted, but before she could speak, he drew her closer.
Not a kiss. Not yet.
Just the warmth of his breath against her forehead, the quiet thud of his heart under her ear… like the lake had never happened, like she had never left his arms at all.
George's arm tightened around Nerissa as her knees gave way.
Without a word, he scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, her head falling against his shoulder.
The faint scent of wine clung to her breath, mingling with the sweetness of her perfume.
Her fingers curled unconsciously into his shirt, like she used to do when they were young—when she trusted him with her whole world.
"George…" she murmured sleepily, but her voice was soft, fragile.
He didn't answer. He just carried her up the stairs, every step heavy with the war between what he wanted… and what he knew he shouldn't do.
When they reached her room, he laid her gently on the bed. She stirred, her lashes fluttering open.
For a moment, her hazy gaze found his, and something unspoken passed between them—an echo of years and memories neither could escape.
Her hand reached up, brushing against his jaw.
"You were always there to save me… even when I didn't ask you to."
His chest tightened. "And I always will," he said quietly.
She smiled faintly, her thumb grazing the corner of his lips.
"Then… stay tonight."
It wasn't a plea—it was a confession.
Her eyes searched his, glistening in the dim light, silently asking for something she'd never dared before.
For a breathless second, George leaned closer, his face just inches from hers.
He could feel her warm breath on his lips, smell the faint trace of wine.
His heart pounded so loud he was certain she could hear it.
But then—he stopped.
His hand lingered against her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she didn't realize had fallen.
"You're drunk, Nerissa," he murmured, voice rough. "And if I kiss you now… I'll never be able to stop."
Her lips trembled. "Maybe I don't want you to stop."
He closed his eyes, the restraint in his muscles almost painful.
Finally, he pressed a long, lingering kiss to her forehead, holding it there for a moment before pulling back.
"Sleep," he whispered. "When you wake up… and you still want me… I'll be here."
He tucked the blanket around her, his gaze soft but burning with everything he didn't say.
And as he stepped away, he knew—sooner or later—he wouldn't be able to walk away again.
A pale light seeped through the curtains.
Nerissa stirred, her head nestled against George's bare chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
For a moment, she just lay there, the warmth of him wrapping around her like safety.
Then reality struck.
Her eyes opened wide, and she slowly sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest.
What have I done?
Flashes of the night before rushed back—his hands, his lips, the way he looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world.
And instead of relief, a knot of panic twisted inside her.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
She wasn't supposed to need him this much.
She wasn't supposed to fall apart like this.
She glanced at him—peaceful in sleep, his arm still resting where it had been protectively around her.
And she realized… she had spent years running from the one man who had always been hers.
And she had been a complete idiot.
She lay back down beside him, a tear slipping silently into her hair.
Not because she regretted last night—she didn't.
But because she knew, deep down, that she could never walk away from George again… even if she tried.
The morning sun was cruelly bright.
Nerissa sat up in bed, the sheets tangled around her bare skin, the scent of George still clinging to her like a memory she couldn't scrub away.
He was still asleep beside her, his breathing deep and steady.
For a fleeting second, she just looked at him — the strong lines of his jaw, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the arm that had been draped over her protectively through the night.
Her heart ached.
She should have been happy. She should have felt safe.
Instead, all she felt was… stupid.
Stupid for letting her guard down.
Stupid for letting years of buried feelings spill out in one drunken night.
Stupid for thinking she could be with him without getting her heart shattered all over again.
"Idiot…" she whispered to herself, the word cutting deeper than she expected.
She slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him.
Her legs were unsteady, not from wine — but from the weight of the truth pressing down on her.
She pulled on her clothes in silence, each movement rushed but deliberate.
Her heart pounded harder with every zipper, every button, every glance toward the man sleeping in her bed.
She grabbed a suitcase from the closet and started tossing clothes into it.
No folding. No organizing. Just running.
Because that's what she did best — run.
By the time George stirred, she was already at the door, her bag slung over her shoulder.
She didn't dare look back. If she did, she knew she'd lose her resolve.
Out on the street, she pulled out her phone with trembling hands.
There was only one number she could call.
📱 Drake.
Her voice cracked when he answered.
"Can I… stay with you for a while?"
He didn't ask questions. "Where are you?"
She told him.
Fifteen minutes later, his car pulled up, and she climbed in without a word.
Drake glanced at her — at the tired eyes, the forced composure, the bag clutched like a shield.
But he didn't push. He just drove.
And as the city blurred past her window, Nerissa let out a shaky breath.
She had walked away from George again.
And she hated herself for it… even more than she hated him.
George woke up to an empty bed.
At first, he thought she was just in the kitchen… maybe making coffee, maybe pretending like last night didn't happen.
But when he called her name and got nothing, a strange coldness crept into his chest.
Then he saw it — the closet door ajar, half her clothes missing.
Her perfume lingered faintly in the air, but it was fading… like she had taken the warmth of the room with her.
His jaw clenched.
She left.
Not just for a walk. Not just to think.
She packed and left.
By the time he grabbed his jacket and headed out, his mind was already a storm.
He didn't have to guess where she'd go.
There was only one person she ever ran to when she wanted to get away from him.
Drake.
---
When George's car screeched to a stop outside Drake's apartment, he didn't bother knocking.
He pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
It swung open to reveal Drake — tall, calm, and yet instantly defensive.
George's voice was low, dangerous.
"Where is she?"
Drake crossed his arms. "What makes you think she's here?"
"Don't play games with me, Drake. Where is she?"
Drake held his ground. "Even if she was here, she came to me for a reason. Maybe because she doesn't feel safe with you."
George stepped forward, his face inches from Drake's. "Don't twist this. She's running because she's scared of what she feels — and you're letting her hide."
Drake's jaw tightened. "Or maybe I'm protecting her from the one man who keeps breaking her heart."
The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
George's fists curled at his sides, but he didn't swing. Not yet.
From inside the apartment, a familiar voice broke the standoff.
"Stop it. Both of you."
They both turned to see Nerissa standing there, clutching her robe tight around her.
Her hair was messy from sleep, her eyes heavy with exhaustion — but her expression was sharp.
George's voice softened, but the storm in his eyes didn't fade.
"Nerissa… come home."
She shook her head slowly. "I can't."
Drake moved slightly in front of her, a quiet signal that she wasn't going anywhere unless she wanted to.
George's eyes flickered dangerously at the gesture.
"This isn't over," George said, his voice low with promise.
He gave Nerissa one last look — a mix of hurt, longing, and frustration — before turning on his heel and walking away.
The door closed, but his presence still lingered like the echo of a thunderstorm.
Drake set a cup of coffee in front of her.
The smell was rich, comforting — but Nerissa just stared at it, her hands wrapped tightly around the mug without taking a sip.
He sat across from her, studying her quietly.
"You're safe here," he said softly. "You don't have to explain anything until you're ready."
She gave him a faint smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Drake… I appreciate you being here for me. I always have. But before anything else… I need to deal with Isabelle."
Drake tilted his head. "George's… girlfriend."
"Fiancée," Nerissa corrected, her voice heavy. "At least… that's what she still thinks she is."
Drake frowned. "So you're telling me last night happened… and she's still in the picture?"
Nerissa closed her eyes, a wave of shame tightening her chest.
"Exactly. And that's why I can't… be with George. Not until that chapter is closed. Not until he chooses without question."
Drake leaned forward. "Nerissa, if you're doing this because you think you have to 'play fair,' forget it. You've been suffering for years because of that man."
Her gaze lifted sharply. "Drake, you don't understand. I will not be the other woman in anyone's story. I won't be the villain in Isabelle's life."
The firmness in her tone surprised even her.
She took a deep breath, pushing the mug away.
"I need to talk to Isabelle. Woman to woman. No lies, no rumors — just the truth. Whatever happens after that… at least my conscience will be clear."
Drake studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"You really love him, don't you?" he finally asked.
Her lips trembled. "Enough to walk away until he decides for himself."