Melissa didn't expect to see Killian Byrne again.
They had history, if that's what you could call blurry nights, champagne regrets, and the kind of kisses you forget the moment they happen.
He was everything she used to fall for, reckless charm, tailored suits, and a hunger for chaos.
So when he stepped out of the Bentley outside The Shelbourne Hotel, smirking like sin in a three-piece suit, Melissa froze.
"Miss Vauhn," he drawled, slipping his sunglasses down. "Didn't expect to see you at a fundraiser for climate equity. How utterly… new of you."
David stood beside her, his hand gently placed at the small of her back. Killian's eyes darted to him.
"And who's this? The man who tamed the infamous Melissa Vauhn?"
Melissa's smile was thin. "David Terverem. My partner."
Killian extended a hand, all polished arrogance. "Charmed."
David shook it, expression unreadable. "Likewise."
The room inside was a blur of polished donors and curated elegance. Waiters circled with trays of prosecco and truffle canapés. Melissa mingled with grace, but her fingers stayed laced in David's like a lifeline.
Later that evening, while David was pulled into a discussion about engineering projects in Kenya, Melissa stepped out onto the terrace for air. That's where Killian found her.
"You really think this will last?" he asked, leaning on the railing beside her.
She didn't look at him. "Yes. I do."
"He's good, I'll give him that. Polite. Educated. Noble. But Melissa… you and I both know how this city works. How your world works."
She turned, ice in her voice. "My world almost killed me. This man saved me."
Killian blinked, caught off guard.
"Be careful," she added. "He might save me from you again."
And then she walked away—heels sharp against the stone, pride in every step.
Inside, David looked up as she approached. One glance told him everything.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I just needed a reminder."
"Of what?"
She looked up at him. "Of why I chose you."
He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Well… you have good taste."
At first, Melissa tried to laugh it off when David mentioned receiving a mysterious message on Instagram—a private profile that sent him an old photo of her and Killian at a beach resort in Marbella. Melissa in a bikini, Killian's arms wrapped around her waist. Smiling.
David didn't accuse her. But he grew quiet.
"It's an old photo," she explained, gently. "We were together then. I hadn't even met you."
"I know," David said. "It's just... weird that he sent it."
Melissa agreed. But she underestimated how far Killian would go.
Within days, more photos followed. Some more personal—private. Ones Melissa had forgotten existed. Bedroom shots, playful selfies, even one where she wore Killian's shirt and nothing else.
The messages were direct. Cruel.
"Still think she's yours, mate?"
"Some things don't fade, no matter how many scholarships you get."
"Ask her about the Paris weekend. Go on. See what she tells you."
David didn't want to doubt her. But every time Melissa touched him, he flinched slightly—eyes searching her face for a lie he didn't want to find.
"You should've told me about him," he said one night as they walked through Phoenix Park.
"I didn't think he mattered. He was part of a broken life I left behind."
"But that life keeps showing up in my inbox," he replied, voice hardening.
Melissa felt the fracture. It wasn't just about the photos—it was about pride. Identity. David, the man who had risen from nothing, felt blindsided, humiliated by a privileged Irish ex who strutted through their lives like he still had a key to her soul.
It wasn't enough for Killian to haunt from a distance.
One evening, as Melissa walked out of a seminar, she found him waiting beside his car.
"You're glowing," he said, leaning against the door. "I remember that glow."
She nearly slapped him. "You're pathetic."
"Maybe. But I still know how to touch the part of you he'll never reach."
Melissa turned to walk away. He followed.
"You think this thing with him is real? Come on, Melissa. He'll always be the outsider. He doesn't belong in your world. I do. We did."
She paused, trembling. "You're wrong. He may not come from this world, but he's made one for me."
But Killian wasn't done. The next week, he accidentally ran into David at the gym.
"Thought I'd introduce myself," Killian said, stretching beside him. "I'm Killian. Melissa's first real man. You must be... the rebound."
David left without saying a word.
Melissa came to where was now home to find that David had packed a bag and left, she quickly investigated the apartment to find that he had packed all basic items and far too many clothes for one night. She slumped in the nearest chair—air leaving her lungs. She noticed a note.
"I love you. But this? This is too much. Every day I wake up to reminders that you belonged to another world, and he's rubbing it in like it still means something. I am on a scholarship that has stiff requirements, I cannot afford to let my grades suffer, I'm losing focus. Some of us are not so privileged, my family, my mother needs me to see this through. I need time to think." —D"
Melissa read it over and over, heart pounding. She called. No answer. She texted. Nothing.
Days passed. Then a week.
She found him on campus, eyes shadowed, beard rough, like he hadn't slept in days.
"I'm sorry," she said, without preamble. "I should've told you everything. I thought burying Killian was enough, but I realize now, I didn't truly shut that door. I didn't lock it."
David looked at her. "It's not just about him. It's about you and me. When I'm with you, I feel like I have to prove I'm worth the air in your world. Killian knew you. Intimately. He flaunts it. And I… I feel like I'm living in his shadow."
Melissa stepped closer. "I've known men like Killian all my life, yet, look what you are able to achieve in in my life. Please D, let's kill this distraction. Together."
He didn't speak. Not right away.
She reached into her bag, pulling out a bundle of old photographs and letters. "These are all the things I kept from that part of my life. They're gone now." She lit a match, dropped them into a small tin she brought with her. They burned between them.
"I don't care what I was," she said. "I only care who I am when I'm with you."
David looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time in weeks.
"I didn't grow up with much," he said softly. "But I know when someone's fighting for me. And I see you doing that now."
"I'll fight every day," Melissa whispered. "Even when you're too tired to fight back."
He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. She could feel the weight he'd been carrying slowly lift.
"He may not give up immediately," he murmured. "But I love you more than I hate the noise."
Days later, Melissa sent Killian a message—a video clip.
In it, Melissa said, "I've chosen my present and my future. Stop living in my past. You have no power here." "You should really learn how to lose with dignity." She added.
She showed the message to David and they both agreed to block him after that.
That evening, David and Melissa lay on the couch in her flat, legs tangled, wine glasses on the table.
"Why do you think he tried so hard?" Melissa asked, head resting on David's chest.
"Because he knows he lost you. And he couldn't stand watching someone else hold what he took for granted."
David kissed her forehead. "Let him watch. From a distance."
Melissa smiled. "We're good?"
"We're better," he said. "We've been tested. And we chose each other. That's worth more than any perfect beginning."
They sat in silence, the soft hum of the city around them, hearts steady and synchronized.