Jake always knew how to ruin me.

It's a thought I should've buried years ago - along with the wedding dress I never got around to burning. But there it was again, creeping in like the scent of his cologne after a long, hot shower. Memory clinging to me like steam.

William's asleep in my bed. His breathing is soft, steady. Comforting. He's everything Jake never was - patient, gentle, the kind of man who texts good morning and actually shows up when he says he will.

But Jake... Jake was fire and ash. And I was always the girl who couldn't stop playing with matches.

The last time I saw him was three months ago. I ran into him outside the old coffee shop on 3rd - the one he used to pretend to hate but always took me to anyway because he knew I liked the scones. He leaned against the wall like he owned the city, tattoos peeking out from under his shirt, smirk full of sins I thought I'd repented for.

"Hey, Red," he said, eyes dragging over me like velvet and smoke.

He always called me that. Red. Not because of my hair - it's brunette - but because the first night we met, I wore this red silk dress that barely covered anything and left even less to the imagination. He said I looked like danger.

He wasn't wrong.

I should've walked away. I wanted to walk away.

But Jake tilted his head like he could still read every dirty thought I ever had, and suddenly I was that girl again - twenty-two, reckless, and addicted to the way he said my name when we were tangled in bedsheets.

"Still seeing that guy?" he asked, casually cruel.

"William," I said. "Yes."

He laughed, low and rough. "Sounds like a tax attorney."

"He's an architect."

"Even worse." His eyes sparkled, amused. "Bet he makes you lunch and leaves love notes in your purse."

He does. And I love that about him. I do.

But I didn't say anything. Because Jake's standing too close now, and my heart's acting like it forgot all the reasons I left.

He brushed a hand down my arm. Just a ghost of a touch. But I felt it everywhere.

"You still think about me, Seirra?"

God help me.

Every time William kisses my forehead instead of my mouth.

Every time I wear red lipstick and pretend it's just because I like the color.

Every time I dream.

I blinked up at Jake, lips parted, words failing me.

He leaned in - close enough to kiss, close enough to ruin.

And then my phone buzzed.

William: "Can't wait to see you tonight. Picking up your favorite wine. Love you."

I showed Jake the screen like it was a shield.

He looked at it, then back at me. Smiled slow.

"He doesn't know you like I do."

And just like that, I remembered exactly how dangerous Jake really was.

-

William is setting the wine glasses on the counter like he's building something delicate. That's what he does - builds things. Smooth, clean lines. Stable foundations.

I am not a stable foundation.

"You're quiet tonight," he says, pouring the cabernet. His voice is soft, but there's a tightness around the edges.

I smile too quickly. "Just tired."

He hands me a glass, fingers brushing mine. "You sure? You've been... somewhere else lately."

My stomach knots. I take a sip of wine to buy time, let the heat bloom in my chest. "Work's been crazy."

He nods like he wants to believe me. But his eyes search my face, and I know he sees it - the flicker of something I can't hide. The ghost of a man I never really let go of.

"Did you see him again?" William asks suddenly. Quiet. But not unsure.

I freeze. "What?"

He sets his glass down. "Jake. You saw him, didn't you?"

I open my mouth, close it. Try again. "It was nothing."

William laughs - one sharp, hollow breath. "It's never nothing with him, Seirra."

I hate that he's right. Hate that I flinch when he says Jake's name like it still has a hold on me. Because it does.

"I love you," William says, and it's the kind of love that pleads - not demands. "But I'm not going to fight a ghost."

"He's not a ghost," I say before I can stop myself.

The look on William's face breaks me a little. "Exactly," he whispers.

He turns away, walking to the window. Silence stretches long between us, filled with all the things we don't say.

"I don't want to lose you," he says finally.

I set my wine down, heart cracking right down the middle. Because I don't want to lose him either. But part of me already has.

Later, when William's asleep again - turned away from me this time - I lie awake staring at the ceiling, my phone burning a hole in my nightstand.

One text. That's all it would take.

Red, you up?

Miss you.

It would be so easy.

My hand hovers over the phone. My heart drums in my ears.

But I already know how this story goes. I know the ending. Jake doesn't build; he burns.

William shifts in his sleep, murmuring my name like a prayer. And for the first time all night, I can breathe.

I pick up my phone - but not to text Jake.

I open my photos instead. Scroll past old memories, past the fire and the wreckage, until I find a picture of me and William. Laughing. Sunlight in my hair. His arms around me like a home I forgot I needed.

I lock the phone and set it down, face down this time.

And then I turn toward William. Toward the man who chooses me every damn day, even when I'm a mess of old wounds and bad habits.

I press my forehead to his back, breathing him in. Solid. Steady.

The fire inside me still flickers. It always will.

But for tonight - for once - I choose not to burn.