Chapter 1: The House on Ashwood Lane
The Hayes estate sat at the very end of Ashwood Lane, its wrought-iron gates standing tall, polished, and formidable. The house itself was a masterpiece—three stories of elegant stonework, towering windows, and ivy climbing up its walls like it had been painted into place. A pristine driveway curved toward the front entrance, flanked by sculpted hedges and a trickling stone fountain, its water catching the soft glow of the lanterns lining the path.
From the outside, it looked untouched by tragedy. A picture of wealth, of stability, of everything it had always been.
But inside, there were ghosts. Not the kind that haunted halls or slammed doors—no, these were quieter. They lived in the spaces between words, in the photographs that still hung on the walls, in the untouched office on the second floor where his father's chair still sat facing the window, waiting for someone who would never return.
Ethan Hayes knew how to live among ghosts.
He sat in the grand living room, watching the soft flicker of the chandelier overhead, fingers idly tapping against the armrest of one of the expensive leather couches. Everything was immaculate. The dark oak floors gleamed, reflecting the warm light from the fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall, filled with first editions and books that had never been read. A Steinway grand piano sat in the corner, untouched since the last time his father had played.
It was beautiful. It was warm. And it felt nothing like home.
"Ethan, sweetheart."
His mother's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Caroline Hayes had always been the kind of woman who could hold a room together just by standing in it. She was the definition of poised—blonde hair swept into an effortless chignon, dressed in soft cashmere and elegant pearls, her movements precise and graceful. She had lost the love of her life two years ago, but she never let herself fall apart.
Because she had two children who still needed her.
She placed a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of him, offering him a small smile before settling beside him.
"You're quiet tonight," she observed, tucking her legs under her.
Ethan huffed a quiet laugh. "I'm always quiet."
Her smile didn't waver, but something softened in her expression. "More than usual."
He didn't respond.
She didn't push.
That was the thing about Caroline—she always knew when to press and when to let silence speak for itself.
A small blur of motion caught his eye, and then Ava was there, climbing onto the couch beside him without hesitation.
Ava Hayes was twelve now, but she still curled into his side like she had when she was little. He let her, wrapping an arm around her and resting his chin on the top of her head. She smelled like vanilla shampoo and the faint scent of his mother's perfume.
"Did you eat?" Ava asked, her voice muffled against his sweater.
"Yes," he lied.
She pulled back, squinting at him. "Liar."
Ethan sighed. "I'll eat later."
She pursed her lips like she wanted to argue, but instead, she settled back into his side, playing with the hem of his sleeve.
Their mother watched them for a moment before standing with a graceful stretch. "I'll warm something up for you. You don't have to eat much, but something, okay?"
Ethan didn't argue.
Caroline placed a gentle hand on his head, smoothing down his unruly brown hair like she had when he was a kid. A quiet affection. A reassurance. Then, with one last look at him and Ava, she disappeared into the kitchen.
The moment she was gone, Ava tilted her head up at him.
"Riley was outside today."
Ethan went still.
She watched him carefully, waiting. Expecting something.
But he only shrugged.
Ava sighed, dramatically flopping backward against the couch. "You know, most people would actually react when someone brings up their childhood best friend."
"We're not friends anymore."
"I know."
Silence settled between them. The sound of their mother moving around in the kitchen, the faint crackle of the fire, the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Then, softer: "You miss her."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "No."
Ava studied him for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Fine. Lie to yourself. I don't care."
He didn't reply.
Because she was wrong.
He didn't miss Riley Carter.
He missed the version of himself who had been hers.
Riley stood at the iron gates, fingers curling around the cold metal bars, staring at the house she hadn't stepped foot in for two years.
Everything looked the same. The porch lights glowed warmly, the curtains in the living room were drawn just like they always had been, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was still the girl who used to belong here.
Almost.
She had seen Ethan today.
For the first time in weeks, she had seen him—not just passing in the hallways, not just in the periphery of her life. Really seen him.
He had been sitting by the window in the library, staring out at the courtyard with that faraway look in his eyes. The one that made him look like he wasn't entirely here anymore.
And for the first time in two years, Riley had wanted to say something.
But she hadn't.
Because how do you reach for someone when the last time you tried, they let go?
Her grip tightened around the bars.
Her father always said regrets were just lessons waiting to be learned.
Maybe it was time she learned hers.
Maybe it was time to stop being a coward.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached forward and hit the intercom button.
Silence.
Then, a soft crackle.
"What do you want?"
His voice.
Lower than she remembered. More detached.
She inhaled. "Ethan… it's me."
Another pause.
Then—
"Yeah. I know."
And then, the line went dead.
Riley let out a breath, stepping back.
She had spent two years convincing herself that Ethan Hayes had changed.
But now, she realized something worse.
Maybe she was the one who had.