One Night Hall Pass

The anniversary party glowed like something out of a magazine spread Bianca had once photographed for a lifestyle brand back when she still freelanced. White roses spilled from low glass bowls along the long farm table. String lights dipped between the old oaks in the backyard of the house Callum had designed himself—clean lines, warm wood, walls of glass that threw soft gold across the lawn. Five years. She still sometimes woke surprised by the ring on her finger.

Callum worked the crowd with the easy confidence that had won him half the waterfront commissions in the city. Dark hair pushed back, sleeves rolled, laughing at something Aisha said near the bar. Bianca watched him for a moment, genuine affection warming her chest, before her gaze snagged—inevitably—on the man standing just beyond the reach of the nearest light.

Nikolai.

He had arrived late, as he always did to these things, tie already loosened, jacket slung over one shoulder. Callum’s best friend since the brutal all-nighters of architecture school. The one who had stood up at the wedding and given a toast so quietly devastating that half the guests had teared up. The one Bianca had spent five careful years not looking at for too long.