Page 164 of What Comes Around

The condom. Used. Tied off.

My stomach twisted. I grabbed it, walked straight into the bathroom, and flushed it.

When I turned back, Apple had woken up. She was sitting up in bed, hair messy, watching me, her expression unreadable.

“Morning,” she said softly.

“Morning.”

She stretched, the sheets slipping as she leaned back against the headboard. “Last night was… fun.”

“Yeah.”

A small smile curved her lips. “I missed you, you know.”

I didn’t respond.

“I’m actually free today,” she went on, like it didn’t matter. “No plans. Thought maybe we could meet up again. Dinner, drinks… see where it goes.”

I searched for my clothes.

“No.” The word came out flat.

She paused for a fraction of a second, then recovered smoothly. “Maybe later then. I’m in the city for a few days.”

“I have other plans.”

She let out a soft laugh, trying to keep things light. “You don’t have to act like a stranger, Knox.” Her voice dipped, turning suggestive. “Last night was… hot.”

I didn’t answer. I grabbed my things and headed for the bathroom again. There was no way I was stepping on the same rake twice.

I took a shower immediately after, scrubbing at my skin harder than necessary. I felt dirty and not just physically.

When I stepped out, I didn’t look at her again. I left and headed straight for the conference downstairs.

At first, I barely paid attention. My mind was still in turmoil, trying to make sense of what had happened in the last hour.

Until she walked on stage. Something about her presence pulled me in immediately. I couldn’t look away. She was giving a presentation on behalf of her employer, Hawthorne & Vale. I was mesmerized by her beauty, the way she carried herself, how intelligently she spoke.

When the host thanked her at the end and said her name again, it hit me like a punch to the chest.

Ashley Richards.

A memory surfaced, sharp and immediate. Apple had a sister in my previous life. A sister who went missing at twenty‑two. Apple had been with me for seventeen years and never once had Ashley been found or accounted for. Apple hated her. She used to say she was glad Ashley was gone, that she deserved whatever had happened to her.

At the time, I had ignored it. Filed it away as just another ugly part of who Apple was.

Now watching Ashley alive, standing on that stage, I felt something shift.

The moment I returned to Chicago, I started digging into her background. Who she was. Where she worked. Her background. Her habits.

And then I started planning.

Six months later, Ashley Richards was working for me.

In my previous life, that never happened.

I never met Ashley.