Chapter 1

Tags: Second Chance, Estranged Exes, Fishmonger Heroine, Groveling Ex, Slow-Burn Drama

Five years after my breakup with Julian, we crossed paths again at a stall in the local fish market.

He was there to pick out fresh fish. I had just finished scaling one for another customer.

My mind went blank for a second, but I quickly grabbed the hand net. "Which one do you want?"

"That one. Gutted and scaled, please." He hesitated for a moment. "Clara’s craving fish soup lately. She says the market has fresher catch."

Right. Clara.

The same Julian who once took a single sip of the fish chowder I had simmered for three hours, only to push it away, claiming it tasted too fishy.

Now, he was standing in the middle of a damp, pungent seafood market, squinting through the tanks just to pick the liveliest fish for her.

I kept my head down, working the scaler. A stray silver scale flew off and stuck to his polished leather shoe.

"Nora, how have you been?"

His voice came out of nowhere.

"If you ever need any help... you can always reach out to me."

The heavy scent of raw fish hung thick in the air.

My hands were pale and wrinkled from soaking in water all day, tiny dried scales wedged under my fingernails.

Julian stood right beside my counter in a sharp, tailored suit. He looked completely out of place.

He watched me gut the fish, scrape the scales, and split the spine. My movements were practiced and precise.

He handed over a crisp hundred-dollar bill. When I held out his change, he shook his head.

"Keep it. Grab yourself an iced boba or something."

He thought I was still that naive college girl who craved sweet drinks.

"I stopped drinking sweet stuff years ago."

I shoved the change into his open palm.

"Take care."

Clutching the crumpled bills, he looked utterly lost.

It took him a long time to speak again.

"Your hands... shouldn't be doing this."

I looked down at my rough, cracked skin.

These hands used to be pampered with rich creams, dancing across black-and-white piano keys.

Now, they were coated in fish slime and bloody water.

"You're joking, Mr. Vance. Earning an honest living with my own hands is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I had a solo concert in Vienna last week."

I wiped down the metal counter, my voice detached.

"Congratulations."

"For the finale, I played the piece we composed together back then."

My hand froze for a split second. "Oh."

He stood in silence for a moment before continuing.

"I rearranged it."

"Did you?"

"I thought you might like it."

"Maybe."

"Nora, does it really have to be like this between us?"

I looked up at him.

"Mr. Vance, I don't think there is an 'us' anymore."

The color drained from his face.

"Nora, please don't be like this. I just think that with your talent, you could be—"

"Mr. Vance."

I cut him off.

"If you don't have anything else to do, you should head home to your pregnant wife."

A bitter smile touched his lips.

"Do you really have to push me away like this?"

I kept my head down, wiping the cutting board without answering.

He pulled a sleek business card from his jacket. "If you ever need anything..."

"I won't."

I pushed it back.

He insisted on leaving it, so I let it sit near the cash register.

"I need to close up shop," I said evenly. "Please leave."

He stood there, watching me for a long time, before finally turning around.

The woman from the adjacent produce stall leaned over.

"Nora, who was that?"

"Just an acquaintance," I murmured. "From a long time ago."

She clicked her tongue.

"Driving a ride like that? He's loaded. Clearly from a totally different world than ours."

I smiled faintly and said nothing.

She was right. We were never from the same world.

Just like he told me five years ago.

"Nora, you don't understand my ambition."