CHAPTER 1: NEVER AGAIN
DOMINIC
I had ruined my home before I ruined my own face, before any surgeon touched it.
My carelessness and foolishness had cost me Aliana but I am unwilling to give up just like that; I’d simply find another way to get her back.
The last time Aliana looked at me as her husband, her eyes had been empty and completely devoid of any emotion.
“You always think winning is the same thing as loving,” she’d said while signing the divorce papers.
I laughed then, because arrogance was the only language I spoke fluently.
“Dramatic till the end,” I told her.
She slid the pen across the table. “No, Dominic. Just done with you and your lies.”
That was two years ago.
Two years plus years plus of waking up with her name in my throat like broken glass.
Two years of seeing strangers with her hair and nearly crashing my car.
Two years plus of knowing that I had been handed something precious and treating it like property.
By the time I decided to change my face, people would call it an obsession.
They wouldn’t be wrong.
The surgeon’s office smelled like bleach and expensive lies.
He studied my profile under bright lights, tapping a pen against his clipboard.
“You understand this is extreme.”
“I understand money solves many problems.”
“This is not a problem. This is identity.”
“I hated my old face.”
He glanced at me over his glasses. “You want to disappear?”
“I want a chance.”
“With your ex-wife?”
I stared at him.
He sighed. “You rich men never come for simple reasons.”
“She won’t look at me as Dominic.”
“And you think she’ll look at a stranger?”
“I know she will. She’s kind to strangers.”
That made him pause.
“Were you kind to her?”
The room went silent.
“No,” I said.
He leaned back. “Then perhaps the surgery you need is elsewhere.”
“I’ll book both.”
He laughed despite himself.
Months later, bandages came off in layers.
A new jawline. Softer nose. Different brow. Hair altered. Beard grown.
Not unrecognisable to someone searching hard enough.
But to the world? I was someone else.
To her, I hoped I could become worthy before becoming known.
I bought an apartment three streets from her company.
When we were married, she once showed me a tiny shop for lease with ivy crawling over the walls.
“We could make it beautiful,” she said.
I barely glanced up from my phone. “You don’t have what it takes to make real money.”
She went quiet.
Now she owned a company Hamilton had easily given to her.
The sign was hand-painted. Warm lights glowed through the windows. Potted plants lined the entrance. There was a bell above the door that chimed softly when customers entered.
She built a dream after leaving me.
That fact hurt more than jealousy should.
The first day I walked in, my palms sweated like a teenager’s.
The bell chimed and several receptionists came to attend to me yet my entire focus was on her. She was with Jenna- my sister who never deemed it fit to look for me.
She looked up from where she sat with Jenna and I was absolutely out of breath.
Her eyes are still brown with gold flecks near the pupil. Still able to reduce me to ash with one glance—though now that glance was polite confusion.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”
My throat tightened.
I had rehearsed names all night.
“Daniel,” I said.
A lie landed between us.
“Looking for anything specific, Daniel?”
You, I thought.
“Something I can’t put down.”
She smiled lightly. “The ladies would attend to you”
“Would you mind showing me around?”
That made her laugh.
My knees nearly gave out.
I came back the next day.
And the next.
Always buying clothes I barely needed.
She noticed by the fourth visit.
“You don’t strike me as a shopaholic.”
I held up the mufler she’d chosen. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Or trying too hard.”
“Is it working?”
She leaned on the counter. “I haven’t decided.”
God, I had missed her sharp tongue.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“With customers? Bold.”
“With a woman who keeps insulting my taste in outing.”
“That depends,” she said. “Do you always flirt this badly?”
“Only when nervous.”
She studied me.
“You don’t seem nervous.”
“I’m wearing it internally.”
“I’m married so no to your invitation.” I almost crumbled then and there. Hamilton didn’t even give her space to change her mind.
I felt sick, made a silly excuse and left.
I saw her at a cafe and walked in, sitting across from her as she stirred sugar into her drink.
“So, Daniel. What do you do?”
“I invest.”
“Of course you do.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have expensive shoes and the emotional restraint of a man who checks stock prices for fun.”
I choked on my coffee.
“I’m wounded.”
“You’ll survive.”
I watched sunlight catch in her hair.
“You seem happier,” I said quietly.
Her spoon stilled.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
She looked out the window.
“I am.”
The honesty of it sliced through me.
“Marriage suits you.”
She snorted. “A happy one does; the last one was traumatising.”
I swallowed hard. “He was that bad?”
She met my eyes.
“You ever love someone who made you feel lonely in the same room?”
It felt like I’d just received a blow.
“I’m sorry,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her gaze sharpened.
“For what?”
“For… whoever taught you that love could feel like absence.”
Something in her expression softened.
“That’s a very strange thing to say, Daniel.”
I knew.
Because only the guilty speak apologies that specifically.
Weeks passed.
I continually stalked her.
I began changing in ways surgery never touched.
I listened.
I apologised.
I asked questions without waiting to speak.
I learned silence could be intimate instead of punishing.
One rainy evening, I walked up to her as she hugged herself.
“You know what’s annoying?” she said.
“Many things. Narrow it down.”
“You remind me of someone I used to know.”
My heart slammed.
“That sounds severe.”
“It is.” She looked at me. “You feel familiar.”
I froze.
“How?”
“I don’t know. Like a song I forgot I knew.”
I tried to joke.
“Maybe I’m haunting you.”
“Maybe.” She stepped closer. “Can I ask something strange?”
“I encourage strange.”
“Why do you look sad whenever I mention my first marriage?”
I’m about to respond when Michael Hamilton stepped in, hugged her hard then kissed her before pulling her away by her hand to his car then I got a message “I don’t know who you think you are; but you should stay away from what doesn’t belong to you. Michael Hamilton.” I exhaled in frustration and then walked away.
