Chapter 8: Pretend

Hana

"Hana? What are you doing here?"

I hear a muffled voice, but my vision is blurred by the whirlwind of emotions crashing into me all at once.

I can’t speak. I can’t think of a single excuse that could justify my presence here in front of both of them.

My eyes flicker between Nathan and John, back and forth in a split second, trying to make sense of this surreal scene.

God, what do I do? What do I say?

And then, I resort to the one thing I’ve always done best in moments of crisis:

Pretend.

“Do I really need to explain, Nathan?” I reply, steadying my voice with courage I don’t actually feel. I choose to ignore the possibility that he may already know about me and John. From his tone and body language, he doesn’t.

The receptionist looks at us with a confused expression, and for a moment, I almost laugh. Poor thing. She’s just as lost in this mess as I am.

She brings over an extra chair for me to join them. I sit down reluctantly, preparing myself for what will probably be the most uncomfortable lunch of my life.

John hasn’t said a single word. He’s still watching, probably processing everything just as slowly as I am.

“Dad, this is Hana. My girlfriend.” Nathan introduces me with a smile that only makes things worse.

Dad.

He’s never called him that in front of me. Never even mentioned like that, actually.

“This is my ex-girlfriend,” I correct, raising my eyebrows. “You broke up with me, remember?”

Nathan gives an awkward laugh, clearly caught off guard.

John almost chokes on his drink, and for a second, I think it’s nerves. But when I finally gather the courage to look him in the eye, there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He knew.

He knew who I was.

Or at least… he does now.

Is this some sick game to him? Some twisted power trip? I don’t even know who I’m looking at anymore.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hana,” he says calmly, like we weren’t tangled in bedsheets just four nights ago.

Who are you? And what have I gotten myself into?

“Likewise, Mr. Kauer,” I answer sweetly, the name tasting like poison in my mouth.

The impact is immediate—his fist clenches against the wooden table.

And just like that, the memories come flooding back.

Memories I’m trying hard to bury.

Focus, Hana. Now is not the time.

“Can we talk?” Nathan turns to me, completely oblivious to the chaos unraveling in my mind.

“I think we should. Especially after what I found out,” I answer, and I watch his expression freeze.

“Dad, do you mind giving us a moment?” he asks, motioning for John to step away. My stomach drops as John walks toward the bar, brushing dangerously close to me.

Nathan shifts his chair closer as soon as John’s gone. From where I’m sitting, I can see John watching us from the bar, sipping his drink with a storm in his eyes.

How dare he look angry? After everything?

“I know you’re upset, Hana. But I can explain.”

“Upset?” I blink. “Nathan, I’m disappointed. I never wanted to find out this way.”

“I didn’t either,” he replies quickly. “I had a plan. I was going to talk to you before it all came out.”

He looks genuinely remorseful. And maybe… maybe my heart still wants to believe him.

“It would’ve been easier if you were just honest about cheating on me,” I mutter.

He looks startled, like he thought I was going to say something else.

“No, Hana. I mean… I know that wouldn’t fix anything, but the fallout wouldn’t have been this bad. What happened at prom night wasn’t planned. I acted on impulse.”

He reaches out to touch my hand, but before he can, John slams his whiskey glass on the bar.

I pull my hand away and shift back in my seat.

This is spiraling.

“And you thought offering me a job would fix everything?” I ask bitterly, grabbing the untouched drink on the table just to distract myself. “Seriously, Nathan? You thought you could buy me?”

“What job?” he asks, looking genuinely confused.

I pause.

Wait—he doesn’t know?

“The job at Desire,” I say slowly. “You didn’t recommend me for it?”

“No! I had no idea you even applied.” His eyebrows pull together. “But… It’s a great opportunity, right? You wouldn’t have to leave for Japan.”

My throat tightens. I had that opportunity—and I threw it away out of pride and confusion.

“I already turned it down, Nathan. I thought you were behind it, and I… I panicked.”

I run a hand over my forehead, trying to steady my thoughts.

“You don’t need to worry,” he says quickly. “I can help. Well, not me exactly, but John can. He’s a partner at Desire. He owns several businesses here and in New York. I’m sure if I explain—”

He jumps up from his seat, about to call John over. My chest tightens in panic.

Without thinking, I grab his arm, pulling him back. The sudden movement causes him to bump into me, and I catch a whiff of his cologne.

Too familiar. Too confusing.

“Don’t,” I say softly. “Please… I want some time alone with you.”

It’s a lie, and I instantly feel guilty.

But I can’t risk him talking to John. Not now.

He hesitates—then nods, sitting down again. There’s a flicker of hope on his face, and it makes me sick with guilt.

“Hana, please,” he says gently. “Give me another chance. I need you. I’ll fix everything I broke. Just tell me what to do.”

I stare at him. He sounds so convincing. Either he’s sincere, or he lies better than I do.

Better than John, who’s now outside, leaning against his car, puffing on a cigarette like nothing’s happened.

Cold. Distant. Calculated.

Our eyes lock through the window. His gaze is intense. He knows I see him.

“I need time to think, Nathan. I really have to go now.”

He looks disappointed, but doesn’t stop me. As he steps aside to take a phone call, I slip out of my seat and head toward the exit. I think about stopping at the bar—confronting John—but I don’t trust myself.

I’m not in control. Not of my thoughts, not of my emotions.

Coming here was a mistake. A dangerous one.

I pause at the door, spotting John standing next to a matte black Lamborghini. His back is to me. He’s talking on the phone.

For a second, I think about approaching him. Asking him what the hell this is. But I can barely process anything.

I take advantage of the fact that he hasn’t seen me and rush out. The heels I’m wearing make every step harder, but I don’t stop. Not until I reach the crosswalk.

Then I hear the familiar roar of an engine pulling up beside me.

“Hana, we need to talk.”

John.

Of course.

I glance over. “What do you want, John?”

I start crossing, but he keeps pace with me, driving slowly beside me on the nearly empty street.

“Get in,” he says firmly, stopping the car.

I hesitate.

Every instinct screams no. But I can’t walk away. Not yet.

This is a terrible idea. I know it. But I still reach for the door and get in—because I need answers. And because, somewhere deep down, I’m terrified of what those answers might be.