Millionaire Attends His College Reunion, Not Knowing His Old Flame Will Soon Steal His Heart
A New Perspective
The night blurred after that. They talked for hours, tucked into a corner booth while the crowd thinned. He told her about his company. She told him about moving to Chicago, teaching art, and how she’d lost her dad last year.
They spoke like no time had passed, laced with a new kind of honesty. At the end of the night, he walked her outside. Her ride hadn’t arrived. Without a word, Ellis opened the door to his sleek black Bentley.
“Come on. Let me take you home.”
She hesitated.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
The drive was quiet and intimate. His hand rested on the gearshift, close to hers. They pulled up outside the little bungalow she’d rented for the weekend. She turned to him.
“I don’t know what this is,” Fay said.
“It’s not over,” Ellis replied. “That’s what it is.”
She paused.
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll pick you up at noon,” he said.
“For what?”
“You’ll see.”
She smiled. When she leaned in again, he met her halfway. This time, the kiss was slower and surer, as if they both knew this wasn’t the end of something. It was the beginning.
Ellis arrived at the small cafe five minutes early. He stepped out of the car as a valet reached for the keys. The place was a quiet spot tucked along a tree-lined street with a patio shaded by rustling awnings.
The space whispered familiarity rather than shouting prestige. He’d chosen it deliberately for her. Fay was already at a table when he walked up, flipping through the menu with one leg crossed over the other.
Her sunglasses were pushed up into her hair. She looked up, and something in her face shifted. It wasn’t surprise or awe, just a quiet recognition that sent a low hum through his chest.
“You’re punctual,” she said as he slid into the seat across from her.
“I wanted to be.”
They ordered quickly. She asked for the cinnamon brioche French toast. He went with black coffee and the eggs Florentine. The waiter disappeared, leaving the clatter of cutlery and the soft murmur of nearby tables.
“I almost didn’t come today,” Fay said, wrapping her fingers around her water glass.
“Woke up thinking maybe last night was enough.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
She looked out toward the street.
“But I’m still trying to figure out what this is.”
“I’m not here for closure,” Ellis said, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“Possibility.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned back, studying him like she was trying to understand something carefully buried.
“I changed a lot after I left,” she said finally. “Not just cities. I had to start over.”
“I worked at a bookstore my first year in Chicago. I taught kids’ summer art classes in a gym basement. It wasn’t glamorous.”
“I didn’t expect it to be.”
“I just mean… I’m not the girl you knew.”
“I didn’t come here looking for her.”
The waiter returned with their food. They both paused to rearrange their plates. Fay took a bite, then set down her fork and wiped her lips with her napkin.
“I dated someone for five years,” she said.
His gaze didn’t flinch.
“Are you still in touch?”
“No. He wanted a world I couldn’t give him. We were supposed to move to Seattle together. I backed out a week before.”
“You always did hate the rain.”
That pulled a laugh from her, cautious but real.
“You remember that?”
“I still remember the way you’d refuse to carry an umbrella, even when it poured. You said it made you feel trapped.”
“Still does.”
He sipped his coffee, watching the way she pushed her food around. There was something in her eyes flickering between comfort and caution.
“Why are you really here, Ellis?” she asked. “You’ve got a life most people would kill for. Why dig up the past?”
“Because not everything I left behind should have been buried.”
She went quiet, absorbing that.
“Then you never told me what you thought when I left.”
He tapped a finger against the side of his cup.
“I was angry for a long time. But then the anger turned into something worse: distance.”
“Distance from what?”
“From feeling anything real.”
She blinked, startled by the honesty.
“I built a company and made more than I ever thought I would,” he continued. “But nothing ever made me feel the way I did when I was with you.”
“I didn’t even realize that until last night.”
“I’m not going to pretend nothing happened between us,” she said slowly. “But I also can’t pretend everything’s the same.”
“I don’t want it to be. I want something new, if you do too.”
Fay didn’t answer. Instead, she looked down at her plate, then back at him.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Just come.”
They paid and left the cafe. They walked two blocks to a small art gallery tucked between a florist and a wine shop. Fay pulled out a key and unlocked the door.
“This is mine,” she said, stepping inside.
The space was modest: white walls, exposed beams, and easels covered with drop cloths. Paint stained the wooden floor, and sunlight poured through the skylight. Raw canvases leaned against the far wall.
“You own this?”
“Rented for now. I curate local shows and paint when I can.”
He walked deeper into the room, letting his fingers trail along the edge of a frame.
“You always said you wanted your own space.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever get it,” she said behind him.
He turned to face her.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
“Because if you’re serious about this—about not burying what we had—I needed you to see who I am now.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then he stepped closer, closing the distance between them.
“I see you.”
The words, simple as they were, landed deeper than anything else he could have said.
“Ellis…” she whispered, her voice catching. “I’m scared.”
“So am I,” he said. “But I’d rather risk everything than walk away again.”
She looked up, her eyes glassy but steady.
“Then don’t walk away.”
He took her hand and tangled their fingers.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time in years, neither of them was running.
Ellis stood in the center of the gallery, surrounded by bursts of color and half-finished canvases. It was Fay who held his attention.
She moved through the space like she belonged there. She was confident, grounded, and utterly unlike the girl he once knew, but somehow even more captivating.
“I have a show in two weeks,” she said, lifting the corner of a cloth. “Group exhibition. A few local names. Nothing big.”
“Why not something solo?” he asked.
“Because I’m not there yet,” she glanced back. “And because I like the collaboration. It keeps me from getting too lost in my own head.”
He stepped closer, careful not to touch anything.
“You ever sell your own work?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “I don’t paint for profit. I do it because it’s the only thing that ever made sense, even when everything else didn’t.”
Ellis looked around the space again.
“What if you didn’t have to worry about making it work?”
“I already don’t,” she said. “I’ve got savings and a few grants. I’m not struggling.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” she said, crossing her arms. “But if you’re about to offer to buy me a building or fund my next ten years of rent, don’t.”
“I wasn’t,” he said.
“I know what that would sound like.”
She leaned against the wall, eyes narrowed slightly.
“Then what are you offering, Ellis?”
“Time. Support. Not a handout. You don’t need saving; I get that,” he said. “But you do deserve someone who shows up.”
Fay studied him for a long moment, her gaze unreadable.
“You always knew how to say the right thing.”
“I never said enough when it actually counted. I won’t make that mistake twice.”
Her expression softened, just barely.
“I don’t want you to think I’m testing you. I’m not. I’m just careful now.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I do,” she said, stepping away from the wall. “Because if we’re going to try this again, I need to know I can trust the version of you standing in front of me. Not the memory.”
“You can, Fay.”
Fay turned, walking toward a tall shelf near the window. She pulled down a small wooden box and handed it to him.
“Open it,” she said.
He lifted the lid. Inside were old photographs, yellow-edged and curled. Some of them he recognized: snapshots from college, blurry dorm selfies, and one of him asleep with a book on his chest.
There were others he hadn’t seen: one of her painting in a sunlit studio, another of her in a crowd at a protest, her eyes fierce.
“I kept them,” she said, “even when I didn’t think I should.”
Ellis closed the lid carefully.
“Why show me this now?”
“Because I want you to see I didn’t forget. I just didn’t know how to hold on and move forward at the same time.”
He nodded once, the weight of her words settling in.
“Then let’s figure it out together.”
Fay’s phone buzzed from the counter. She glanced at it, then sighed.
“I promised I’d help hang pieces at the community center this afternoon. One of the artists is showing his students how to frame their work.”
“Do you want company?”
She looked surprised.
“You’d come?”
He shrugged.
“I’m not terrible with a hammer.”
Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say no but couldn’t find a reason.
“All right, sure. Just don’t wear anything you care about.”
Ellis followed her outside. The sun had shifted lower, casting long shadows. She drove an older hatchback with a cracked rearview mirror.
When he climbed into the passenger seat, he had to adjust his knees to fit.
“I haven’t ridden in a car without tinted windows in years,” he said, glancing around.
Fay laughed.
“Welcome back to civilian life.”
The drive took them to a part of town Ellis wouldn’t have recognized without a GPS. The community center was a modest brick building with faded murals and a small parking lot.
Inside, the air smelled of tempera paint and sawdust. Children darted between easels, supervised by a wiry man in paint-streaked jeans. Fay introduced him as Matteo.
After a quick exchange, she handed Ellis a small toolkit and pointed to the far wall.
“Frames go up there. Make sure they’re level.”
He got to work, keeping quiet and listening to the chatter of students. Occasionally, a burst of laughter erupted from the other side of the room.
Fay moved easily among them, offering advice and gently correcting brush strokes. She made everyone feel like their work mattered.
An hour passed before she joined him again, wiping her hands on a rag.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he said, holding up the level. “I might have actually learned something today.”
“You didn’t seem out of place.”
“I am out of place. I’m just good at pretending.”
She tilted her head.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
He looked at her, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“You always knew when I was putting on a show.”
“I still do.”
They finished hanging the last frame before the sun dipped below the horizon. The kids were packing up now, some waving as they left. Matteo clapped Ellis on the back.
“Not bad for a rich guy,” Matteo mumbled.
Ellis and Fay stepped outside together as the sky turned violet.
“Dinner?” he asked.
“I have groceries,” she said. “You cook?”
“I have a chef.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I can learn.”
She smiled, and this time it reached her eyes.
“All right. But I’m not responsible if you burn my kitchen.”
They drove in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence filled with understanding—the kind that didn’t need filling.
Back at her place, she handed him a cutting board and a knife. He chopped vegetables while she stirred something over the stove. It was domestic, simple, and far removed from his usual world.
It didn’t feel real, but it was. For the first time in years, he didn’t want anything else.
Ellis leaned against the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up and a dish towel slung over his shoulder. Fay stood at the sink rinsing the last of the dishes. Her bare feet tapped the tiled floor.
The quiet between them was easy now—not heavy with unspoken things, but comfortable and settled. Still, something flickered in her eyes when she turned back to him; a thought she hadn’t voiced yet.
“You’ll be leaving soon,” she said, drying her hands.
“I canceled my flight,” Ellis replied.
Her brows lifted a fraction.
“You had a flight?”
“I did. Monday morning. But I pushed it indefinitely.”
She leaned against the opposite counter and folded her arms.
“You don’t do that. You plan everything.”
“I used to.”
“What changed?”
“I don’t want to live by deadlines anymore. Not if it means missing this.”
He gestured vaguely between them.
“You always were all or nothing.”
“I still am.”
She hesitated, then crossed the space between them and reached into the drawer beside him.
“I want to show you something. But you have to promise not to laugh.”
“I haven’t laughed at you once.”
She pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to him. It was aged and crinkled, the edges soft from time.
When he opened it, he found a sketch—a rough pencil drawing of an apartment above a bookstore. There was a balcony with potted plants, a row of windows, and two chairs facing the skyline.
“This was my dream,” she said quietly. “Back in school, I told myself I’d get there one day.”
He stared at the drawing, then at her.
“You still want this?”
“I think I want something like it. But maybe not alone this time.”
The words hit him like a pulse through his ribs.
“I bought a place in Tribeca last year,” he said slowly. “Penthouse. It’s got a rooftop terrace, but it’s cold. Empty.”
She tilted her head.
“Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I’m thinking of selling it.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re not serious.”
“I am. I want something that feels like home. That sketch… that’s what home looks like to me now.”
Fay drew in a breath.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not trying to prove. I’m trying to build.”
She stepped back, watching him carefully.
“It’s been less than a week, Ellis.”
“I know. But this isn’t new. What we had… it’s just been waiting.”
He folded the paper and handed it back, but she pushed it into his coat pocket instead.
“Keep it,” she said. “Just in case.”
