The summer in Crestfield was brutal. Even at eight in the evening, the air hit your face like the inside of an oven.
On one of the city's busier streets, a man in a food delivery uniform sat hunched over the handlebars of his electric bike. Sweat ran down his face and neck in steady streams, soaking through his shirt.
His name was Cole Harmon. He was thirty-five years old.
A failed business venture had left him eight hundred thousand dollars in the hole, and a mortgage that wasn't going anywhere had done the rest. Delivering food was the only option left that made any sense.
Another young delivery rider rolled up beside him and killed his engine.
"Hey, Cole. You're going to run yourself into the ground at this pace. Take a break, man."
Cole had barely slept in the past month. Sixteen-hour days had become routine, and his body was starting to collect the bill. He'd pulled over only because a wave of dizziness had come out of nowhere — just long enough to drink some water and let it pass.
But the moment his mind went still, it filled right back up. His wife. His kid. The mortgage. The debt.
He let out a long breath.
"Shane, it's different for you. You've only got yourself to worry about. I've got a family to feed and a mountain of debt on my back. I don't get the luxury of stopping."
Shane studied the older man's face — the gray pallor, the dark circles — and pressed anyway.
"I get it, Cole. I do. But look at you. If you burn out completely, your family loses the one person keeping things together."
"Oh, don't bother talking sense to the Order King." A middle-aged rider a few feet away cut in with a smirk. "If I could pull that many orders, I'd ride twenty hours a day too."
Cole caught the edge in the man's voice and said nothing. He kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling through the pending orders.
Another rider joined in.
"Seriously though, Cole — how do you do it? Share the secret. The rest of us are out here starving."
A third rider, who went by Richie, threw on a wide grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah, Order King — buy us all a drink and tell us how it's done!"
A few others started laughing and piling on.
"I'm heading out," Cole said flatly.
He didn't look at any of them. He swung back onto his bike and pulled into the street before the app could flag the order as late.
He hadn't made it two minutes down the road when the dizziness hit again — harder this time. His hands went loose on the handlebars, and the bike drifted sideways and clipped a building on the right side of the street.
Cole threw himself off just in time. He hit the pavement and rolled clear. No serious injuries, but the bike was done — something had bent in the frame, and it wouldn't move right anymore.
He didn't waste time standing there cursing his luck. He locked the bike to a nearby post, grabbed the delivery bag, and started jogging. His spare bike was back at the apartment. If he moved fast, he could still make the drop in time.
He ran the whole way.
The building he lived in was an older complex on the east side — the kind of place that had been built in a hurry and never quite fixed up. He took the stairs to the third floor, pulled out his key, and let himself in.
He was halfway across the living room when a man's voice stopped him cold.
It was coming from the bedroom.
*"After all these years, you still do this to me, baby."*
*"You always know exactly what to say. If you really feel that way, then leave Margaret and make it official."*
Cole's feet stopped moving on their own.
Margaret. His wife's name.
He stood very still.
The man's voice was familiar in a way that made his stomach turn — familiar enough that he needed a second to place it, as though his brain was resisting the conclusion.
*"We've talked about this. Margaret and I — that marriage was a business arrangement. It was never anything more than that."*
*"You said the same thing ten years ago. Ten years ago, I was pregnant with our son, and you left me to find someone else to fall back on. Now look at where the Harrington Group is. You don't need the Ashford family's connections anymore. So what's the excuse now?"*
The room seemed to tilt.
Cole stood in the hallway outside the bedroom door, and for a moment he couldn't feel the floor under him.
His son.
His son, who was nine years old. Who had his same stubborn cowlick. Who called him Dad every single morning.
His hands closed into fists.
He finally recognized the voice.
It was Derek Harrington.
His college classmate.
The man who ran the Harrington Group — one of the most well-connected firms in the city.
*"You don't understand how complicated this is. The Ashford family is woven into everything we do. A divorce doesn't just affect me — it affects the whole company."*
*"I don't care about your company. I care about our son growing up calling that nobody his father."*
The woman's voice climbed higher. Cole had been living with that voice for ten years.
*"I know, I know. I'm not going to let that go on forever. I promise you — I will end things with Margaret. For you and for our son."*
A soft laugh, low and deliberate.
*"Now that's what I like to hear."*
*"Come here."*
*"No. It's almost nine. He could be back any time. I told you — tomorrow, at the house, we'll have all the time in the world. You're the one who insisted on coming here. I've been anxious the whole time."*
*"Relax. He won't be back for hours. The delivery platform he works for is one of our subsidiaries. I had someone make sure his queue stays full until midnight. He's not going anywhere."*
Something in Cole's chest went very quiet.
*"Derek... don't you think that's going too far? You've been doing this to him for years."*
A pause.
*"What — do you feel sorry for him?"*
*"That's not what I said. I just — he's been good to me and to our son. That's all."*
The warmth drained out of Derek's voice entirely.
*"Let me explain something to you. If Cole Harmon ever figures out what's been going on, I need him to have nothing. No money, no connections, no leverage. A man with nothing can't cause problems. And if he ever does become a problem —"* a short pause, *"— problems can be handled."*
A quiet snort.
*"Though I'll admit, he's more capable than I gave him credit for. Keeping him down has cost more than I expected."*
Cole's jaw was clenched so tight it ached.
It all clicked into place at once — every door that had closed in his face, every deal that had fallen through, every strange streak of bad luck that had followed him since the year he got married.
He had been good at his job. Better than good. His boss at the time had told him he was on the fast track. Then, about six months after the wedding, everything changed. His supervisor started finding fault with everything he did. He was eased out before the year was over.
He'd gone into sales next, working twice as hard as anyone around him, and still every major account somehow ended up with someone else.
He changed industries. Same result.
He'd spotted what looked like a real opportunity — a growing market, good timing — and bet on himself. He was the only one in his circle who lost money on it.
He opened a restaurant as a last resort. Within a month, five new restaurants had appeared on the same block, cutting into everything. He'd buried himself in debt trying to hold on. When it finally collapsed, the food delivery job was what remained.
Ten years. And every single step of it had been engineered.
*"Zheng— Derek, did you lock the door when you came in?"*
*"Since when do I have to lock it? Has he ever come home early? You're worrying about nothing."*
*"I just have a bad feeling."*
*"Oh, so now you're nervous about getting caught by him? Should I be asking questions about that?"*
*"Don't start. Since the day our son was born, I've had Cole sleeping in the other room. I told him it was because a newborn needs quiet. When that stopped working, I told him I had a condition. He hasn't so much as touched me — not once in ten years. Not even that night I came home drunk."*
A beat of silence.
*"Not once?"*
*"How many times are we going to go over this? Not once. Never. Not even close."*
Her voice cracked slightly — genuine frustration, or something that sounded like it.
Derek's tone softened immediately.
*"Hey. Come here. I believe you. I do. It's just — knowing you've been living under the same roof as him all this time..."*
*"Then let me file the papers tomorrow. If it bothers you that much, I'll end it."*
*"No, no — don't do anything yet. I believe you, alright? Just give me a little more time."*
*"Right. Because you're afraid I'll make things messy and Margaret will start asking questions."*
She said it plainly, without heat. She already knew the answer.
*"Just a little more time. I promise you — the moment I've finished consolidating the Ashford assets, I'm done with Margaret. Done for good. Then I'll marry you properly, and we'll bring our son home to the Harrington name. You have my word."*
A long pause.
*"You've made that promise before. Get up. I need to go pick up our son from my mother's place."*
Cole stepped forward and pushed the bedroom door open.
The two of them looked up from the bed, clothes half-undone, and went completely still.
They stared at him.
He stared back.