Ghosts Of Girlfriends Past 🔔

The air in the ballroom was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and the kind of forced cheer that only exists at high-society weddings. Connor Mead, a man who treated hearts like disposable cameras—clicking once and moving on—stood by the bar, nursing a scotch. He wasn’t here for the romance; he was here because his brother, Paul, was the only person left who still believed Connor had a soul.

"You told her your grandmother died," Allison corrected, pointing to the calendar. "For the third time that year. Look at her face, Connor. She didn't believe you. She just realized that the man she loved was a coward who couldn't say 'I’m bored.'"

The haunting didn’t start with a chill or a bang. It started with a scent: Midnight Jasmine . "You always did prefer the cheap stuff, Connor." Ghosts of Girlfriends Past

They flickered through the years like a glitching film reel. He saw the faces he’d blurred out: the intern who lost her job because he forgot to tell her the meeting time; the artist who stopped painting after he told her her dreams were 'unrealistic' over a breakup text.

"Melanie," Connor whispered. "I told her I had a family emergency." The air in the ballroom was thick with

"Allison?" he croaked. "You’re... you’re supposed to be in Duluth. And forty."

He froze. Standing beside him was Allison Vandermeersh. She looked exactly as she did in 1989—frizzy hair, braces, and a "Save the Whales" t-shirt. She was his first heartbreak, or rather, the first heart he broke. "You told her your grandmother died," Allison corrected,

He put down the glass, smoothed his tuxedo, and started walking toward the one woman who knew exactly who he was—and was still waiting to see if he’d finally grow up.