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You Were My Goodbye Novel Cover

You Were My Goodbye

At a mutual friend's birthday celebration, a woman is forced into an awkward encounter with her former lover, Nico. He has since risen to power as the formidable Godfather of the Barzan family, appearing polished alongside his stunning fiancée. While his future bride taunts her about the life she walked away from, Nico remains icy, dismissing their history entirely. Hiding a significant scar on her wrist, she struggles to maintain her composure under the heavy gaze of high society.
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Chapter 2

"Why didn't you explain anything to him?"

My best friend Chiara was furious. I could hear it through the phone.

The dinner party had ended early. I stood outside in my coat, watching my breath turn to fog in the cold air.

"He has a fiancée now," I said.

Chiara went quiet. "A fiancée?"

"Yeah."

People trickled out in pairs and groups. Streetlights reflected off the snow like cracked glass.

"That's such a shame. After everything you did to see him again—"

"Chiara." I cut her off. "No one waits forever."

Some things are better left unsaid. They only get uglier.

The wind made my eyes water. I blinked and tried to rub the dryness away. "I'm giving up."

I had spent years crawling out of the mud, hoping to meet him again with my head held high. But it was too late.

"Okay," Chiara said softly. "Come home first."

It was below freezing. No taxis anywhere. My hands went numb within minutes.

Then I heard heels clicking on the pavement behind me, followed by a sweet voice: "Nico, the snow is beautiful."

"It's cold. Get in the car. I'll be there in a minute." That voice—I would know it anywhere.

"Hurry up, then."

She walked past me and gave me a long, meaningful look. Then she got into a nearby car, opened the door just enough to flash the ring on her right hand. It caught the light and blazed.

The Barzan heirloom.

It used to be on my finger. I gave it back to Nico when we broke up.

So she wasn't just his fiancée. She was the future lady of the Barzan family.

Everyone else had left. Only he and I remained. My ride still hadn't come.

Nico stood behind me in silence. Neither of us spoke. Under the streetlight, our shadows overlapped.

I found myself drifting back to the night we broke up.

Nico had been ambushed on his way to see me. He took a bullet.

His friend called me, voice harsh. "Nico's in the hospital. Get here."

"Is he going to die?"

A bitter laugh. "So if he's not dying, you're not coming?"

"That's not it. I just can't come. Take care of him."

"Valentina, he's already made his place in the family. Give him more time and he'll be the don. Why can't you just wait? Are you really that desperate for money? He did things for you that you can never repay. Did you forget all of it?"

His friend was practically screaming. Then the phone was snatched away and slammed down.

Yes. I was the one who left him. Of course he hated me.

"How much do you owe?" Nico's voice pulled me back to the present. Cold.

"None of your business."

I breathed in the freezing air. My throat, already raw from the drinks earlier, tightened, and I started coughing. The cold was biting. I doubled over, holding onto a lamppost. The alcohol churned in my stomach, and tears ran down my face.

Nico stood next to me, watching coldly.

A taxi pulled up. "Brooklyn?" I asked.

The driver leaned over. "Yeah."

I pushed myself up, caught my breath, and reached for the door handle. Then someone grabbed my arm and yanked me back. I fell into Nico's chest.

"What are you doing in Brooklyn?" he demanded.

Brooklyn was full of politicians and cops. Mafia families didn't go there.

I tried to push him away. He caught my wrist instead. His body heat seeped through his clothes into mine.

I struggled again but couldn't break free. I looked up at his shadowed face. "What does the Barzan don want to say?"

He pressed his lips together, his dark eyes calm and unreadable.

The wind howled, whipping my hair around. I smiled bitterly and said what he was thinking. "You're like everyone else. You think I came to the party looking for a sugar daddy, right?"

"Fifty thousand a month. Enough?" He cut me off, his face cold.

"What do you mean?"

Finally, a glint of mockery appeared in Nico's eyes. "Aren't you broke? Fifty or a hundred grand—just name your price if that's not enough."

I raised my hand and slapped him. The smack echoed through the night. A clear red handprint bloomed on his cheek.

In the distance, a woman shrieked. She threw open the car door and ran toward us.

"Nico, I don't need your money. I just need you to stay away from me."

I got into the taxi and left.

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