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.

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

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. The air in the ballroom was thick with

The park faded. Connor was back at the bar, the ice in his scotch long melted. Across the room, Jenny was laughing at something the groom said. She looked up, her eyes meeting his. For the first time in his life, Connor didn't think about his exit strategy. "Allison

Each memory felt like a physical weight. He had always seen himself as a charming rogue, a man who left them wanting more. But through Allison’s eyes, he saw a trail of small, jagged ruins. He saw women who weren't just "past flings," but people whose confidence he had chipped away at just to feel tall.