Part 2Revenge in Full Bloom

"Hayes! Long time no see. How have you been keeping?"

Nathan greeted me like an old college buddy. He adjusted his lapels with deliberate care, making sure the heavy luxury timepiece on his wrist caught the light.

His bespoke suit, his limited-edition watch—he radiated an aggressive, nouveau-riche opulence. Clearly, my old mentorship hadn't stuck; he still hadn't learned that true class didn't need neon signs.

"I’ve been back for two years, Nathan. What can I get you?"

He ordered a bunch of calla lilies, then stood in silence, watching me wrap them.

He was unrecognizable from the shivering, starving art student who had accidentally knocked over a jar of watercolor wash in my studio years ago. Back then, he was drowning in tuition debt, surviving on instant ramen and pity grants.

I’d taken him under my wing. I even helped him smooth things over with the gallery director when he blew his final portfolio review.

Elena had sworn up and down that he was just a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, grinding his way through. She insisted there was nothing between them, offering to have him blacklisted from the gallery circuit if his presence made me uncomfortable.

I knew what it was like to claw your way up from the dirt. I didn't have the heart to crush him.

That winter, when he showed up to the studio in a paper-thin jacket, shivering so hard his teeth chattered, I brought him home for dinner.

"Elena made a pot of stew," I’d told him. "Stay."

Elena had been furious. She dragged me out to the balcony, her voice a furious hiss.

"Hayes, what is wrong with you? Why are you dragging him into our home?" she demanded. "We’re completely over. This is just humiliating for me!"

I had patiently reasoned with her: "The kid was about to pass out from hunger in the studio. It’s just dinner. I’ll run it by you next time."

To protect Nathan’s fragile, bruised pride, I never once used the word charity. I told him the gallery was paying him an advance on an internship stipend. I even lent him my finest custom-tailored suit so he could attend an elite patron's gala.

I still remember the way he stood in front of the mirror in that suit, staring at his reflection for an eternity.

His eyes had burned with a terrifying hunger.

At the time, I thought it was just youthful ambition. Looking back, I realized it was pure, unadulterated greed.

I finished wrapping the lilies and held them out. He didn’t take them.

"You know, Hayes, this place is doing pretty poorly, isn't it? Life must be rough," Nathan sneered, his lips curling into a condescending smirk. "You’re still as stubborn and rigid as ever. Who sells flowers in a neighborhood like this? Why don't you open a proper lounge?"

He reached into his breast pocket with deliberate slowness and pulled out a checkbook.

"Look. I’ll buy you out. Take the cash and go do something else with your life. Fifty thousand? Sound fair?"

I met his gaze, my expression completely flat.

"Nathan. I only ever wanted the life I have."

His brow twitched. "Feeling insulted? Fine. A hundred thousand. But you have to leave town."

My expression hardened. I pulled the flowers back off the counter.

"Get out. And don't ever come back."

Nathan slammed his hand down, swatting the bouquet out of my grasp. The stems hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Hayes, don't play the saint with me! You think I don't know what you're doing?" he spat, his face flushing an ugly, mottled red. "You crawled back because you couldn't survive out there, and now you’re sniffing around Elena again!"

He dropped all pretense of civility.

"Elena is my wife now. What makes you think she’d ever look back at a washed-up hack like you? You don't belong in this world anymore. As long as I'm breathing, you're never getting back in."

I let out a weary sigh and flicked a glance toward Miles, who was already white-knuckling a pair of pruning shears behind the counter.

Elena was ancient history to me. Why was this man so hell-bent on living in the past?

It wasn't until I threatened to call the police that Nathan finally stormed out, swearing under his breath.

His visit left a sour, metallic taste in my mouth. But the moment I unlocked our front door, my wife rushed out to greet me with open arms.