The Ex Exception

The villa was beautiful. That was the problem.

White walls carved into the cliffside, overlooking water so blue it looked photoshopped. Bougainvillea cascading over every archway. The kind of setting designed for romance, for soft lighting and whispered promises and the absolute destruction of emotional boundaries Nadia Okoye had spent three years carefully constructing.

"You'll love it," Jasmine had said on the phone six months ago. "Santorini in June. Small wedding. Just our closest friends."

Jasmine hadn't mentioned that "closest friends" included Ryan Shaw.

Nadia's taxi wound up the narrow road toward the resort, and she rehearsed her composure like a closing argument. You're fine. You're over it. You're a mature adult who can spend five days in the same general vicinity as her ex-boyfriend without committing a felony.

She'd practiced this. In the mirror, in therapy, in the group chat where her three closest friends had given her a comprehensive pep talk that involved wine, explicit threats against Ryan's wellbeing, and a detailed escape plan if things went sideways.

The taxi stopped. She tipped generously, collected her luggage, and walked toward the registration desk with her shoulders back and her face carefully neutral.

That's when she saw him.

Ryan was standing at the concierge's desk in linen pants and a white button-down, his sleeves rolled to his elbows in that way he always used to wear them. His skin was darker than she remembered—he'd been traveling for work, probably, charming athletes into contracts in sunny climates. His hair was shorter. His jaw was sharper.

He looked good.

He looked annoyingly good.

Three years, and her first thought was still about how unfair it was that he got to walk around looking like that while she was supposed to feel nothing.

He turned. Their eyes met.

For exactly one second, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or the remnant of something softer—and then it shuttered closed like a door slamming.

"Nadia." His voice was flat. Professional. The voice he probably used with difficult clients.

"Ryan." She matched his tone. "Didn't know you'd be here already."

"Flight got in early."

"How nice for you."

The concierge looked between them with the dawning horror of someone who'd just realized they were standing in a blast radius.

"Ms. Okoye?" The woman's voice was carefully bright. "I have your room assignment. You're in Villa Sunset, just up the path."

"Thank you." Nadia took the key folder without looking at Ryan again. "I assume we won't be neighbors."

"Actually—" The concierge winced. "The wedding party is all in the same clust...