I Don’t Want the Reunion Voucher You Never Meant to Give Me Chapter 01

I Don’t Want the Reunion Voucher You Never Meant to Give Me Chapter 01

Adrian Cole’s favorite game was the “Reconciliation Mystery Box.”

Every time we fought, he’d block me for three days, then send me a link.

[Draw ‘Better Luck Next Time’—leave me alone.]

[Draw a Reunion Voucher—I’ll grudgingly make it up to you.]

I’d drawn Seven Days of Silence. I’d drawn a Public Apology. I’d drawn him tossing me a careless “Talk later” while he ate dinner with another woman.

The sixth time I drew a Reunion Voucher, Adrian pulled me into his arms, grinning, lazy and smug.

“See, Elise? No matter how bad your luck gets, you always end up back with me.”

I thought he was just being stubborn.

Then I saw the mystery box he’d custom-built for the new intern, Ivy Sinclair.

Her page had only one prize.

[Adrian Cole’s Unconditional Favor—Redeemable Once.]

Odds of winning: 100%.

When Ivy accidentally spilled my coffee, he shielded her and said it was fine.

When my hand scalded red, he frowned at me like I was the inconvenience.

“You’re not some little girl anymore. Can you stop acting like you need to be coddled?”

That night, he sent the seventh link, same as always.

[Open it. Draw the Reunion Voucher and come home.]

I stared at the message for a long time. And I never clicked it.

Instead, I blocked him.

The seventh time, I was finally ready to let myself go.

…

I’d packed half my clothes when the door lock clicked.

Adrian walked in with a paper bag, saw the suitcase by the entryway, and his face went dark.

“What is this supposed to mean?”

He slammed the door, crossed the room, and shoved his phone screen an inch from my face.

In the chat thread, the red exclamation mark next to his last message still glared at me.

“You blocked me. You’re packing your bags.”

He loomed over me, voice tight with anger. “Elise. What exactly are you trying to do?”

My voice came out flat.

“Nothing.”

He froze for a second.

Before, all it took was one cold question from him and I’d start explaining myself.

I’d go on about why he’d protected Ivy, how hot that coffee really was, and end up crying, begging him to admit he cared at least a little.

But this time, I said nothing.

He studied me for a few seconds, like he didn’t recognize this version of me, then his mouth curled.

“Nothing, huh?”

“You’ve gotten bold, Elise.”

“Used to be, you’d draw Seven Days of Silence and by the next morning you’d be stalking my Instagram from a burner account. This time you’re really committing to the act.”

I pulled my hand back instead of letting him take it. “Why are you even here?”

“To make it up to you.”

He said it like it was obvious, unscrewing a tube of ointment and leaning down to apply it to my burned hand.

“Doesn’t it hurt? Coffee gets thrown at you and you don’t even move the cup out of the way?”

I looked at him.

“You were standing right there.”

He paused, then laughed.

“So what? You want me to fire her over this?”

“She’s fresh out of school, scared white as a sheet, and you’re going to hold that against her?”

He blew gently on the back of my hand, then slid my favorite chocolate hazelnut cake across the table toward me.

“Eat a bite. Calm down.”

“Your stomach’s bad enough without you starving yourself over a breakup—I’m the one who ends up dealing with it.”

That line sounded too much like the old days.

In college, my stomach used to cramp up, and he’d carry me two blocks to the ER on his back.

Every time he hurt me after that, he’d pay it off with some scrap of that old tenderness.

I let myself be talked down by these half-real, half-staged bits of kindness—telling myself he cared, while quietly wiping the blade clean after he’d used it on me.

I asked, “Why does her mystery box only have one prize—Unconditional Favor?”

“It’s just a little game.”

“Mine’s supposedly a game too. Why does every prize in it punish me?”

He leaned back into the couch and pulled me down beside him.

“Because you can take it. Ivy’s thin-skinned—she’d cry all night over ‘Better Luck Next Time.'”

“You’re different. You’re the mature one.”

Mature again.

Every time he called me mature, it meant he wanted me to give something up.

I pulled my hand back.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be mature anymore.”

He looked at me for a few seconds, then laughed, suddenly.

“Fine. I’ll keep you around even if you’re not mature. Just unblock me when you’re done throwing a fit.”

“Don’t make me go digging through your phone.”

The words had barely landed when his phone rang.

“Ma Lune” flashed on the screen.

He picked up almost instantly, the lazy edge gone from his voice.

“Why are you crying? Slow down, I’m listening.”

I never heard what Ivy said. Adrian stood, grabbed his jacket.

I looked at the cake, one slice cut, the rest untouched.

“Weren’t you here to make it up to me?”

“She’s running a fever, alone in the dorm. I’m going to check on her.”

He leaned down and straightened my collar.

“Finish the cake. Don’t forget the ointment.”

“Don’t compare yourself to her—she needs me. You don’t.”

At the door, he turned back.

“And don’t block me again. You can throw all the fits you want, but whether we break up is my call.”

The door shut. My phone buzzed with a new mystery box link.

Adrian’d drawn it for me himself.

[Congratulations! You’ve won: Forgive Adrian Cole, and proactively ask after Ivy Sinclair’s health.]

Underneath, he’d added:

[See? Even fate knows you can’t let go of me.]

I stared at that line, then dumped the untouched cake and the ointment straight into the trash.

Then I took off the promise ring I’d worn for five years and buried it at the bottom of my suitcase.