The champagne bubbles tickled my nose as I raised the glass to my lips, surveying the crowded penthouse through carefully neutral eyes. Seven years. Seven years since I'd left this city, this life, these people behind. And now here I was, back in the heart of it all, pretending my hands weren't shaking. "Maya! There you are!" Sophie's voice cut through the cocktail chatter as she swept toward me, her red dress a slash of color against the modern white décor. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Stop hiding in corners at your own welcome home party!" I forced a smile, the kind I'd perfected during countless business negotiations in London. "Not hiding. Observing." "Well, stop observing and start mingling. There are at least thirty people here who are dying to hear about your fancy European life." Sophie linked her arm through mine, her enthusiasm as boundless as it had been when we were college roommates. "Come on, I want you to meet—" The words died on her lips. I felt her entire body tense beside me, and I knew. Even before I followed her gaze across the room, even before my eyes landed on the tall figure standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, I knew. Derek Stone. The champagne glass slipped from my fingers. Sophie caught it with reflexes that would've impressed a professional athlete, but I barely noticed. Every cell in my body had frozen, locked in a moment I'd spent seven years trying to forget. He looked different. Older, obviously. The boyish softness had been carved away, leaving sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. His dark hair was shorter, more controlled. The custom suit probably cost more than my first car. But his eyes—those storm-gray eyes that had once looked at me like I was his entire world—those were exactly the same. And they were staring directly at me. "Maya, I can explain," Sophie said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. "I didn't know he was coming. Jasmine brought him. I would never have—" "It's fine." My voice came out steady, which was a minor miracle. "It's been seven years, Soph. Ancient history." It wasn't fine. It would never be fine. But I'd learned to lie convincingly in boardrooms across three continents, and I wasn't about to fall apart now. Derek was moving toward us. No, not toward us. Toward me. His gaze never wavered, cutting through the crowd like they didn't exist. People stepped aside without realizing it, drawn by whatever magnetic pull he'd always possessed. "I need air," I muttered, turning toward the balcony. "Maya, wait—" But I was already moving, my heels clicking against the marble floor with staccato urgency. The balcony door was fifteen feet away. Ten. Five. "Maya." His voice stopped me like a physical barrier. Deep, rough around the edges in a way it hadn't been before. I could keep walking. I should keep walking. Instead, I found myself turning, meeting those gray eyes with all the composure I could muster. "Derek." I kept my tone polite, distant. The voice I used with strangers. "I didn't expect to see you here." "I could say the same." He stood three feet away, close enough that I could smell his cologne—different from what he used to wear, something darker, more expensive. "Sophie didn't mention you were back." "Sophie doesn't tell you everything anymore." The words came out sharper than intended. "Things change." Something flickered across his face. Pain? Regret? It vanished before I could identify it. "Can we talk?" "We are talking." "Privately." "I don't think that's a good idea." "Please." The word sounded like it cost him something. "Five minutes." Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to walk away, to protect the carefully constructed walls I'd built around the Maya-shaped hole he'd left in my life. But there was something in his expression—something raw and desperate—that made me hesitate. "Five minutes," I agreed, hating myself for it. "Balcony." The night air was cool against my flushed skin as I stepped outside, the city sprawling below us in a carpet of lights. Derek followed, closing the door behind us. The sounds of the party became muffled, distant, like we'd entered our own private bubble. "You look good," he said quietly. "Different." "Seven years will do that." I crossed my arms, a defensive posture I couldn't quite suppress. "What do you want, Derek?" "I want to apologize." I laughed, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "Now? You want to apologize now? Seven years too late, don't you think?" "I know." He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting its perfect styling. "I know it's too late. I know I don't deserve—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "What I did to you at the engagement party was unforgivable." The engagement party. The words conjured memories I'd spent years trying to bury. The beautiful venue, the expectant crowd, the ring on my finger that had felt like a promise. And then Derek's voice, loud enough for everyone to hear: "I can't do this. I won't marry someone so... worthless. Someone who brings nothing to my life. Jasmine understands me in ways Maya never could." "You humiliated me," I said, my voice low but steady. "In front of everyone we knew. You called me worthless. You said you'd rather bond with anyone—literally anyone—than marry me. Then you walked out with Jasmine on your arm." "I was an idiot." "You were cruel." "Yes." He stepped closer, and I forced myself not to retreat. "I was cruel. I was stupid and scared and I made the worst mistake of my life." "Scared?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice. "Of what? Of me?" "Of how much I loved you." The confession hung in the air between us. "Of how much power you had over me. Of becoming my father—so consumed by love that I lost myself. So I pushed you away in the most brutal way possible. I chose Jasmine because she was safe. Because I didn't love her." The admission should have felt like vindication. Instead, it just hurt. "That's not an excuse." "No, it's not." He was close now, close enough that I could see the fine lines around his eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. "There is no excuse. But I need you to know that not a day has passed—not one single day—that I haven't regretted what I did." "What happened to Jasmine?" I asked, though part of me didn't want to know. His expression darkened. "We were together for six months. She was sleeping with my business partner the entire time. Took me for half a million dollars before I caught on." I should have felt satisfaction. Instead, I felt nothing but a weary kind of sadness. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. I deserved it." He reached out as if to touch my arm, then thought better of it. "Maya, I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But I'm asking anyway. Can we start over? Not as we were, but as... I don't know. Something." "Why?" The question burst out of me. "Why now? Because I'm back? Because I'm successful now? Because I'm not the naive girl you could crush?" "Because I've spent seven years trying to forget you and failing." His voice was raw, stripped of pretense. "Because seeing you walk into that room tonight made me realize I've been half-alive all this time. Because I'm hoping—praying—that maybe, somehow, you might give me a chance to prove I'm not that person anymore."