The coffee burns my tongue, but I don't flinch. I've learned to hide every reaction, every flicker of emotion behind the mask I've worn for so long it feels like skin. The boardroom is filling up around me, expensive suits and fake smiles, everyone positioning themselves for whatever power play is coming next. "Did you hear?" Marcus leans over, his breath reeking of the breakfast burrito he scarfed down in the elevator. "New VP of Operations starts today. Apparently she's some hotshot from the San Francisco office." I scroll through my phone, only half-listening. We get new executives every six months. They come in with their revolutionary ideas, their disruption strategies, their synergistic bullshit. Then they either conform or quit. It's always the same dance. "She's supposedly a real hardass," Marcus continues, oblivious to my disinterest. "Cleaned house in every department she's touched. Word is, nobody's safe." Now that gets my attention. I've spent three years climbing to Senior Director of Marketing at Meridian Tech. I've played the game perfectly, networked flawlessly, delivered results that made the C-suite drool. I'm untouchable. Or so I thought. The door opens, and the room falls silent. I don't look up immediately—another power move I've mastered. Let them wait. Let them wonder. But then I hear her voice, and my blood turns to ice. "Good morning, everyone. I'm Eliza Chen, your new VP of Operations." My head snaps up so fast I nearly drop my phone. It's her. Ten years haven't changed her as much as I'd hoped. She's still beautiful in that sharp, dangerous way—all clean lines and fierce intelligence. Her dark hair is shorter now, cut in a sleek bob that frames her face like a weapon. Those eyes, though. Those eyes are exactly the same. Dark and piercing, the kind that see straight through every lie, every carefully constructed facade. The kind that saw through mine when we were eighteen. She's scanning the room, making eye contact with each person, asserting dominance the way apex predators do. Professional. Confident. Completely in control. Then her gaze lands on me, and for just a fraction of a second, something flickers across her face. Recognition. Surprise. And something else. Something that looks a lot like rage. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by cool professionalism. She doesn't acknowledge me, doesn't pause, just continues her sweep of the room like I'm nobody. Like I'm nothing. It shouldn't hurt. After what I did, I have no right to expect anything else. "I've reviewed the quarterly reports," she continues, her voice crisp and authoritative. "And I'll be frank—I'm not impressed. This company has been coasting on legacy success while our competitors innovate circles around us. That changes now." She clicks to the first slide of her presentation, and I try to focus, try to be present, but my mind is spiraling back ten years to a different version of us. To summer nights and stolen kisses. To the way she laughed, head thrown back, completely uninhibited. To the moment she told me she loved me, her eyes shining with a trust I knew I didn't deserve. To the look on her face when I destroyed her. "Each department will undergo a comprehensive review," Eliza is saying. "I'll be meeting with directors individually over the next two weeks. Starting with Marketing." Of course. Of fucking course. Her eyes meet mine again, and this time there's no mistaking the message. This isn't coincidence. This isn't fate. This is deliberate. She's here for me. The meeting continues for another forty minutes, but I don't hear any of it. I'm too busy watching her, cataloging every change, every similarity. The way she gestures when she speaks. The slight furrow between her brows when someone asks a stupid question. The ring on her right hand—not her left, I notice, and hate myself for the relief that floods through me. When it's finally over, I try to slip out quickly, but her voice stops me cold. "Mr. Ashford. A word?" The room clears out fast, everyone else suddenly very eager to be anywhere else. Marcus shoots me a sympathetic look on his way out. If only he knew. Then it's just the two of us, separated by twenty feet of conference table and ten years of history. "Eliza," I start, but she holds up one hand. "In this building, you'll address me as Ms. Chen or VP Chen. Are we clear?" The formality is a slap, but I deserve it. "Crystal." "Good." She gathers her materials with precise, controlled movements. "Your departmental review is scheduled for Friday at nine AM. I expect a comprehensive presentation on all current campaigns, budget allocations, and performance metrics for the past eighteen months. Don't be late." "I won't." She starts toward the door, and I know I should let her go, should maintain the professional distance she's establishing. But I can't. Not after all this time. "Eliza—" I catch myself. "Ms. Chen. Did you know? When you took this position, did you know I worked here?" She stops, her back still to me. For a long moment, she doesn't move, doesn't speak. Then she turns, slowly, and the look in her eyes makes my chest tighten. "Of course I knew, Caden." Her voice is soft now, almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse. "Why do you think I took the job?" Then she's gone, leaving me alone in the conference room with the ghost of who I used to be and the certain knowledge that everything I've built is about to come crashing down. Again. ---