The moment the door to Killian's office closed behind me, I walked like my heels weren't shaking. Like my spine wasn't splintering under the weight of memories. Like I hadn't just faced the ghost of a man who once shattered me and still had the nerve to wear my name like a second skin.
I didn't stop until I reached the rooftop of the building—a place I'd discovered early on when I needed to breathe. The city sprawled below, loud and alive, but up here, the chaos was distant. Muffled. Manageable.
Unlike the storm crashing through my chest.
I gripped the edge of the railing, trying to focus on the skyline instead of the echo of Killian's voice in my mind.
"I never stopped loving you."
A laugh escaped me. Not the amused kind. The kind that bordered on breaking. That kind of love wasn't safe—it was a wildfire. It burned and left ash. And I had no intention of being reduced to ash again.
"Hey. There you are."
I turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Tessa, my best friend and closest thing to a sister in this city, walked toward me, her brows knitted in concern. She was the one person who had witnessed every step of my rebuilding. From crying myself to sleep to finally learning how to smile without flinching.
"You weren't at your desk. I got worried," she said.
"I needed air," I replied, voice hoarse.
She studied me, then leaned beside me on the railing. "It's him, isn't it?"
I didn't answer, but I didn't have to. She knew.
"You okay?"
"No," I said truthfully. "But I will be."
She nodded. "Want to talk about it?"
I bit my lip. "He said he left to protect me. That his father was going to destroy me if he didn't walk away."
Tessa raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like something out of a mafia movie."
"I know."
"And do you believe him?"
That question stuck.
Did I?
I wanted to. God, a part of me—maybe the stupid, still-hopeful part—wanted to believe every word he said. That he was nineteen and scared. That he thought vanishing would keep me safe. That he never stopped loving me.
But I had learned to survive without fairytales.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I'm not the girl who used to forgive people just because they were broken too."
Tessa smiled faintly. "Good. Because that girl deserved better. And this woman you've become? She demands it."
I sighed, pulling my blazer tighter around me. "I just want to get through this job without falling apart."
Tessa bumped her shoulder into mine. "You will. And you're not alone."
We stayed there for a few more minutes until my phone buzzed. A new email.
Subject: Executive Coordination Request – From Mr. Rivers.
My stomach dropped.
Message:
Elara, I'd like to schedule a full team lead meeting with you and your department tomorrow at 9 a.m. Please confirm availability.
— Killian Rivers.
So formal. So professional. Like we hadn't just cracked open five years of buried emotion less than an hour ago.
I rolled my eyes and typed back:
Confirmed. See you then.
Then I locked my phone before I could throw it off the building.
The next morning arrived too quickly.
My alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., but I'd barely slept. I spent half the night staring at the ceiling, the other half debating which version of myself to be today—the composed executive or the girl who still remembered what his kiss tasted like in the rain.
Eventually, I settled on a black silk blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers. Strong. Elegant. Controlled. My armor.
By the time I walked into the conference room, Killian was already there, reviewing papers like we weren't pretending everything between us was just paper-thin professionalism.
He didn't look up as I took my seat beside him.
His cologne hit me first—warm spice and cedar. The same scent that used to linger on my pillows when he left for class back in college. Back when he used to write me poems on coffee-stained napkins.
"Morning," he said without looking.
"Morning," I replied, matching his energy.
One by one, the team leads trickled in, including Carla, our head of PR, who had no idea why I suddenly looked like I wanted to set someone on fire.
Killian took control quickly. His voice was crisp, confident, the kind that made people listen. He outlined the merger strategy, assigned department goals, and even asked the room for suggestions like a decent leader.
But not once did he look at me like he used to.
Not once did his voice soften.
It was like he'd placed the both of us in glass boxes—close enough to see, far enough to never touch again.
And yet…
Every time our fingers almost brushed over the presentation slides…
Every time our eyes nearly met during discussions…
Something pulsed beneath the surface.
At one point, Carla whispered, "Wow. He's intense. Is he single?"
I forced a smile. "I wouldn't know."
After the meeting, as people filed out, Killian stayed behind.
I pretended to gather my things slowly, hoping to escape first.
"Elara," he said again.
My name in his mouth still held too much power.
"Yes?"
His eyes met mine, darker now. "I'm not here to make your life difficult."
"Good. Because if you were, I'd make sure your stay was short."
His lips curved—just slightly. "There she is."
I narrowed my gaze. "Don't do that."
"What?"
"Act like we can pick up from where we left off. You buried that version of us."
He stepped closer. "I never stopped thinking about her."
"And I never stopped surviving her death," I said quietly.
A beat.
Then I walked away.
But I didn't walk fast.
Because some part of me still wanted him to follow.