Ayla's POV
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
The world tilted, and everything went silent: the hum of the AC, the faint tick of the clock, even my own heartbeat.
"Elena Morgan," I whispered.
My greatest fear.
My old high school bully.
And now…
My new boss.
"Any problem? How may I help you?" she said, her voice calm… almost amused.
The sound yanked me out of my daze.
"N-no… not at all," I stammered, crouching to pick up my fallen bag. My fingers fumbled, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I knew she saw it. I felt her gaze burning into my back.
"G… good morning, ma'am. I'm Ayla Davul. Your… your newly assigned secretary."
Her gaze lifted slow, deliberate.
When her eyes met mine, I nearly stepped back.
That stare. It was the same one from high school, the kind that made girls shrink in their seats.
A hundred thoughts crashed at once.
Does she remember me?
Will she mention the past?
Or worse… will she pretend it never happened?
"Good morning, Ms. Davul," she said finally, her voice low, smooth, slicing straight through the tension.
Ms. Davul?
Does she not remember? Or is she pretending?
She stood, shrugging off her suit jacket with the same grace she used to toss insults with. Even in heels, she felt taller, heavier, the weight of her presence pressing down on the room.
"I assume you were briefed about your duties?"
I nodded too fast. "Y… yes. I've read through the onboarding documents."
"Good."
She circled her desk, heels clicking against marble. Each step sounded like a countdown.
"I don't tolerate mistakes," she said. "I expect efficiency, discretion, and complete focus."
I swallowed. "Understood."
Her gaze lingered a moment too long, like she was searching for something in my face. Recognition, maybe. Or regret.
Then she turned back to her desk, already dismissing me.
"You'll report to the executive secretary in the west wing for orientation and official schedule."
"Yes, ma'am."
She was already back in her seat, eyes on her laptop. Typing. Dismissing.
My chest tightened.
Does she really not remember me?
Or am I just… not worth remembering?
"Anything else?" she said, without even looking up from her screen.
"No, ma'am."
She hummed softly, polite and distant. That's all.
I turned, forcing my feet to move. The click of my shoes sounded too loud, too small.
When the door shut behind me, I finally breathed shaky, uneven, like I'd been holding it for seven years.
"I thought I was starting a new life," I whispered under my breath. "But maybe this is just the continuation of the old one."
Elena's POV
"No. No. No way."
The words slipped out before I even knew I'd said them.
I slammed the laptop shut and shot to my feet. The chair screeched against the marble.
"Is this happening for real? Am I dreaming or in some kind of daze? Ayla Davul? After seven years? No, it can't be. It's definitely a dream," I said, lightly tapping my face.
That entire time, while she stood there stammering, trembling, I was staring at a blank screen, pretending to type. Just a blinking cursor mocking me.
I wasn't typing. I wasn't checking anything. I was just trying not to lose it.
"Why is she here?" My voice cracked. "Out of everyone in the damn world, why her?"
I paced once, twice, palms pressed to my temples.
"She can't be here," I muttered. "She can't. No. No, no, no… it could be anyone else but not her."
I snatched the employment file I had ignored days ago and flipped through it like a madwoman. And there it was, right on top. Ayla Davul.
I stared at the name like it was laughing at me.
"I should've checked," I muttered. "I told HR to pick someone capable, and the universe decides to hand me my past wrapped in a neat little file marked Secretary."
I swallowed hard.
"It's been seven years. Seven damn years. I was finally getting over her."
My voice cracked.
"And now she's… back. Not just back, but as the closest person to me at work."
I dropped the file on the desk, not sure if I felt panic, disbelief, or something dangerously close to joy.
"She's still the same," I whispered. "Soft. Gentle. Radiant. That voice. That awkward little smile. Those goddamn eyes…"
The corners of my mouth twitched before I could stop them.
God, I was smiling.
Before I could stop myself, I inched toward the door just enough to peek. Her back was to me as she waited for the elevator, bag in hand, posture too graceful for my sanity.
"Still so damn pretty," I breathed. "Prettier, even. And that walk…"
The elevator doors closed. She was gone.
I shut the door slowly and leaned my forehead against it, heartbeat all over the place.
"How am I supposed to survive in this company when she's here? Behave casually? Or professional? Me? With that smile in my office? I guess I'd better leave work immediately."
I groaned, knocking my head lightly against the door. "Elena, you are so screwed."
I backed away from the door, heart pounding like it was trying to break free from my ribs. The air still smelled faintly like her perfume, soft, floral, maddening.
Seven years of silence. Seven years of pretending I'd moved on from a girl who never really left my mind.
And now she was here.
I had to see her every damn day.
I sank into my chair, staring at the laptop screen that still blinked blank. Just like my mind.
"She remembers me," I whispered. "But which version? The one I hurt… or the one who…"
I stopped myself.
"Whatever side of me she remembers doesn't matter now," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "All I'm sure of is that Solaria Manhattan won't feel the same again."
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "Perfect. Just perfect…"
I dropped into my chair, staring at the laptop screen. The cursor blinked, steady and mocking, just like before. My reflection glared back from the black glass: all poise on the outside, chaos underneath.
"If this is a dream, can someone please wake me up? And if I'm trapped in some drama, can someone be merciful enough to beg the writer to give me a break?"
I let out a confused laugh, half-mad, half-nervous.
God… what twisted joke is the universe playing this time?