Five Years Later
The glass-and-steel skyline of London looked different from the window of a private jet than it did from a rain-slicked sidewalk.
Elara Vance adjusted the cuff of her cream-colored blazer, the silk smooth against her skin. On her lap sat a leather-bound portfolio containing the most ambitious project of her career: The Vane International Headquarters.
"Mama, look! The Big Ben!"
Elara turned, her heart softening instantly. Sitting across from her was Leo, a five-year-old boy with a messy mop of dark hair and a pair of piercing, molten-grey eyes that Elara spent every day trying to forget.
"I see it, Leo," she whispered, smoothing his hair. "We're almost there."
"Are we going to see the big towers you draw?" Leo asked, his eyes wide with wonder.
"Yes, baby. But remember what we talked about? When Mama is at work, you stay with Nanny Rose. And we don't tell anyone our last name unless I say so."
Leo nodded solemnly. He was too smart for his age—a trait he certainly hadn't inherited from the Vance family who had discarded them like trash.
Two Hours Later: The Boardroom of Vane International
Elara stepped out of the elevator on the 60th floor. The clicking of her red-soled heels on the marble floor sounded like a war drum. Five years ago, she had been kicked out of her home with nothing. Today, she was the Lead Architect of Aria Design Firm, and she was here to claim her crown.
"Ms. Vance? They are waiting for you," a nervous-looking assistant said, gesturing toward the heavy oak doors.
Elara took a deep breath. She had spent five years building this version of herself. She was a shield of ice and professional brilliance. Nothing could crack her.
She pushed the doors open.
The boardroom was filled with men in dark suits, but her eyes immediately locked onto the man at the head of the table. He wasn't wearing a matte-black mask today.
Silas Vane was more devastatingly handsome than her memories had allowed. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and his presence took up all the oxygen in the room. He was looking at a file, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look like a bored king.
"You're late," he said, not even looking up. His voice—that same dark, velvet baritone from the gala—hit Elara like a physical blow.
"I believe I am exactly on time, Mr. Vane," Elara replied, her voice steady and cold.
Silas finally looked up.
The pen in his hand froze. Those grey eyes—the eyes Leo looked at her with every morning—narrowed. A flash of something—recognition? Confusion? Desire?—flickered in them for a split second before turning back into cold steel.
"You're the architect?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. He stood up, his tall frame towering over the table. He walked toward her, his gaze scanning her from her polished heels to her defiant eyes. "You look familiar."
Elara didn't flinch. "I have a very common face, Mr. Vane. Now, shall we discuss the blueprints, or are we going to waste time on small talk?"
Silas leaned in, his scent—sandalwood and expensive bourbon—wrapping around her just like it had five years ago.
"I don't do small talk, Ms. Vance," he whispered, his eyes dropping to her lips. "I do results. Let's see if you're as good as your reputation suggests."