CHAPTER 4

Ava’s POV

Five years had passed, but New York still felt like it wanted to swallow me whole.

The skyline towered above as the cab turned down Flatbush Avenue, the glass and steel throwing back the morning sun. Damien’s small hand was wrapped around mine, his fingers sticky from the muffin Isa had bought him on the way.

“Mom,” he said, mouth full. “Are there parks here?”

“Of course,” I answered, forcing a smile. “Bigger than the one we had in Montana.”

His eyes lit up. “With swings?”

“Yes, with swings.”

Isa chuckled beside me, clutching her bag. “Don’t fill his head with fairy tales. You need to focus. It’s only an interview, Ava. Nothing more.”

I nodded, though my stomach twisted. “I know. But it’s the start we need.”

The cab pulled to a stop in front of a tall glass building. I stared up at it, nerves crawling under my skin.

Isa touched my arm. “We’ll wait at the café across the street. Take your time.”

I kissed Damien’s forehead. “Be good for Grandma.”

“I will,” he said, swinging his legs out of the cab.

I took a deep breath and walked toward the building. My heels clicked against the pavement, too loud, too sharp, echoing my nerves.

Inside, the lobby gleamed, polished marble stretching to the ceiling. The receptionist smiled politely as I gave my name and directed me to the elevator. My hands shook as I pressed the button.

The doors slid open and I stepped inside. My reflection stared back from the silver walls, pale, tense. I gripped my bag tighter.

The elevator hummed as it began to rise.

Halfway up, the lift slowed. The doors opened again.

Two men in black suits stepped in first. Tall. Stern. They didn’t glance my way. And then he entered.

Liam Reynolds.

My breath caught in my throat. The years had done nothing to soften him. Tall, broad-shouldered, sharp in a dark suit. His presence filled the small space, pulling the air from my lungs.

I froze. My heart hammered. I had seen him only twice before, but those moments had burned themselves into me. The contract. The hospital. His cold eyes.

And now, here he was. Inches away.

He didn’t look at me. His gaze was fixed ahead, unreadable. He didn’t recognize me. Relief and fear clashed in my chest.

My palms grew damp. I tightened my grip on my bag, praying the pounding of my heart wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.

The elevator doors closed. The silence was unbearable.

I stole a glance at him. The same strong jaw. The same stillness that unnerved me years ago. But there was something else now. A heaviness in his eyes, as if the world pressed harder on him.

I dropped my gaze before he could notice.

The numbers ticked upward. Each floor felt like a lifetime. My chest ached from holding my breath.

The elevator doors slid open and the men in black suits stepped out. Liam Reynolds was with them, walking ahead without looking at me. My heart was pounding but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause. By the time I stepped into the lobby, he was gone, and I forced myself to breathe again.

I tightened my grip on my bag and focused on where I was going. This was not about him. This was about me, about Damien, about starting over. I followed the directions on the paper in my hand and stopped in front of the reception desk.

“I’m here for the interview,” I said.

The receptionist gave me a polite smile. “Name?”

“Ava Morales.”

She checked her list and nodded. “Research Analyst position. Conference Room B, tenth floor. Take the elevator to your left.”

I thanked her and moved quickly, trying not to think about Liam, trying not to imagine him anywhere near the room I was walking into. But when I entered the conference room, my chest tightened.

There he was.

He was seated at the head of the long glass table, his presence dominating the room without effort. Two other men sat beside him, and a woman with sharp glasses flipped through a folder. My legs almost gave way, but I forced myself forward.

“Ms. Morales,” the woman said. “Please, take a seat.”

I sat down, clutching my bag in my lap, willing my hands not to shake.

The woman spoke first. “Tell us about your background. What makes you suitable for this role?”

I cleared my throat. “I studied business administration. For the past few years, I’ve been working freelance, mostly research-based projects. Collecting data, analyzing reports, preparing presentations. I’m detail-oriented, and I’m used to working with tight deadlines.”

She nodded, writing something. One of the men leaned forward. “Can you give an example of a project you handled under pressure?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “A logistics firm needed market research on competitors before launching a new service. They gave me three days. I collected the data, organized it into a clear report, and highlighted key risks. The launch went ahead successfully, and they used my recommendations for adjustments.”

The man scribbled notes.

Then Liam spoke.

“Market research,” he said, his voice calm but heavy, “is not just collecting data. It’s interpretation. What would you do if two reports gave you conflicting results?”

My throat went dry. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I would go back to the sources. Check reliability. Look at context, not just numbers. Sometimes the truth is not in the data but in the questions that were asked. I’d identify the gaps before presenting any conclusion.”

He studied me without a word, his gaze steady, sharp. My palms grew damp.

The woman asked the next one. “This role requires working closely with executives. You’ll handle confidential information. How do you deal with pressure from authority figures?”

I shifted in my seat. “By staying professional. Pressure is inevitable, but the work has to stay accurate. I try to focus on the result, not the weight of who is asking.”

“Even if it’s the CEO himself?” she asked, glancing toward Liam.

I swallowed hard. “Even then.”

The two men exchanged a look. Liam leaned back, fingers resting lightly on the table.

“What if,” he said slowly, “the CEO disagreed with your findings?”

My voice faltered. “Then… then I’d stand by the data. Respectfully. If I’m wrong, I’ll admit it. But if the work is solid, I’d defend it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was testing the edges of my answer. “So you would challenge authority?”

“Yes,” I whispered, then forced myself to raise my voice. “If it’s the truth, yes.”

The room was silent for a moment. The woman wrote something quickly. One of the men cleared his throat.

“Last question,” he said. “Why should we choose you over other candidates?”

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, the door swung open.

“Daddy!”

A small voice rang across the room. My head snapped around, and my chest clenched so tight I could hardly breathe. A little girl ran straight toward Liam.

Her hair was dark, her eyes bright, her smile wide. She jumped into his arms without hesitation, and he caught her easily, his whole face softening in an instant.

Diana.

My throat burned. My vision blurred. I gripped the edge of my chair so hard my fingers hurt. She was right there. My daughter.

“I told you to wait with Clara princess,” Liam said, his voice gentler than I had ever heard it.

“She was on the phone,” Diana said, pouting. “I wanted to see you.”

Liam sighed, but he smiled. “Alright, but you need to be quiet. I’m in a meeting.”

Diana glanced at me then, her eyes wide and curious. She stared, as if trying to place me, as if she could feel something. My heart pounded. I almost broke.

The woman on the panel cleared her throat. “Mr. Reynolds, should we—”

“It’s fine,” Liam said firmly. He set Diana down beside his chair. “We’ll continue.”

I tried to focus, but my hands were shaking. Tears threatened to spill, and I fought to hold them back. My voice caught when I spoke. “I… I believe you should choose me because I don’t stop when things get hard. I adapt. I work until the job is done right. And I… I know how to keep going, no matter what.”

My words stumbled, my breath uneven.

Liam’s voice cut through. “Take a moment, Ms. Morales.”

The calm authority in his tone grounded me, just for a second. I closed my eyes, pulled in a breath, and forced my voice steady again. “What I mean is, I know how to survive pressure. And I know how to use it to deliver results.”

He watched me closely. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but something flickered in his eyes. Diana was still staring at me, silent now, as if sensing something deeper.

The woman closed her folder. “Thank you, Ms. Morales. We’ll discuss and get back to you.”

Liam spoke before she could continue. “No need. She’s hired.”

The room went still.

The woman blinked. “Mr. Reynolds—”

“I said she’s hired,” Liam repeated, his tone final.

I froze, my breath catching. Hired. Just like that.

The others nodded reluctantly. Liam stood, lifting Diana into his arms again. “Report to HR this afternoon,” he said, his gaze steady on me.

I forced a nod, my legs unsteady as I rose. “Thank you.”

Diana leaned her head on his shoulder, but her eyes stayed on me until he turned away.

I walked out of the room, my chest tight, my vision blurry. Every step felt heavy. I had seen her. Heard her. Felt the pull of blood I could not claim.

And now I worked for Liam Reynolds.