Caught Again

Four Years Later 

The time passed in a blur of hospitals, job applications, and quiet nights. My mother was recovering slowly, and I had managed to rebuild a small, contained life out of the wreckage.

The moving trucks finally stop on the wide street of a suburban neighborhood. The engine sighed, a final sound of heavy effort. My eyes flick to the back seat. “This is it, baby.” I whisper with a shaky smile, leaning back to touch the small, warm body in the car seat.

Light, my son, stares out the window at our new house, a small, quiet fear in his big blue eyes. He was four, built like a miniature god, with eyes the color of a midnight ocean. Nerves flutter wildly in my stomach. Light. My sunshine, my reason for breathing, my constant reminder of that reckless week in Bora Bora.

This is the fresh start we need. Far away from old ghosts, old mistakes, and the constant fear of recognition.

We spend the entire day arranging boxes, the cardboard smelling dusty and new. I watched Light sleep peacefully that night—curled up tight, already claiming this new home as his. He was strong, happy, and utterly perfect.

By morning, Emma arrives—my best friend, now my roommate. We had a plan. She’d watch Light while I work, since her job is remote. She was my rock, the only person who knew the truth about Light’s paternity.

“I like it. Cozy,” she grins, taking a sip as I place a hot cup of coffee in front of her.

“Are you sure you’re okay with Light?” I ask, sipping mine, the hot coffee burning my tongue, a necessary pain.

“Yep. Your boy is an angel. And we split bills. Win-win.” She gave me a serious, reassuring look.

“Thank you, Em. If he wakes up, just microwave the waffles I made.” I kiss her cheek, grab my bag, and head out.

It’s my first day as an executive assistant. This was my attempt at 'professional.' My attempt at becoming the controlled woman I needed to be to keep our life stable. I exhale, pressing a hand over my pounding heart as I stare up at the glass skyscraper. It looked like a sheer sheet of dark glass slicing the sky.

Knight Group of Companies. The name hit me, cold and heavy. I hadn't chosen the name; the job agency had. It was a good job, good money. I swallowed the irony and marched inside.

Fancy gold lettering glitters above the massive doors.

I slip my lanyard over my neck, the badge feeling heavy and official, and the receptionist tells me to input a code for the executive floors. Up, up, up. My stomach lurched with the speed of the elevator.

In the elevator, I catch my reflection in the mirrored doors.

A black pencil skirt grazing midcalf, sheer stockings, high heels that hurt, white silk blouse—all tailored, all expensive, all a uniform.

Professional. Clean. Controlled. All the things I’m pretending to be. Inside, I was still the messy girl who wore anime shirts and ran away from a billionaire.

On the nineteenth floor, I step out. The space was quiet, all muted noise and competence. I force a smile. “Hi, I’m Willa Violet Moore. I’m starting today.”

The receptionist beams. “I’m Leona. Let me show you your desk—and Mr. Knight is waiting.”

My brows pull together. I check my watch. “Am I late?”

“Oh no. Mr. Knight sometimes sleeps here. You’re fine.” She leads me forward.

The office space is huge—partitions, massive desks, leather chairs, top-tier computers everywhere. Everything looked clean, white, and powerful.

“This is your table,” she gestures to a sleek white marble desk, positioned right near a set of imposing black double doors. “Drop your bag—we’re seeing Mr. Knight next.”

“Okay.” I swallow, fingers twisting together, the nervous habit I thought I had broken returning instantly.

Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t embarrass yourself. I repeated the mantra. I needed this job. I needed to be invisible, useful, and professional.

We reach the private office area, all white marble and floor-to-ceiling glass. The view was sickeningly high and beautiful. My jaw drops.

“Sam, is Mr. Knight in?” Leona asks the woman near the glass doors. Sam was sharp, blonde, and completely composed.

“He is.” Sam smiles, picking up the phone. “Mr. Knight, your new executive assistant is here.” A pause. She was listening intently. “Yes, sir.”

She hangs up. “You can go in.”

“This way, Willa,” Leona says gently.

We stop at the black double doors. Leona raises a hand and knocks twice.

My heart slams against my ribs, hard and fast. Don’t say anything stupid. Please, God.

“Come in,” a deep voice calls. The sound was low, commanding, and instantly familiar, sending a deep, unwanted resonance straight through my chest.

Leona pushes the doors open, and I step inside, forcing my eyes forward.

Familiar blue eyes lift from behind a massive mahogany desk—and everything inside me stops. The world tilted and went silent. The air was sucked out of the room.

The man sitting there was sharper, colder, and four years older, but undeniable. The same aristocratic nose, the same sharp jaw, the same predatory stillness.

“Willa Violet Moore,” Leona announces, her voice cheerful, unaware of the nuclear meltdown occurring right beside her. “This is Mr. Icen Evren Knight, President and CEO of Knight Group of Companies.”

I freeze. No breath. No heartbeat. Just a wall of shock.

I want to collapse dramatically on the floor—by suffocation or sniper fire, I don’t care. The only emotion was absolute, crushing dread.

His eyebrow arches slowly, a lazy, calculating movement. A smirk curves his lips as he leans back in his chair, completely in control. He didn't look surprised. He looked like he was expecting me.

“Hello, Willa.”

His voice. His eyes. The same hypnotic deep blue that ruined me four years ago. The voice that growled minx and commanded come.

It’s him. My missing-in-action prince charming. The father of my son. Shit.

Just like old times. I’m not dodging a bullet—I’m catching the same one I caught four years ago— straight in the chest. I was trapped.