The Devil Remembers

Nora did not sleep that night.

She lay in the dark staring at the ceiling while Diana Blackwood's voice played over and over in her head like a song she could not switch off. The words echoed in the silence of her room, each one a fresh cut.

"Before my son gets any ideas about playing father."

She knows about Liam.

But how? Nora had been so careful. Three years of caution. Different city, different name on the lease, no social media, no contact with anyone connected to the Blackwood family. She had built her new life like a fortress, brick by brick, and somehow Diana had still found a crack. The woman was relentless, a predator who never forgot a scent.

Nora turned onto her side and looked at the small figure sleeping peacefully in the next bed.

Liam. Three years old. Dark hair, dark eyes, a little mouth that never stopped asking questions. He was the most important person in Nora's world and the most dangerous secret she carried. Every beat of her heart belonged to him, and every ounce of her fear was tied to the truth she hid.

Her son looked exactly like his father.

Anyone who had ever seen Ethan Blackwood would know it the moment they looked at Liam's face. Same strong jaw. Same serious eyes. Same way of going completely still when he was thinking. Nora had noticed it the first time Liam crossed his arms and frowned at his vegetables at dinner, and she had felt her heart crack a little at how unfair it all was. A boy who looked like his father had never once seen his father's face.

She reached over and gently fixed the blanket around his small shoulders. His breathing was soft, steady, innocent. He had no idea that his entire world could shatter with one phone call.

"Nobody is going to take you from me," she whispered. "Nobody."

The words felt hollow in the dark. She picked up her phone and stared at Diana's number still on her screen, her thumb hovering over the call button. Part of her wanted to confront the woman, to demand answers, to scream at her for daring to threaten what she had built.

She did not call back. Not tonight. Tonight she needed to think. Tonight she needed to breathe.

---

She arrived at the office early the next morning.

Her plan was simple. Get in before most people arrived, settle at her desk, and build a wall of work around herself so thick that nobody, including Ethan, could get close enough to disturb it. She would bury herself in spreadsheets, emails, reports. Anything to keep her mind occupied and her heart protected.

It was a good plan.

It lasted eleven minutes.

"You're early."

She did not look up from her screen. She had heard his footsteps in the corridor the moment he entered the floor, that familiar, measured stride she had once known better than her own heartbeat. She had already prepared herself for this.

"So are you," she said flatly.

Ethan stopped at the edge of her desk. She could see him in her peripheral vision, tall and unhurried in another dark suit, holding two cups of coffee. He set one down beside her keyboard without asking, the ceramic clinking softly against her desk.

She looked at it. Then at him.

"I remember how you take it," he said simply.

"I don't want your coffee, Ethan."

"It's just coffee, Nora."

"Nothing from you is ever just anything." Her voice was sharp, a blade meant to cut. She did not apologize for it.

He said nothing to that. She hated that he didn't try to argue because it meant he knew she was right. He always knew when he was crossing a line. He simply did not care.

She pushed the cup aside and kept her eyes on her screen. "Is there something work related you need from me or can I continue?"

He was quiet for a moment. She could feel him looking at her the way he always used to, that steady, patient look that used to make her feel like the most seen person in the world. Before she understood that being seen by Ethan Blackwood came at a very high price. A price she had paid in full.

"I reviewed your file," he said.

"My work file."

"Yes. Your work file." A pause. "You're good. Better than I expected."

She finally looked up at him. "Better than you expected or better than you remembered?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Regret? She could not tell anymore. "Both."

"Good," she said. "Then you know I earned this position and I don't need anything from you. Not coffee. Not compliments. Not conversation." She held his gaze, cold and steady. "We agreed to be professional. This isn't professional. This is you finding reasons to stand at my desk at seven in the morning."

A muscle moved in his jaw. She recognized that tension. He was holding something back.

She looked back at her screen.

After a long moment, she heard him walk away. His footsteps faded down the corridor, each one a small relief.

She let out a slow breath and pressed her fingers flat against the desk to stop them shaking.

Round one. She was still standing.

---

By midday, the office had picked up its normal rhythm and Nora had almost convinced herself the morning had not rattled her. The emails piled up, the phone rang, the world kept spinning. She was good at pretending.

Then Marcus appeared at her door with a grin.

"Lunch? There's a good place two buildings down. Best sandwiches in the city, I promise."

She genuinely liked Marcus. He was easy company, warm without being intrusive, and he asked nothing complicated of her. He was the kind of person who made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

"Sure," she said.

They were halfway to the elevator when she heard her name.

"Miss Hayes."

She turned. Ethan's assistant, a sharp-faced young woman named Clara, was walking toward her with a tablet clutched to her chest. Her heels clicked against the marble floor like a countdown.

"Mr. Blackwood needs you in the boardroom. There's a client presentation this afternoon and he wants you added to the team."

Nora blinked. "I just started yesterday."

"Yes." Clara smiled thinly. "He's aware."

Marcus raised his eyebrows slightly. Nora could read his expression easily. In two years at this company, Ethan had never pulled a new employee into a major client presentation on their second day.

Never.

Not once.

"Tell him I'll be there," Nora said.

Clara nodded and walked away, her heels fading into the distance.

Marcus leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice. "Do you know him? From before?"

Nora kept her face perfectly still. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because in two years working here, I have never seen him bring anyone coffee." He said it lightly, but his eyes were watching her carefully. He was observant. That could be dangerous.

Nora picked up her bag. "We should get lunch before the presentation."

She walked ahead of him toward the elevator and did not look back.

---

The boardroom presentation went smoothly.

Nora spoke twice when Ethan directed questions toward her, and both times she answered clearly and confidently. She knew the material inside and out. She had prepared for months before even applying for this job.

She watched the clients respond to her well. They nodded, they smiled, they asked follow-up questions. She was winning them over. She watched Ethan watch her respond to them. His eyes never left her face.

When it was over and the clients had gone, the rest of the team filed out making small talk. Chairs scraped against the floor. Laughter echoed in the hallway.

Nora was last to leave.

"Miss Hayes."

She stopped at the door.

"That was good work," Ethan said from the head of the table. The room was empty now except for the two of them. The silence between them was thick, charged.

"Thank you," she said. Professional. Distant. Perfect.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a child?"

The air left the room.

She turned around slowly. Ethan was standing still, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that made her chest tighten. His hands were flat against the table, his knuckles white.

"My personal life is not your business," she said carefully.

"How old is he?"

Her blood went cold. Ice flooded her veins.

"Ethan"

"How old is your son, Nora?"

The question hung in the air between them like a lit match held over gasoline. She could see it in his face, the calculation happening behind his eyes, the math he was already doing without her permission. The years. The dates. The truth.

She had been so careful.

She had not been careful enough.

"That," she said, her voice steady even as her heart hammered against her ribs, "is none of your business."

She walked out of the boardroom before he could ask anything else. Her heels echoed in the empty corridor. She did not run. She would not give him that satisfaction.

But she already knew, with a certainty that settled in her bones like ice, that Ethan Blackwood was not going to let it go.

He never let anything go.