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Chapter Three

Sylvia’s POV

The aircraft staircase felt unsteady beneath my feet, though I knew it was just my heart hammering against my ribs. I'd spent five years imagining this moment, the precise second when I'd see him again and now that it was here, my body didn't seem to know how to process it.

My eyes found him before my mind caught up.

Ivan stood beside a black Rolls-Royce parked just beyond the arrivals lane, one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored charcoal suit. The morning light caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the quiet authority in his stance, the way he held himself like a man who'd long ago learned to carry the weight of the world without showing it.

He looked exactly as I remembered.

And completely different.

His shoulders seemed broader beneath the perfectly cut jacket. His features had grown sharper, more defined, as though time had chiseled away everything soft and left only the essentials. There was a stillness about him that hadn't existed before I'd left for London, a quiet command that came from years of navigating boardrooms and billion-dollar decisions.

But it wasn't his appearance that made me slow my steps.

It was his posture.

The way he stood so perfectly still, like a man bracing for impact.

Almost... weighed down.

I stopped walking entirely.

Bella's shoulder bumped into mine from behind. "What?"

I couldn't look away from him. "He's not okay."

She followed my gaze, squinting against the sunlight. "Sylvia."

"I'm serious."

She laughed, the sound light and dismissive. "Your boyfriend has always been aloof. It's practically his brand."

I turned to look at her. "You know that's not true."

"It absolutely is."

"No."

"He barely smiles."

"He smiles."

"At you." She grinned. "Which is adorable, by the way. But also completely unhelpful for judging his emotional state."

"He laughs too."

Bella snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it."

I wanted to argue, but my attention had already drifted back to Ivan. He hadn't moved. He was still standing there, a statue in a three-thousand-dollar suit, watching the passengers stream past him without really seeing any of them. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the middle distance, his expression carefully neutral.

Too neutral.

Like he was hiding something.

We crossed the final stretch of pavement together, my heels clicking against the concrete in a rhythm that felt too loud in the sudden quiet of my own thoughts.

As if sensing us, Ivan lifted his head.

Our eyes met.

The world stopped.

Five years.

Five birthdays I'd celebrated without him. Hundreds of phone calls squeezed between time zones. Dozens of video chats where I'd study his face through a screen and pretend it was enough. Countless emails that I'd reread until the words blurred together.

Nothing could have prepared me for this.

His lips curved into a smile, and for one breathless moment, I felt everything I'd been holding at a distance come rushing back.

But then I noticed.

The smile reached his mouth.

Not his eyes.

The warmth I knew so well, the quiet affection that had carried me through five years of loneliness wasn't there.

"Sylvia."

My name came out softer than I remembered, wrapped in something I couldn't quite identify.

I smiled automatically, my face doing the work while my heart tried to catch up. "Ivan."

He closed the distance between us in three long strides and wrapped his arms around me. His familiar scent settled around me like a blanket, sandalwood and fresh linen and something distinctly him that I'd never been able to name.

Home.

I closed my eyes for the briefest moment, letting myself sink into the warmth of his embrace. God, I'd missed this. I'd missed him.

When he stepped back, he kept both hands on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of my blouse as he studied my face. Up close, the shadows beneath his eyes were more pronounced. His jaw was tight, the muscles working beneath the skin like he was clenching his teeth.

"You look well," he said.

"So do you."

It wasn't entirely true. He looked tired. Exhausted, even. The kind of bone-deep weariness that no amount of expensive grooming could hide.

Bella dramatically cleared her throat. "I'd like to remind both of you that I also exist. And that I've been standing here for approximately three minutes without any acknowledgment whatsoever."

Ivan chuckled softly, the sound warming something in my chest, before he released my shoulders and turned to hug her too. "It's good to see you, Bella. You look..."

"Expensive?" she offered.

"I was going to say radiant."

"Liar. But I'll take it."

He laughed again, and for the first time since I'd spotted him by the car, his smile looked almost genuine. Almost.

Bella chatted almost nonstop, her voice filling the space with stories about our flight, our layover, the woman who'd tried to steal my seat on the plane.

Ivan answered politely. Asked questions. Even smiled when appropriate.

His fingers tapped against his thigh in an uneven rhythm. An anxious, restless pattern that didn't belong on a man who'd built his reputation on unshakeable composure. His gaze remained fixed outside the window, though I doubted he was seeing anything. His reflection stared back at him from the glass, a ghost that looked as haunted as I felt.

"Ivan?"

He turned immediately, his eyes snapping into focus. "I'm sorry."

I blinked. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I've been distracted.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I remembered from years ago when he'd been nervous about something. "My mind's occupied."

"Work?"

A beat passed. "Something like that."

Before I could press further, the car slowed. Bella looked outside, her expression brightening. "Oh."

"We're here," Ivan said.

The driver opened her door before unloading her luggage. Bella hugged me first, her arms squeezing tight around my shoulders. "Call me tonight."

The moment the car pulled away, silence settled between us. Not awkward, exactly. Just... different. Heavy with all the things we hadn't said, all the years we'd spent apart, all the ways we'd both changed.

About fifteen minutes later, the car slowed once more. I frowned as I looked out the window. This definitely wasn't the route to his apartment. Or mine. The building before us was elegant, its entrance framed by cascading white roses, crystal lanterns, and elaborate floral displays that seemed almost theatrical in their beauty. Across the glass doors hung a polished gold sign that read Ever After Proposal & Event Designs.

I turned to him. "Why are we here?"

"I need your help."

"My help?"

He nodded. "A colleague is proposing."

"Will you help me set everything up?"