Chapter 4: The Meeting

The conference room smells like glass and money, sharp, clean, suffocating.

Rae sits straighter than she needs to, spine rigid, eyes on the projector screen. Her hands are clasped in her lap, nails pressed into her palm, the pain grounding her. The hum of the AC fills the silence between voices.

Across the table, Dane is speaking.

His tone is precise, cool, measured, the same way he used to say her name before it meant something.

Now he doesn’t say it at all.

“ so, if we integrate the design division under joint supervision, the merger stays balanced,” he says, flipping a slide. His voice carries that steady confidence that once steadied her. “But that means full transparency from both sides.”

Full transparency.

The irony makes her chest tighten.

Rae nods, forcing composure. “Agreed. We’ll provide access to our end-of-quarter files by next week.”

He doesn’t look at her. “I’ll expect them sooner.”

A pause. The others in the room, assistants, board members, consultants glance between them, sensing the edge without understanding it. The air between Rae and Dane is heavy, invisible, electric.

She clears her throat, flipping through her notes. “You’ll get them by Friday.”

That earns her a brief glance, his first since she walked in. Quick. Sharp. Like a blade testing flesh.

“Good,” he says simply. Then he looks away.

The meeting continues, numbers and projections forming a barrier between them. Rae focuses on the charts, the spreadsheets, the words on the screen. Anything but him.

But she feels him with the quiet authority in his posture, the way he doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard. She remembers how that calm used to pull her in. How she once sculpted him into the shape of safety, until the cracks began to show.

Now he’s the competition.

Her company’s new rival.

“Rae,” one of the board members says, jolting her out of the thought. “You’re leading the creative strategy for this collaboration, correct?”

She nods. “Yes. Our department will handle concept and presentation. Dane’s team will oversee execution and logistics.”

Dane leans back in his chair, pen tapping once against his notebook. “That’s assuming we approve the direction.”

His tone isn’t mocking, but there’s a warning in it. Controlled. Intimate in its precision.

Rae meets his eyes for the first time. “You’ll approve it,” she says evenly.

Something flickers in his gaze, surprise, maybe. Or recognition. That fire they both pretend is gone.

He doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth tilts just slightly. “We’ll see.”

By the time the meeting ends, Rae feels wrung out. She stays seated as the others file out, gathering their papers and polite smiles.

Dane remains at the head of the table, adjusting his cufflinks. It’s unnecessary, they're perfect, of course. Everything about him is immaculate, controlled, unreadable.

When the last person leaves, silence folds over the room.

He finally speaks. “Still hate being challenged, don’t you?”

Rae exhales, slow and deliberate. “Still think everything’s a challenge, don’t you?”

He looks up, eyes locking with hers. The distance between them is ten feet. It feels like years.

“I didn’t ask for this collaboration,” she says, her tone tight. “It’s business. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Of course,” he replies. “You’ve always been good at keeping things... compartmentalized.”

Her pulse jumps. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Turn this into something it isn’t.”

He steps closer, just a fraction, enough to feel the air shift. “And what is it, Rae?”

Her throat tightens. “Work.”

He nods once. “Then let’s work.”

She moves to gather her files, forcing her hands to stay steady. His presence is magnetic in the worst way, her body remembers what her mind has buried.

As she reaches for a folder, his hand brushes the same page. The touch is accidental, fleeting   but it feels like lightning.

Her fingers twitch away.

He withdraws his hand too, expression unreadable. “Still sculpting?”

The question hits her off guard. “Why?”

“You used to say that was the only thing that made sense to you.”

Rae straightens, keeping her tone cool. “It still does.”

He nods again, thoughtful. “Then maybe you should keep doing it.”

The words aren’t cruel. If anything, they sound almost kind. That’s what makes them dangerous.

Rae forces a polite smile. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Not advice,” he says quietly. “Just observation.”

She gathers the last of her things and walks toward the door. Her pulse is too loud in her ears.

When she reaches the handle, he speaks again, voice calm, but the air thick with everything unsaid.

“You’ve changed.”

Rae hesitates. Doesn’t turn. “So have you.”

A pause. Then his voice, softer, almost to himself: “Not enough.”

She walks out before the words can land.

Outside, the corridor is bright and sterile, the kind of place where emotions don’t belong. Rae exhales, slow and shaky, her hand still on the door.

Her reflection in the glass wall looks steady. Composed. Professional.

But she knows better.

She turns away, clutching her files to her chest like armor.

Behind the closed door, she can still feel his gaze, heavy, restrained, impossible to forget.

And for the first time in a long time, the lines between past and present begin to blur.