Chapter 3 - Five Years Later

Five years later. The name Serena Blake echoed through the conference hall as if it belonged to someone else.

“Ms. Blake will now present the final strategy proposal.”

I rose from my seat calmly, smoothing the front of my tailored navy suit. The fabric was expensive, the kind of luxury that didn’t beg for attention. As I walked toward the stage, the room fell into silence. Dozens of executives watched me with interest. Some with curiosity. Others with thinly veiled caution.

The screen behind me lit up with charts, projections, and figures that represented years of relentless work. I spoke clearly, confidently, without a single wasted word.

“This acquisition will not only restructure the company’s losses,” I said evenly, “it will reposition it as a market leader within eighteen months.”

Whispers rippled across the room.

I saw nods. Approval. Respect.

When I finished, applause followed, polite at first, then genuine.

“Impressive,” the chairman said, standing. “Very impressive, Ms. Blake.”

I inclined my head slightly. “Thank you.”

As I returned to my seat, my phone vibrated once. A message.

The Blackwood Group representatives have arrived.

My fingers paused. The Blackwood?.

The name struck something deep, sharp, and familiar, like pressing on an old scar. It didn’t hurt anymore, but I was aware of it.

I locked my phone and lifted my gaze just as the conference doors opened.

Ethan Blackwood walked in. Time had only sharpened him.

He was taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, his presence commanding the room without effort. His black suit was immaculate, his expression composed, the same cold confidence that had once made my heart ache.

Our eyes did not meet. Not yet.

He took his seat across the room, speaking quietly to the men beside him, unaware that the woman he had erased from his life was sitting less than ten meters away.

"Good. Let him breathe first", I said to myself.

The meeting resumed. I answered questions with precision, my voice steady even as the air around me shifted. I could feel it, the subtle tension, the unspoken recognition that something important was unfolding.

Then it happened. Ethan looked up.

His gaze swept across the room absently and froze.

For half a second, the world stilled.

I felt it before I saw it. The way his attention locked onto me, sharp and disbelieving, as though his mind refused to accept what his eyes were telling him.

Serena Blake. Alive. Composed. Untouched.

I met his gaze then, deliberately. No shock. No resentment. No warmth.

Just polite indifference.

His jaw tightened. I looked away first.

The meeting ended shortly after. People stood, exchanged business cards, discussed next steps. I gathered my tablet calmly, speaking with a European investor who praised my strategic insight.

“Well done,” he said. “You’re exactly who we need.”

“Likewise,” I replied with a faint smile.

I turned and nearly collided with someone solid.

I stopped short.

Ethan Blackwood stood inches away.

Up close, the familiarity hit harder than I expected. The sharp lines of his face. The faint scent of cedar and something darker. His eyes was no longer bored, no longer indifferent.

Now they were searching.

“Serena,” he said.

My name sounded strange on his lips.

“Yes?” I replied coolly.

He studied me as if confirming I was real. “You...” He paused. “You disappeared.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I divorced you. That usually comes with distance.”

A flicker of something crossed his face.

Regret? Anger? Confusion?

“I looked for you,” he said quietly.

That almost made me laugh.

“You didn’t look very hard,” I replied.

Silence stretched between us.

“You’re… different,” he said finally.

“I should hope so,” I answered.

People passed around us, unaware they were walking through the space where a past life had just resurfaced.

“Are you working with...” He stopped himself, glancing at the Blackwood Group logo on a nearby folder.

“With your company?” I finished for him. “Yes. Professionally.”

His eyes darkened.

“You didn’t have to accept,” he said.

“I don’t make decisions based on comfort,” I replied. “Only value.”

For the first time, his composure cracked.

“You left without a word,” he said, low. “No explanation. Nothing.”

I met his gaze fully then, my expression calm, controlled.

“You didn’t ask.”

I stepped past him, but his voice stopped me.

“Serena.”

I turned.

“What do you want, Ethan?”

He hesitated, a hesitation I had never seen before.

“I want to talk,” he said. “Properly.”

I studied him for a moment, then glanced at my watch.

“Schedule through my assistant,” I said. “If it fits my calendar.”

I walked away before he could respond.

That evening, I picked up my son from school.

“Mom!” Leo ran toward me, his backpack bouncing against his small frame.

I knelt and hugged him, breathing in the warmth and life that anchored me to the present.

“How was your day?” I asked.

“I got an A,” he said proudly. “And Ms. Carter said I talk too much.”

I smiled. “That sounds like you.”

As we walked to the car, he glanced up at me. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” I said softly. “Just work.”

He nodded, satisfied.

As I fastened his seatbelt, a familiar black car passed slowly behind us.

I didn’t look up.

Somewhere inside that car, Ethan Blackwood was beginning to understand what he had lost.

And this time.... I wasn’t disappearing again.