Chapter Two

ADRIAN’S POV

Mistakes are expensive. People who get in my way are even more expensive. Usually, I don’t have time for either. But somehow, an ordinary Tuesday morning had managed to spiral into a disaster before I’d even finished my first coffee.

The boardroom was deathly quiet. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded a firing. I stood at the head of the long obsidian table, my eyes bored into the presentation screen before flicking to the man standing there. He was trembling. Sweat was visible on his upper lip.

“This projection is a fantasy,” I said. My voice was calm which was always more dangerous than when I shouted.

He froze. “Sir, I—the data suggested—”

“The data is off by twelve percent,” I cut him off. “And you didn't even notice. You just stood there and read it back to me.”

Silence swallowed the room again. Nobody breathed.

“I don’t tolerate carelessness,” I added, snapping the file shut with a crack that made the man flinch. “Fix it. Or don’t bother coming back for the afternoon session.”

I walked out. I didn't wait for an answer. People like that were replaceable cogs in a machine that were starting to rust. By the time I reached the sanctuary of my private office, the irritation should have been gone. It wasn’t. Because for the first time in my life, my mind wasn't on numbers or quarterly projections.

It was on her.

I have a photographic memory for faces. I don’t forget them, especially not when they leave a scar. And hers—Cherry—had left a mark a year ago that refused to heal. I hadn't known her name. I hadn't known her story. Just a memory of red hair and a night that felt like a fever dream.

I’d looked for her. I’d spent more money than I’d ever admit to Ethan trying to find a ghost.

And now, she’d just stumbled back into my life like she’d never left. Except, she looked like a shadow of the woman I remembered.

At the café, she was nearly unrecognizable. She was wearing glasses that hid her eyes and a scarf wrapped tightly around her head to bury that fire-red hair. The oversized clothes made her look small. Fragile. Like she was trying to shrink until the world forgot she existed.

But beauty like that doesn't just go away. It hides. And she was definitely hiding. The question was... why?

“Adrian.”

Ethan’s voice broke through my thoughts. He walked in without knocking, leaning against the glass wall with his arms folded. He was watching me with that knowing, annoying look he always had.

“You’ve been staring at that wall for five minutes,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re actually catching feelings over a spilled latte.”

“I didn't lose anything in that café, Ethan.”

“No?” Ethan’s brow arched. “Because you look like you just saw a ghost.”

I tapped my fingers once against the desk. “I met her. At the café.”

“The girl who fell?”

“Yes.”

Ethan stopped joking. His expression shifted instantly. “Wait... you mean her? The one you’ve been hunting for two years? No name, no number, just ‘the girl with the red hair’?”

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

“She called herself Elara Vane on the incident report,” Ethan said, dropping a file on my desk. “And you’re going to want to see this. We had a temporary assistant quit this morning.”

“She didn't quit. She was incompetent.”

“Whatever,” Ethan smirked. “But one of the new applications... it’s her, Adrian. She applied here.”

I opened the file. The name hit me first. Elara Vane. Then the photo. The glasses were there, the dull, tired expression, the desperate attempt to look ordinary. But it didn't work. I’d know those eyes anywhere.

“She’s hiding her hair,” Ethan noted quietly.

“She’s hiding everything,” I replied.

For the first time in my life, I felt the reins of control slipping. I should have ignored the file. I should have let her stay hidden. But my hand wouldn't move.

“Schedule the interviews,” I said, my voice low.

“All of them?”

“No. Just hers... and a few others to keep it looking legitimate.”

Ethan smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. “This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?”

I didn't respond. I was already thinking about the look on her face when she realized whose office she’d walked into. This time, I wasn't letting her walk away.

CHERRY’S POV

The walk home was a nightmare. My knee was throbbing, my hands felt sticky with dried coffee, and my brain was spinning so fast I felt sick.

Betrayal is a cold thing. It doesn't scream; it just sits in your stomach like lead. I kept replaying that phone call the hotel, the woman using my name, the sound of Julian’s voice in the background. My whole life was a house of cards, and someone had just started pulling from the bottom.

I kicked the door open, not caring about the noise.

“Julian!” I shouted. My voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “Care to explain this?”

He was sitting at his laptop, looking completely unbothered. He looked up like I was a minor interruption to his day. “Explain what, Elara? You’re late.”

“Explain why a woman checked into the Grand Crest using my name three nights ago,” I said, shoving my phone in his face. “With you.”

He froze. It was only for a split second, but it was enough. Then he sighed, rubbing his eyes like I was the one being difficult.

“El... you don’t understand. It’s not what it looks like.”

I laughed. It was a jagged, ugly sound. “Spare me. If you’re going to cheat on me, at least have the balls to use a woman who has her own name. Don't use mine to cover your tracks.”

“There’s more to it than you’ve seen—”

“I’ve seen enough!” I snapped, stepping into his space. “I didn't marry you because I wanted to, Julian. I married you because my uncle held a knife to my inheritance. I didn't need you to love me, but I did expect a shred of decency. And you can't even give me that.”

He flinched, but I wasn't done.

“You think I’ll sit quietly while you disrespect me? Think again.”

“What do you think your uncle is going to say about this?” he asked, his voice turning cold. A threat. Always a threat.

I grabbed my coat, my blood boiling. I didn't even feel the pain in my knee anymore. I looked him dead in the eye and raised my middle finger.

“To hell with you, Julian. And to hell with Arthur Laurent.”

I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing through the hallway. Outside, the city air felt cold, but it was clean. My heart wasn't breaking it was hardening.

Tomorrow was the interview at Knight Enterprises. My last shot at a life that belonged to me. I straightened my shoulders and let the anger fuel me. Nothing was going to stand in my way. Not my husband, not my uncle, and certainly not some arrogant CEO who looked at me like he’d seen a ghost.

Next day…..

The building towered above me, sleek glass and steel catching the sunlight like a challenge. I tightened my grip on my bag, heels clicking sharply on the marble floor. This interview… it had to go well. It wasn’t just a job it was survival.

Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood. Minimalist furniture, plants perfectly placed, and assistants moving with quiet urgency. I reminded myself: act normal. Act like I belonged.

The receptionist smiled. “Good morning. Here for the temporary assistant interview?”

“Yes. Elara Vane,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I’m scheduled with Mr…?”

“Ethan. He’ll see you now. Please, follow me.”

I followed him down a corridor lined with abstract art and floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything about the company screamed power, wealth, and precision. And yet, I focused only on staying composed. I had one shot at this.

The door opened, and I stepped into the interview room. It was bright, minimal, and professional. Papers neatly stacked on the desk, a single coffee mug, and a man behind the desk looking… casual, almost deceptively calm.

“Good morning, Ms. Vane,” he said, offering a polite smile. “I’m Ethan. Let’s start, shall we?”

I nodded, sliding into the chair across from him. The questions began: experience, skills, availability. I answered carefully but confidently, making sure every word carried weight.

The door swung open with a soft click, but it felt like the world shifted.

He stepped in. Tall, commanding, every movement precise, like the room itself had been waiting for him. Light caught his dark suit just so, and his gaze sharp, piercing, unnervingly calm swept across the space.

Time slowed.

My breath hitched.

He paused. Eyes locking with mine. Nothing moved around us. Papers, Ethan, the sterile office all vanished.

And then… he smiled. Not fully. Not a word. Just the faintest curve of lips that promised trouble.

I straightened instinctively. Heart hammering.

He didn’t speak. I didn’t speak.

And in that moment, everything changed…