Buried past

The sky winked under the waning dusk as Lucian sat hunched over the files in the privacy of his office, tie loosened, shirt sleeves and rolled to the elbows. The glow of the laptop screen was the only illumination in the room, a faint blue tint brushing the sharp angles of his clenched jaw, making him look more handsome.

Lucian’s phone was clenched tight, he was scrolling through every piece of data Ezra had unearthed for him. It was not about the merger. It was not about sales projections, not about the damned shareholders. It was about about the night five years ago. The night that shaped the silence between him and Isla.

He pressed a hand to the desk, his knuckles blanched.

Elara Jensen. The attending doctor listed in old files but he still couldn't find any information regarding Doctor Jenson.

***

Meanwhile, across the city, Isla stood in the quiet expanse of her penthouse office. The skyline winked like a witness, reminding her how far she had come… and how many ghosts still lingered in her past.

She sank into the couch, brushing her long, crimson-tipped fingers across a faintly crumpled page.

Hospital records from five years ago. Elara Jensen’s name was faintly printed on the lower corner. Yes, Isla was again looking into the files for the hundredth time, as if it would change the past. As if it would give her lost baby back.

A bitter laugh bubbled in her throat. Too much had been taken from her.

Memories. Her Dignity. Her child. All under the watchful eyes of the Blackwell name.

“Why didn’t you come for me? Why Lucian? Why did you sign me away as if I was nothing but trash?” she said aloud, voice shaking with immense pain.

And why had Claire refused to give her access to the files? What had she buried? What had she been so desperate to make disappear? What's the secret Claire is hiding?

***

The next morning, the corridors of Elan Vogue were charged with tension. The merger was no longer a headline, now it was reality. The first meetings of the joint operational teams began like a storm about to break.

In a sleek and huge conference room lined with photographs from Elan’s fashion lines, Isla stood at the head of the table. The Blackwell team was present, so was Lucian.

Their gazes met across the room. The air shimmered with tension and passion all at once.

Isla spoke sharply, her voice carrying authority. “The merger doesn’t mean we forget who we are. Elan would maintain its creative control while Blackwell would maintain its operational dominance. We respect boundaries.”

A few nods rippled across the room.

But Lucian? He didn’t nod.

He just watched.

***

After the meeting, he followed her down the quiet corridors of the building.

“Isla,” he called, voice low and commanding.

She stopped, her heels clicking to silence. She didn’t turn until he came closer enough for the faint scent of him to sink into the space between them.

“What is it, Lucian?” she said, voice like ice even though her heart raced from inside.

He searched her face. To try to find a crack in her perfect demeanor. He tried to locate the woman who once used to whisper forever looking into his eyes.

“The merger means more than meetings and documents, Isla” he said slowly. “It means trust. And you don’t trust me.”

“Trust?” The word came off like acid from her throat. “Trust is for people who don’t bury the dead and walk away as if their grave doesn’t haunt.”

Lucian flinched. The sting of that statement was sharp enough to draw blood off him.

“Isla… I don’t expect you to forget or forgive… But if we’re going to do this, if we’re going to build an empire together then.I have to understand the truth.”

Her storm-gray eyes narrowed at him. “The truth? You wouldn’t recognize the truth if it was buried under your hand, Lucian.”

A long silence passed between them.

Today they were standing together but not as enemies, not even as lovers. But as just two people who had been molded by the same tragedy, shaped by the same betrayal.

And in that silence, Lucian felt an ache he refused to name for the past five years.

***

Meanwhile, across town, Claire Blackwell watched the threads closely.

She stood in the quiet of her office, staring down at a text from an anonymous number.

“We have Elara Jensen. Will she talk?”

Her hand shook for a moment before she slammed the phone down. No one was supposed to locate Elara. Not Lucian. Not Isla. Not after how she buried the doctor and the files five years ago.

Her voice was sharp when she called her assistant. “Find Elara Jensen, no matter what it takes. Make sure she doesn’t open her mouth in front of anyone.”

***

That evening, at a sleek Manhattan charity gala, Lucian spotted Isla across the room. The tension shimmered between them like a blade balanced by a single thread.

She wore a crimson satin gown tonight. It was blood red silk, bold making her look like a walking temptation.

Their eyes met. Not a word was exchanged between the two.

But every glance promised the same thing.

They were circling closer to the truth. To each other. To a fire that refused to extinguish.

And when the music began and the lights winked, one thing became crystal clear to Lucian.

This was not just a merger of companies. It was a collision of two worlds.

A collision of sins.

A collision of promises broken long ago.

And this was only the beginning.

***