Chapter 2 : You Look Familiar

The receptionist smirked, popping her gum loudly, and looked Sophia up and down like she was looking at a beggar. Her name tag said Tiffany. Perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect cruel smile.

"Wait here," she said, pressing a button on her desk with her long red nail. "Mr. Blackwood's 10 AM is here. She... looks like she really needs the job."

Sophia's cheeks burned with shame. She wanted to sink into the expensive marble floor and disappear. She clutched her old purse tighter, feeling the eviction notice crumple inside.

A few seconds of silence, then a deep voice crackled through the intercom. Cold. Deep. Commanding. A voice that made Sophia's blood freeze.

"Send her in."

Two words. Just two words, but Sophia felt them in her bones. That voice. It couldn't be.

Tiffany rolled her eyes and waved her hand towards the massive double doors made of dark wood. "He's waiting. Don't waste his time. And don't touch anything."

Sophia's palms were suddenly sweating so badly. She wiped them on her cheap skirt, took a deep breath that hurt her chest, and pushed the heavy doors open with shaking hands.

The office was larger than her entire apartment building in Queens. No, larger than the whole building combined. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing all of Manhattan like a kingdom, a black marble desk that looked like it cost more than a house, and behind it, a man who made her breath stop and her heart shatter at the same time.

The air inside was cold, too cold, smelling like expensive cologne and power.

"Miss Miller for Mr. Blackwood," Tiffany purred from behind her, closing the door and leaving Sophia alone inside. The click of the door locking felt like a prison cell closing.

"Sit."

The voice came from behind the massive desk. Deep. Low. Rough and silky at the same time. Familiar in a way that made her knees buckle and her stomach drop to the floor like she was falling from fifty floors.

Sophia looked up.

And the world stopped spinning completely.

Ethan Blackwood was even more handsome than she remembered, if that was even possible. Five years had turned the boy she loved into a god. Sharp jaw covered in light designer stubble, tailored black Armani suit straining against broad shoulders that were now wider, stronger, dark hair perfectly styled, expensive watch glinting on his wrist. He was no longer the boy who wore hoodies with holes and had dreams in his eyes and laughed at her silly jokes. He was a man. A billionaire. A predator who had built a $40 billion empire from his father's ashes in just five years. The newspapers called him The Ice King of Wall Street.

But his eyes - those piercing ice-blue eyes that Lily had inherited so perfectly that it hurt to look at her sometimes - were colder now. Harder. Like a man who had built walls of ice around his heart and never let anyone in, ever again.

He didn't recognize her. Not at all. His eyes scanned her resume printed on cheap paper like she was a piece of trash that blew in through the window.

"Sophia Miller," he said, his voice like gravel and silk, without even looking at her face. He didn't look up. "NYU dropout. Community college degree completed last year. Two years experience as a waitress at Joe's Diner and six months as a call center rep. Three jobs in two years, all low-level. You think you're qualified to be MY assistant? My last assistant had a Harvard MBA and spoke four languages."

His tone was dismissive. Cruel. Designed to make her feel small, stupid, worthless. Like she was nothing.

Sophia swallowed her pride, her heart hammering so loud she was sure he could hear it through her thin blazer. She had to do this for Lily. For their future. "I am a fast learner, Mr. Blackwood. And I'm very hardworking, I'm organized, I can handle pressure, I can work long hours—"

"Hardworking," he scoffed, finally looking up from the paper. His eyes met hers directly, and for a second, something flickered there deep inside the ice. Confusion. A flash of something deep and unsettled, like a memory trying to break through. Recognition? Pain? Then it was gone as fast as it came, replaced by cold indifference that was even more painful. "Everyone says that. Especially desperate people who will say anything for a paycheck."

He stood, slowly, and began circling his desk like a shark circling prey in bloody water. He was 6'3, towering over her 5'5 frame. He moved like a panther, graceful but deadly. He was so close she could smell his cologne - the same damn cologne from five years ago, Tom Ford Oud Wood, that still haunted her pillows for months after he left, that she still secretly smelled on Lily's hair because Lily had his scent somehow.

He stopped right in front of her chair, leaning against his desk, his legs almost touching her knees. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating. "Do you have children, Miss Miller?" he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Sophia froze. All the blood drained from her face instantly. Her hands clutched her purse so tight her knuckles turned white. How did he know? Could he tell? "I... why do you ask? That is not legal to ask in an interview— that is discrimination—"

"Because I don't hire distracted mothers who need to leave early because baby has a fever, or who cry because they miss their little brats," he said coldly, his voice dropping even lower, cruel and cutting. "This job requires 24/7 availability. No sick days. No daycare emergencies. No excuses. No children screaming in the background of my calls. Can you do that, Miss Miller? Or do you have a little bastard waiting downstairs for Mommy?"

"I don't have—" The lie caught in her throat, bitter and painful like poison. She thought of Lily downstairs with Mrs. Jenkins, waiting with her little pink backpack. Forgive me, baby. "I can manage. I am fully available, Mr. Blackwood. I promise you. Nothing will interfere."

Ethan stared at her for a long moment, his gaze dropping to her trembling lips, then to her neck where her pulse was hammering, then back to her eyes. He leaned down slightly, and she could see the flecks of darker blue in his irises, the same flecks Lily had.

"You look familiar," he murmured, his voice dangerously low, almost a whisper, his face inches from hers. "Have we met before? Your face..."

Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought it would burst out of her chest and fall on his expensive carpet.

"I... I don't think so. I would have remembered," she whispered, lying through her teeth, her whole body shaking.

"I never forget a face," he whispered, his breath fanning her cheek, making her shiver. "Especially a beautiful one. And you, Miss Miller, you have a very beautiful face when you're lying."