CHAPTER 7: The past never stays Buried

The conference room door clicked shut behind her, but Mia barely heard it over the pounding of her own heartbeat. The moment the presentation ended, she had slipped out, needing a moment to gather herself. She had done it—delivered her pitch with poise, answered every question with confidence.

But none of that mattered.

Because the entire time, she had felt his eyes on her.

Marco Valentino.

The man who now stood at the center of her world in ways she couldn’t understand. The same man who, for the briefest second during the presentation, had looked at her like he knew her—like he was peeling back layers of time, trying to place her in a memory just out of reach.

She exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest.

It was just business. That was all.

Yet, deep down, she knew that was a lie.

Mia barely had time to steady her breathing before her boss’s voice rang out behind her.

“Miss Cruz.”

She turned sharply, her pulse still erratic, to see Mr. Gravitas standing in the hallway. His imposing figure, clad in his usual charcoal-gray suit, was framed by the dim office lighting. His dark eyes bore into her, a silent assessment passing between them. His gaze was unreadable, though something flickered beneath the surface—scrutiny, of course, but perhaps… approval?

She wasn’t sure.

Mia swallowed, straightening her spine as she prepared for whatever critique he was about to deliver.

“The presentation,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “was adequate.”

Adequate.

She resisted the urge to sigh. Of course. No “well done,” no “impressive work.” Just adequate. That was Mr. Gravitas—blunt, exacting, never one to heap praise where he believed it wasn’t necessary.

Still, she had learned long ago that in his world, adequate was as close as she would get to a compliment.

Before she could respond, he continued, his tone measured yet firm.

“You handled yourself well,” he admitted, the words coming out almost reluctantly. “Valentino is a difficult man to impress, and yet…” He paused, tilting his head slightly, “…he seemed intrigued.”

Intrigued.

Mia’s stomach twisted at his choice of words, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

Because she had felt it too.

That silent pull between them, the way Marco’s gaze had lingered—not just in polite observation, but in recognition, as if he were peeling back layers of time, searching for something beneath her polished exterior.

And worse?

For one brief, terrifying moment, she had wanted him to find it.

She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, though her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Professionalism first. Control always.

“Thank you, sir,” she said smoothly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil inside her.

Mr. Gravitas regarded her for another beat, his sharp gaze flicking over her, as if still weighing her response.

Finally, he gave a curt nod.

“I’ll expect the follow-up report by Monday. Make sure the numbers are solid. We need this partnership, Miss Cruz.”

We need this partnership.

Mia knew what that really meant. This wasn’t just a deal; it was a power move. Valentino’s investment meant leverage, meant influence. And in the world of business—especially Gravitas’s world—that was everything.

Which meant she had no choice but to ensure that Marco Valentino remained interested.

No matter how dangerous that felt.

She inclined her head. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Mr. Gravitas turned on his heel and strode down the hall, his presence as commanding in departure as it had been upon arrival.

Mia exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The tension in her chest refused to ease.

She returned to her desk, sinking into her chair, but the familiar comfort of her workspace did nothing to settle the unease simmering beneath her skin. She stared at the blank document on her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, but her mind refused to focus on numbers or projections.

Instead, it kept replaying the moment Marco’s gaze had locked onto hers.

That brief, electric moment when recognition had flickered in his eyes.

Had she imagined it?

No.

She had seen the way his brows had drawn together, the way his lips had parted slightly, as if he had been about to say something before catching himself.

Marco Valentino had looked at her like he knew her.

Like he remembered.

Her hands curled into fists.

No. He doesn’t remember. He can’t.

She had spent years burying that night in Chicago.

But it seemed the past was finally catching up with her.

Hours passed in a blur of emails, spreadsheets, and mindless tasks, but no matter how hard she tried to focus, her thoughts kept drifting back to Marco Valentino.

To the way he had looked at her.

To the unshakable feeling that he knew something she didn’t.

She had met countless powerful men in this industry. CEOs with their perfectly tailored suits, their sharp, predatory smiles, their carefully calculated words. But none of them had ever unsettled her the way Marco did.

None of them had ever made her feel like her past was a ghost, creeping closer with every glance.

She tried to shake it off.

Tried to convince herself that it was just her imagination, that her nerves were playing tricks on her.

But that didn’t explain the way her pulse had spiked when his gaze lingered.

Or why, even now, sitting in the sterile quiet of her office, she could still feel the weight of his stare.

Mia exhaled sharply and turned back to her screen, forcing herself to focus. The numbers, the contracts, the tedious reports—these were things she could control. Things that made sense. Unlike the suffocating sense of unease that had settled deep in her bones.

She typed. Deleted. Re-typed. Scrolled through spreadsheets she had already checked twice. Nothing stuck. The numbers blurred together, meaningless.

She was losing time.

And it was because of him.

————

The weight of the day pressed down on Mia as she shut her laptop, stretching her aching shoulders. It was past five, but she had stayed behind, hoping to drown herself in work. Anything to keep her mind from drifting to the chaos that had suddenly re-entered her life.

Just as she was about to gather her things, a shadow loomed over her desk.

“Mia.”

She stiffened. That voice.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze, and there he was. Marco Valentino.

Her pulse stuttered at the sight of him. Dressed in a dark suit, tailored to perfection, he looked entirely out of place in the sterile office setting. Yet he owned the space, as if he had every right to be there.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hating how her voice betrayed her, soft and uncertain.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied her, his gaze unnerving, assessing. Then, in a tone that left no room for argument, he said, “We need to talk.”

Mia inhaled sharply. “I don’t—”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

She hesitated, searching for an excuse. “I have to run my bookstore,” she finally admitted, hoping that would be enough to deter him.

Instead of looking disappointed, Marco merely tilted his head. “Where?”

Mia clenched her fingers around the edge of her desk. “Why?”

“I’ll come to you,” he said simply, as if it were already decided.

A shiver ran down her spine. He wasn’t asking. He was telling.

Against her better judgment, she muttered the address.

Marco nodded once. “I’ll be there.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving her heart pounding, her thoughts scrambled.

It wasn’t until he disappeared from sight that Mia released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

By the time she got home, her nerves were still frayed.

She had changed into a black and red bra top with green sweatpants, comfort clothing, but it did nothing to ease the tension gripping her body.

Ordering pizza and chicken had been an automatic decision—something easy, something familiar. But as she sat on the couch, flipping mindlessly through TV channels, she couldn’t focus on anything.

Her mind kept replaying the moment in her office.

The way Marco’s voice had sent a slow, deliberate shiver down her spine.

The way his gaze had locked onto hers, as if he could see right through her defenses.

The way he had said, I’ll be there—a promise, a warning, a certainty.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shake the feeling.

But it lingered.

Because Marco Valentino wasn’t just coming to her bookstore tomorrow.

He was bringing the past with him.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready to face it.