History Repeats Itself

The Big Apple where dreams come true, that's what New York was supposed to be my fresh start.

I left everything behind—the small town, the suffocating streets where everyone knew everyone’s business, the bad memories that clung to me like second skin. Most importantly, I left him. Max Carter. The boy who had spent every moment of high school tearing me down. The golden boy with the cruel smile, who knew exactly how to wield words like knives and watch me bleed while the world cheered him on.

I told myself that chapter was closed. That he was closed. He can't hurt you miles away.

In New York, I was Emilia Grace—ambitious, driven, focused. A woman no longer defined by whispers behind locker doors or hateful stares across cafeteria tables. I had clawed my way to a prestigious internship at Harrison & Lowe, one of the most respected law firms in Manhattan. It wasn’t just a job—it was my lifeline. My ticket to everything I’d spent years dreaming of: stability, independence, success. A career I could be proud of.

I didn’t care that my apartment in Queens was barely bigger than a closet. A twin bed, a hot plate, and a bathroom that required creative yoga moves just to squeeze into the shower—it didn’t matter. I loved every inch of it because it was mine. The walls were painted a pale mint green, chipped in places, but I’d adorned them with fairy lights and small Polaroids of sunsets, coffee shops, and blurry moments with classmates I barely saw anymore.

A corkboard sat above my desk, cluttered with sticky notes of affirmations: You belong here. Breathe. One step at a time. My battered laptop perched beside a stack of case briefs and an empty coffee mug that read “Future Lawyer” in bold gold script. It was the one indulgence I’d allowed myself when I landed the internship.

I didn’t mind the three-train commute to Midtown every morning. The crowded subway cars where strangers breathed down your neck, the overpriced bagels that tasted like rubber but cost seven dollars, the endless sea of faceless people all chasing the same dream.

Every step, every sacrifice, was proof that I had made it.

For six months, everything was perfect. For six months, I woke up every morning ready to build the life I deserved. For six months, Max Carter was just a name I used to know.

And then, in the blink of an eye, my world tilted on its axis.

---

The All-Hands Meeting

The email came on a Wednesday—subject line screaming MANDATORY: All-Hands Meeting – 11 AM. The entire firm was buzzing. A new CFO. Someone with “vision” and “leadership,” the partners claimed. Someone who was going to take the firm to new heights.

I stood in the packed conference room, nervously adjusting my blazer, eager to make a good impression. I wasn’t stupid—I knew these meetings were where careers were made or broken. One smile at the right partner, one insightful comment at the right moment, and you were golden.

The room was sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a dizzying view of the city. Glass tables gleamed under soft lights. Suits brushed against suits. The scent of espresso and tension lingered in the air.

I smoothed down my skirt and tucked a curl behind my ear, conscious of every detail. My hair had grown out—still wild, still wavy, but now I wore it with pride, letting the reddish copper coils cascade over my shoulders like a flame refusing to be extinguished. My skin, warm and golden brown, glowed against the crisp white of my blouse. I wore minimal makeup—a little concealer, some mascara—but I stood tall, heels clicking with quiet confidence. I had become the woman I always promised myself I’d be.

Then the doors opened.

And my heart stopped.

There he was.

Max. Fucking. Carter.

He walked in like he owned the goddamn world. And maybe, in some twisted way, he did. That signature smirk curved his lips, the same one that haunted me in nightmares I thought I’d outgrown. He looked even better than I remembered, and I hated myself for noticing. Broad shoulders, expensive suit tailored within an inch of its life, dark hair perfectly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed with some model and showed up late.

His gaze swept lazily over the room—until it landed on me.

And then… he smiled.

A slow, knowing grin that made my blood run cold. Like he’d been expecting me. Like he’d been waiting for this moment.

The managing partner clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning like the idiot he was. “Ladies and gentlemen, meet your new CFO—Max Carter. He’s here to shake things up.”

My stomach twisted.

Max cleared his throat, voice smooth and deep. “Pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to working with each of you—”

Then, his eyes locked on mine.

“Well, well. Emilia Grace.”

A hush fell over the room. I froze, unable to move, unable to breathe. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t—

“We went to high school together, right?” His voice dripped with amusement, like it was some inside joke no one else understood.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

That was all I could say. That was all I could manage.

His smirk deepened, dark eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Well, isn’t that fantastic?” He turned to the managing partner, his tone casual but commanding. “I’d like Emilia to be my assistant. Move her desk outside my office.”

Silence.

I blinked. Wait. What?

My supervisor, the same man who’d been praising my work just yesterday, nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, Mr. Carter.”

And just like that, my internship—my dream—was derailed.

---

Welcome to Hell

By noon, my desk had been relocated outside his massive glass-walled office. My nameplate gleamed mockingly, as if announcing my defeat to the world.

By 12:30, I was already drowning in bullshit.

“Pick up my laundry. It’s across town.” “Walk my dog. He likes the park on 78th.” “Call my father. Tell him I’m unavailable.” “Text this girl and tell her I’m in a meeting. Then text that girl and tell her I’m out of town.”

It never stopped.

I bit my tongue until it bled. Until the words bubbling in my throat threatened to spill over. Until finally, I snapped.

“Max, I’m an intern at a law firm, not your personal errand girl.”

He didn’t even bother looking up from his sleek computer. “And yet, here you are. Doing exactly what I asked.”

“I wasn’t hired for this,” I ground out.

That got his attention. He leaned back, hands laced behind his head, eyes glinting with pure cruelty. “No, Emilia. You were hired to learn about power. And consider this your first lesson—I have it. You don’t.”

I wanted to scream. To cry. To quit.

But I did none of those things. I swallowed the lump in my throat, grabbed the keys to his overpriced car, and went to pick up his dry cleaning.

---

The subway was even more unbearable with his designer garment bag slung over my shoulder. I kept imagining all the people watching me, judging me, wondering if I was someone’s assistant, someone’s girlfriend, someone’s shadow.

When I finally got home, the apartment felt smaller than ever. The fairy lights blinked tiredly. The silence pressed in on me like a second skin.

I slipped off my heels, wincing at the blisters already forming, and shuffled to the window. The city glowed beneath me, endless and unknowable. People moved like stars in fast motion, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them were hiding heartbreaks like mine.

I changed into sweatpants and a hoodie, scrubbing the makeup from my face until only the real me remained. Tired. Defeated. Angry.

I curled into my tiny bed, phone resting on my chest, unread messages piling up. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to explain.

Is this really my life now? Will he plague me forever?

I closed my eyes, exhaustion dragging me down like quicksand.

I had come to New York to escape him. But maybe some ghosts—especially the ones named Max Carter—never let you go.