FOUR YEARS LATER

CHAPTER 1

PART 1: “I Saw Him…”

“I don’t believe this is how I met Ethan again after so many years.” The words formed in my head before I could stop them. They hovered there, heavy and unreal, like I’d said them out loud to an empty room. Did he see me? Did he not?

I still didn’t know the answer, and that scared me more than I cared to admit.

Oh sorry. My name is Maya Lancaster. I’m twenty-six years old. I’m the daughter of a billionaire. I’m the CEO of a beauty brand people call fast-rising, unstoppable, visionary.

And none of that mattered the moment I saw him again.

I stood behind my office desk now, fingers resting lightly on the smooth marble surface, the city stretching endlessly beyond the glass walls. From forty floors up, everything looked small. Cars crawled like insects. People were dots moving with purpose. Power hummed quietly around me this office, this building, this life I built with my own hands after leaving the country.

My assistant knocked softly before entering. She smiled, professional and warm, holding a tablet close to her chest.

“Ms. Lancaster, the marketing team is ready whenever you are.”

I nodded. “Give me ten minutes.”

She hesitated for half a second, then nodded and stepped out, closing the door gently behind her. Ten minutes was a lie.

I just needed a moment to breathe. I walked toward the glass wall and pressed my palm against it, the cool surface grounding me. My reflection stared back perfect hair, soft makeup, tailored cream suit, heels that cost more than some people’s rent. I looked exactly like the woman everyone expected Maya Lancaster to be.

Strong.

Untouchable.

In control.

But the girl inside me the one from four years ago was wide awake again, heart racing, chest tight, standing in a hospital hallway trying not to cry.

I squeezed my eyes shut, It had happened so suddenly.

My father’s accident. The frantic drive to the hospital. The sterile smell, the bright lights, my sister’s tight grip around my wrist as we waited. I’d been so focused on my father that I hadn’t noticed anything else at first.

Then I heard his voice.

Low. Calm. Steady.

“Prepare the OR.”

I froze.

My body recognized him before my mind could catch up. That voice had lived in my chest for years, buried under distance and time and pretending I’d moved on.

I turned slowly too slowly and there he was. Ethan Cruz.

He stood in his dark blue scrubs like he belonged there, broad shoulders, straight posture, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His hair was shorter now, darker somehow, and his face God his face had lost the softness of youth and gained something sharper. Colder. More controlled.

More dangerous.

A surgeon’s badge clipped to his chest caught the light. Dr. Ethan Cruz.

For a second, the world freezed.

I stepped back instinctively, pressing myself against the wall before he could look up. My heart slammed so hard against my ribs it hurt so much. I peeked out just enough to see him again, like I was afraid he’d disappear if I didn’t keep my eyes on him.

He looked rich now. Not loud-rich like my world no flashy watch, no forced arrogance but the kind of wealth that came with success. With respect. With power earned, with dignity, not inherited.

Nurses moved quickly around him. A junior doctor listened carefully as Ethan spoke, nodding like every word mattered.

People listened to him.

People trusted him.

I swallowed hard.

So this was what he’d become.

The boy who used to help his parents deliver groceries.

The boy who rode a motorcycle to campus and pretended not to care about the girl who loved him too loudly.

Now he was this.

Did he see me?

I replayed that moment again and again in my head. I couldn’t remember if his eyes ever lifted in my direction. I couldn’t remember if, for even a second, he felt what I felt.

I’d turned away before I could find out.

Coward.

The memory loosened its grip just enough for the present to slip back in.

A soft buzz pulled me out of my thoughts. My phone vibrated on the desk.

I glanced at the screen. A message from our PR director.

Have you seen the latest article? Dr. Ethan Cruz trending again.

My fingers stiffened.

I shouldn’t have opened it.

But I did.

The headline filled the screen.

“Golden Hands: The Surgeon Everyone Is Talking About.”

There was a photo of him standing outside the hospital, coat slung over his shoulder, expression unreadable. Handsome didn’t even begin to cover it. He looked composed, distant, untouchable.

Perfect.

I scrolled.

Youngest lead surgeon in the hospital’s history. High-profile patients.

Rumored net worth climbing rapidly.

Private life kept strictly out of the public eye.

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, soft and bitter. Of course.

Ethan was always good at hiding what mattered most.

Another vibration.

Voices drifted in faintly from outside my office my team, unaware I could hear them.

“…I heard he’s married,” one of them whispered.

“No way. If he was, wouldn’t there be photos?”

“My cousin works at that hospital. She said women line up just to see him.”

“I mean, look at him. He doesn’t even look real. Very handsome”

Married.

The word slid into my chest and stayed there.

I straightened, smoothing my jacket like I hadn’t just been pierced by something sharp. I walked back to my desk, every step measured, controlled, the way Maya Lancaster was supposed to move.

I picked up a lipstick from the desk drawer one of my brand’s newest shades and rolled it between my fingers.

Four years.

Four years, and he was still the talk of the town.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a call from my secretary.

“Ms. Lancaster,” she said, voice careful, “there’s a delivery for you. And… someone’s here to see you.”

I frowned slightly. “Did they have an appointment?”

There was a pause on the line.

“No,” she said slowly. “But they insisted.”

I exhaled and glanced toward the office door.

“Who is it?”

Before she could answer, there was a knock.

Not soft.

Not hesitant.

Three firm taps against the glass door.

My breath caught.

I didn’t move.

The knock came again closer this time, louder, like whoever stood on the other side had already decided they weren’t leaving.

I turned toward the door just as the handle began to move.

PART 2:

The handle moved.

I froze.

For half a second, my brain betrayed me. It painted his face with calm eyes, unreadable expression, that quiet presence that always felt like gravity. My heart reacted before logic could stop it, pounding so hard I thought it might give me away.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t Ethan.

It was a delivery staff member in a navy uniform, holding a large cream-colored box tied with a thin black ribbon. He looked slightly intimidated, eyes flicking between me and the office interior.

“Ms. Lancaster?” he asked politely.

Relief hit first.

Then disappointment followed so fast it made my chest ache. “Yes,” I said, schooling my voice into something steady.

He stepped in carefully, as if afraid to scuff the floor. “This was sent to you. No card.”

I stared at the box for a moment longer than necessary. No card meant anonymous. Anonymous meant intentional.

“Thank you,” I said finally.

He bowed slightly and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The office felt quieter than before.

I walked back to my desk and set the box down gently, fingers hovering over the ribbon. I didn’t rush. Something about it felt… deliberate. Heavy in a way that had nothing to do with weight.

I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was a pair of heels.

Not just any heels.

Black. Minimal. Elegant. The exact pair I’d stared at in a boutique window years ago and walked away from because Ethan had been waiting outside on his bike, pretending not to care how long I took.

My breath hitched.

My fingers trembled as I lifted one shoe out of the box. The leather was soft. Expensive. Familiar.

“I’m imagining things,” I whispered to myself.

I had to be.

I set the shoe back and closed the box quickly, as if that could stop the memories spilling out.

Focus, Maya.

I checked the time. The marketing meeting will start soon. I couldn’t afford to spiral now not over shoes, not over memories, not over a man I told myself I’d let go of.

I squared my shoulders and walked out of the office.

The meeting passed in a blur of charts, numbers, brand expansion plans, and polite applause. I spoke when needed, nodded at the right moments, smiled when cameras flashed. I played my role well.

Too well.

By the time it ended, my cheeks hurt from holding everything in.

I excused myself and returned to my office, closing the door firmly behind me this time. I leaned against it, eyes shut, breathing shallow.

“Get it together,” I muttered.

I pushed off the door and walked to the window again, staring at the city lights beginning to glow as afternoon leaned toward evening.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

A text from Olivia.

Did you eat?

I smiled faintly despite myself.

Not yet. Busy.

The reply came almost immediately.

I saw him today.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

…Who?

Even as I typed it, I knew.

Ethan.

The name sat on the screen like a quiet explosion.

I swallowed.

At the hospital?

Yes. He asked about Dad.

I closed my eyes.

Of course he did.

That was Ethan. He never stopped caring he just learned how to hide it so well it fooled everyone, including me.

What did you say? I typed.

There was a pause. Longer this time.

I said Dad was stable. And that you were… abroad.

My chest tightened, equal parts gratitude and guilt.

Thank you.

Maya, Olivia replied, you can’t avoid him forever.

I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

I knew that.

But knowing something didn’t make it easier.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and finally allowed myself to remember the rest of that day at the hospital, the parts I’d been trying not to touch.

The way Ethan had stood between a panicked nurse and an aggressive family member, his voice calm but firm.

The way he’d adjusted my father’s IV without hesitation, movements precise, gentle.

The way he’d quietly instructed another doctor to bring a blanket for my mother before anyone even asked.

He hadn’t looked around much. He didn’t need to.

But once just once his eyes had lifted.

Not toward me.

Toward the wall where I stood hidden.

My heart skipped even now remembering it.

Did he sense me there?

Did he feel it the way I did?

Or was I just another ghost in a hallway full of memories?

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

“Ms. Lancaster,” my secretary said through the door, “the conference invitation arrived.”

My stomach dropped.

“Bring it in,” I said.

She entered holding a thick envelope, white with embossed lettering. She placed it neatly on my desk and left without another word.

I didn’t touch it right away.

I already knew what it was.

I could feel it.

When I finally opened it, my hands were steady, surprisingly so. I slid the contents out and scanned the page.

Medical Technology Collaboration Conference

Keynote Speakers:

I skimmed names I didn’t care about.

Then I saw him.

Dr. Ethan Cruz.

Black ink. Simple font. No drama.

Yet my breath left me like I’d been punched.

“So this is how,” I murmured.

Fate had always been cruel like that quiet, patient, waiting until you thought you were safe before reminding you what you lost.

I folded the invitation and pressed it against my chest.

Did he know I’d be there?

Or was this just coincidence wearing destiny’s face?

My phone buzzed again.

An unknown number.

I hesitated, then answered.

“Hello?”

There was a pause on the other end. Not silence breathing.

Steady. Controlled.

My pulse spiked.

“Ms. Lancaster,” a familiar male voice said calmly, professionally.

My knees almost gave out.

“This is Dr. Cruz from Central Hospital. I was told you oversee the beauty brand sponsoring part of the upcoming conference.”

I couldn’t speak for a second.

Ethan.

He hadn’t used my first name.

Hadn’t acknowledged anything beyond the present.

Protective, distant, careful.

Just like always.

“Yes,” I managed. “That’s me.”

Another pause. A softer one this time.

“I wanted to confirm your attendance,” he said. “And thank you for approving the sponsorship.”

“You’re… welcome,” I replied, my voice betraying nothing of the storm inside me.

“Good,” he said simply. “Then I’ll see you there.”

He hung up before I could say anything else.

I lowered the phone slowly, my hand trembling now.

So he did know.

I looked down at the invitation again, then at the city outside my window.

Four years.

Four years, and the man who once pretended not to care was still controlling the rhythm of my heart without ever trying.

I picked up the box with the heels and carried it into my private bathroom. I sat on the edge of the marble counter, staring at my reflection.

“Get a grip,” I told the woman staring back at me.

But my eyes were already shining.

If he was calling me now…

If he was stepping back into my world this carefully…

Then this wasn’t over.

And I wasn’t ready.

Not even close.

I slipped the heels back into the box, closed the lid, and whispered the truth I’d been avoiding all day:

“Ethan Cruz… you’re still ruining me.”

And somewhere deep inside, a part of me terrified and foolish that he always would.