Chapter Eight

By the next morning, I convince myself I’m overreacting.

It’s ridiculous, honestly.

One encounter with Alexander and suddenly I can’t focus properly, can’t think straight, can’t go ten minutes without replaying his voice in my head.

Pathetic.

By the time I arrive at work, I’ve shoved most of it aside.

Or at least pretended to.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Felicia says as I walk into my office.

“Morning.”

I place my bag on my desk and flip open the files waiting for me.

Work.

Normalcy.

That’s what I need.

“You have a meeting with Rick Comapny, the project at Bridgewood Avenue is in progress and they need some supervision and the files on the table are for the new project”

“Ok Felicia, thanks” I say

“Also…” Felicia hesitates.

I glance up. “What is it?”

“There’s a delivery for you.”

I frown slightly. “A delivery?”

She nods and steps aside.

And my breath catches.

Peonies.

Soft blush and white peonies spill from the bouquet arranged carefully in a crystal vase.

For a moment, the entire office disappears.

Because suddenly—

I’m fourteen again.

The Sterling estate is warm with late afternoon sunlight, the garden alive with color and the scent of flowers. Mrs. Sterling’s prized peonies bloom beside the stone pathway, full and delicate beneath the golden light.

And there I am.

Curled up on the grass with my sketchbook balanced on my knees.

Waiting.

A shadow falls over me. “I knew I’d find you here.”

I look up instantly.

Xander.

Fourteen-year-old me thinks he’s the most beautiful person alive.

Tall. Sweaty. Slightly out of breath from basketball practice. His dark shirt clings to him, damp with sweat and streaked faintly with dirt, curls messy from running across the court.

And somehow he still looks unfairly perfect.

He squats beside me, forearms resting loosely on his knees.

“Why are you always here?” he asks. I shrug, pretending not to care. “It’s peaceful.”

His eyes flick toward the flowers.

“You like these things too much.”

“They’re pretty.”

“They’re flowers.”

I gasp dramatically. “Wow. What an observation.”

That earns me one of his rare smiles.

Small.

Quick.

Dangerous.

“You’re weird,” he says.

“You like me anyway.”

He goes quiet after that.

Quiet enough that even younger me notices.

Then he stands, stretching his hand toward me.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says. “They’re waiting for you.” I stare at his hand for exactly two seconds before taking it.

Because I always took it.

The memory fades so suddenly it almost steals my breath.

I blink hard, dragging myself back to the present.

Back to my office.

Back to now.

“No sender?” I ask quietly even though I already know who sent it.

Felicia gives me a look.

“There’s a note.”

Of course there is.

I walk toward the bouquet slowly, almost cautiously.

The handwriting stops me cold.

Still beautiful.

Still meticulous.

But elegant now. Sharper. More refined.

Alexander always had handwriting as beautiful as himself.

My fingers tighten slightly around the envelope before I open it

I wasn’t sure if these would still make you stop and stare

— X

My chest tightens painfully.

Because he remembered.

Not just the flowers.

The way I used to sit in that garden for hours while my mother laughed with his.

The way those afternoons felt endless and safe.

Back when my mother was still alive.

Before everything changed.

“Should I put them somewhere else?” Felicia asks carefully.

I blink.

“What?”

“The flowers.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat quickly. “No. It’s fine.”

Her brows lift slightly, probably because she expected me to throw them away.

Honestly?

So did I.

Once she leaves, I stare at the bouquet again.

Annoyance flickers through me almost immediately afterward.

The audacity of this man.

My phone buzzes against the desk.

Unknown Number.

I already know.

I should ignore it.

Instead, I answer.

“How did you get my number?”

A low chuckle sounds through the line.

“Hello to you too Sweetheart”

I hate that the sound still does something to me.

“How do you have my number Mr Sterling?”

“I have my ways.”

Of course he does, he’s Alexander Sterling. Mysterious but extremely powerful in the words of Emily.

“What do you want, Alexander?”

“You got the flowers.” “That wasn’t a question.”

A pause.

Then—

“I wasn’t sure you still liked peonies.”

The uncertainty in his voice catches me off guard.

Not dramatic.

Not manipulative.

Just… honest.

Like he realizes time changes people.

Like he knows I’m not fourteen anymore.

“I do,” I admit before I can stop myself.

Silence stretches briefly between us.

Then—

“I’m glad.”

The simplicity of it unsettles me more than flirting would have.

I lean back in my chair. “You can’t just send things to my office.”

“I know.”

“That’s creepy.”

“You kept them.”

I glance unwillingly toward the bouquet.

Annoying man.

“I’m working,” I mutter.

“So am I.”

“Then shouldn’t you be doing billionaire things instead of bothering me?”

That earns a soft laugh.

“I’ll let you get back to work, Sia.” My grip tightens slightly at the nickname.

Before I can respond, the line disconnects.

And somehow that’s worse.

I stare at my phone for a moment before tossing it onto the desk.

Ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Ten minutes later, there’s another knock on my door.

Felicia enters carrying a box and what looks suspiciously like a coffee tray.

I stare at her.

“No.”

Her lips twitch.

“I think your admirer is very determined, ma’am.”

“He’s not my admirer.”

“Mhm.”

She sets everything down carefully on my desk.

The smell hits me immediately.

Pancakes.

Eggs.

Fresh fruit.

And—

Cheesecake.

I close my eyes briefly.

This man is unbelievable.

“There’s another note,” Felicia says, trying—and failing—not to smile.

Of course there is.

I pick it up reluctantly.

Still not a breakfast person?

— X

And just like that— Something in my chest shifts.

Because that note doesn’t sound arrogant.

It sounds careful.

Like he’s trying to learn who I became after he lost years of my life.

I hate how much that affects me.

“Should I take it away?” Felicia asks.

I look at the food.

At the cheesecake.

At the flowers by the window.

Then back at the note in my hand.

“No,” I hear myself say quietly.

Felicia smiles knowingly before leaving the office.

Traitor.

I stab a piece of pancake harder than necessary.

And immediately hate the fact that it’s good.

My office phone rings before I can spiral further.

I answer quickly.

“Anastasia speaking.”

“Miss Kingsley,” my boss says. “Good news.”

I straighten automatically. “Sterling & Co. just confirmed.”

My stomach drops slightly.

“We got the project?”

“Yes.” A pause. “And Mr. Sterling specifically requested you as lead architect.”

I blink.

“What?”

“He wants you personally overseeing the project.”

“I think there’s been some misunderstanding,” I say immediately. “Surely someone else can—” “No.”

The firmness in my boss’s voice makes me pause.

“This project is important to the firm, Anastasia. Very important.”

I stay quiet.

“You did exceptional work in that presentation,” he continues. “And if this goes well…”

He pauses meaningfully.

“That promotion you’ve been eyeing may no longer be out of reach.”

Damn him.

Because he knows exactly what that means to me.

I glance toward the peonies again.

Soft.

Beautiful.

Dangerous.

And suddenly I have the horrible feeling that Alexander Sterling didn’t just walk back into my life.

He plans on staying there.

And worse? I think I don’t mind.