All Chapters of Echoes of that night: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

​"Marry me," he said. His voice was deep, his face a stoic mask, and his eyes stayed fixed entirely on her.​Liana could hardly believe it.​"What?" she replied immediately, shocked and confused. Maybe she hadn't heard him correctly. Maybe he was speaking another language entirely. Either way, she needed some type of clarification right now before her brain completely short-circuited.​"You heard me..." he started, standing up from his heavy leather chair and walking around the sleek wooden desk to place a thick white document right in front of her. "One year. That's it."​Looking up at him, Liana was left completely speechless. Who on earth would have imagined that this dead-serious conversation was going to end up being about this?​Several weeks earlier...​Liana stepped out of the bustling airport terminal and took a long, deep breath of the cool city air. She felt strangely refreshed—partly because the main building had been packed to the brim with a suffocating sea of travelers,

The doorbell chimed through the quiet house just as Liana finished hanging the last of her shirts in the guest room closet.​"I'll get it!" Nina called out from downstairs, her footsteps hurrying across the hardwood floor.​Liana smiled to herself, stepping out into the hallway and quietly turning the knob to Ava’s room. She slipped inside, the soft light from the hall illuminating the little girl curled up under the blankets. Ava’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, her small hands clutching the stuffed bear Nina had left for her. Liana leaned down, gently pressing a kiss to her forehead. Seeing how deeply asleep she was, Liana decided against waking her. Ava needed the rest after such a long trip, and she could always eat a bit later if she woke up hungry.​She pulled the door almost shut, leaving a small crack, and headed downstairs.​The mouthwatering aroma of hot garlic dough and melted cheese filled the dining area. Nina was already setting the steaming pizza box onto

​Vance & Co. — 8:30 AM​Julian Vance leaned back in his leather chair, the silence of his top-floor office a welcome break after two hours of listening to board members argue over quarterly projections. He took a slow sip of black coffee, letting the heat settle the slight headache forming behind his eyes.​The door opened with a soft knock, and his assistant, Marcus, stepped inside carrying a tablet and a fresh stack of documents.​"The board's summary report is almost ready, sir," Marcus said smoothly, taking his place across from the desk.​Julian didn't look up immediately. He swirled the black liquid in his cup, staring out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall at the city skyline below. A thought—the same persistent thought that had plagued his mind for years—crept back in.​"Any news on her yet?" Julian asked, his voice low, steady, but laced with a sharp underlying weight.​Marcus paused, his fingers hovering over his tablet. He didn't need to ask who she was. He knew better.​"None

​"Miss... Miss? Are you alright?"​A polite voice broke through the ringing in her ears, pulling Liana straight back to reality.​She opened her eyes, finding herself staring right up at Marcus, who was looking down at her like she was a bizarre puzzle he couldn't figure out. The small group of wealthy investors behind him had stopped talking completely, staring at her lying in the dirt like she had dropped out of the sky.​Liana scrambled to her feet so fast her knees nearly gave out again. She brushed frantically at her skirt, her face burning with heat.​"Ah... yes! Yes, I’m fine. Totally fine. Just... slippery grass!" she stammered out, forcing a quick, awkward smile.​Marcus stared at her for a second before giving a small, polite nod. "Right."​He turned back to his group, picking up right where he left off as if a grown woman hadn't just slid across the turf like a baseball player right beside them.​Liana stood there, completely frozen.​Her mind was screaming at her to run. W

Liana’s POV​Fourteen days.​Fourteen long, agonizing mornings of waking up before the sun, reaching out with cold, trembling fingers for her phone, and pulling down on the screen to refresh her inbox. And every single time, without fail, the same clean, empty white space stared back at her.​No interview invite. No polite rejection letter. Not even an automated confirmation that her email had landed in Marcus’s box.​In the beginning, Liana had held onto a fragile, desperate kind of hope. On day three, she convinced herself that Marcus was simply a busy man running the executive office of the largest design house in the country. On day seven, she reasoned that a formal pitch review naturally took time. But by the middle of the second week, the painful truth settled deep into her bones, heavy and suffocating.​Her email had been tossed straight into the digital trash pile. She had made an absolute fool of herself on wet grass, secured a black card out of Marcus’s sheer pity, and spe