The automatic doors of Blackwood Industries slid open.
Aria Collins stepped inside.
She had once belonged here—and now, she didn't.
It had been three years.
Three years since she walked away from Elias Blackwood without a goodbye.
Three years since she tore the contract in half and vanished.
Now she was back.
Not as his wife. Not even as a woman hoping to rekindle something. She was here representing Calyx Tech—the rising startup she'd helped build from the ground up. The very company Blackwood Industries was about to absorb.
Her fingers tightened around the file in her hand. Strategy. Numbers. Contracts. Everything that mattered now. Everything that had kept her going.
"Aria Collins?" a voice called out.
She turned.
A young receptionist with sleek hair and a practiced smile met her gaze. Aria saw the flicker in her eyes—the recognition. The name Collins still stirred whispers in these halls.
"You're expected. The elevator will take you straight to the executive floor," the woman said, gesturing to the polished elevator doors.
"Thank you," Aria replied with a polite nod.
"If you need anything—coffee, water—just let me know when you return."
"I won't be long."
She stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.
"Calyx Tech," she whispered. Just once.
The elevator stopped with a soft chime. The doors opened to the executive floor.
Nothing had changed.
And there he was.
Elias Blackwood stood at the end of the corridor in a charcoal suit, every inch the man he used to be.
He looked up as she approached.
"Aria."
Her name on his lips didn't waver.
She met his gaze, steady. "Mr. Blackwood."
Something flickered behind his eyes. Surprise? Hurt? Maybe both.
"This way," he said, motioning toward the boardroom.
They walked side by side—but not together. His footsteps matched hers, quiet and calculated.
"Long flight?" he asked.
"I live here now. No flights needed."
"A recent move?"
"Last month."
"Alone?"
She glanced at him. "That's not relevant."
He hummed. "Noted."
"Back for good?"
"Depends on the deal."
The boardroom was vast and immaculate, the table gleaming like it had never been used. No assistants. No advisors. Just the two of them.
Aria placed the file on the table and opened it with purpose.
"I'm here on behalf of Calyx Tech. Our legal team's reviewed and approved the merger terms."
"I know," Elias replied, remaining standing. Watching her. "You've done well."
She hesitated—barely. Praise from him wasn't necessary.
"This is business," she said, lifting her chin. "Let's keep it that way."
"Of course."
He sat. She followed.
She laid out documents with practiced ease, her voice steady and clear as she spoke about integration strategy, equity shares, brand positioning.
But his eyes never left her.
"Where's your team?" he asked.
"They're handling a separate negotiation overseas. I volunteered for this one."
"You volunteered?"
She looked up. "Surprised?"
"A little. Considering how things ended."
"We're not here to talk about that."
"I'm aware." A pause. "Still... didn't expect to see you again."
"I go where I'm needed."
He leaned back. "You always were... decisive."
"And you were always predictable."
He almost smiled. "Compliment or insult?"
"Take your pick."
"You haven't changed much."
"You still walk like nothing can touch you."
"And you still talk like everything's fine."
She didn't answer.
"You look tired," he added.
"And you look exactly the same. How do you manage that?"
"Discipline."
"Of course."
She turned the final page.
"Calyx will retain operational autonomy for the first twelve months. After that, structural alignment will depend on performance metrics."
"Was that your decision? Or your CEO's?"
"We're aligned."
"What's your role now?"
"Lead strategist."
"So you're the brain behind the moves."
"One of them."
"Still humble?"
"Still efficient."
He tapped his fingers against the table. "You know, this could've been done over video."
"I prefer to look people in the eye."
"You always did."
"Let's sign the documents. I'll have legal follow up tomorrow."
"You're not staying for lunch?"
"I have meetings."
"Cancel them."
"Why?"
"Because I asked."
She raised a brow. "That doesn't work on me anymore."
"No?"
"No."
"You used to enjoy our lunches."
"That was three years ago."
"Some things don't change."
"And some do."
He studied her. "Have you moved on?"
"That's none of your concern."
"Do you ever think about what we had?"
She sighed. "This is a merger, not a reunion."
"Just answer."
"No."
"Liar."
"Back then, I didn't lie to you."
"And now?"
"Now I only tell the truth when necessary."
"Cold."
"Professional."
"Same thing to you?"
"Close enough."
"Are you seeing anyone?"
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"I'm not answering that."
"Why not?"
"You lost the right to ask."
He leaned back, folding his arms. "Fair."
She gathered the documents and stood.
"There's nothing personal about this," she said. "It's just business."
"If that's what you need it to be."
Silence stretched.
"You could've stayed," he said.
"I couldn't."
"Why?"
"You already know."
"I want to hear you say it."
She turned slowly. "Because I stopped recognizing myself when I was with you."
He blinked. "That's not how I remember it."
"That's because you always saw what you wanted."
"I saw a woman who challenged me. Who kept me grounded."
"You saw someone convenient. Someone bound by a contract."
"I never treated you like a transaction."
"Didn't you?"
He said nothing.
"Exactly," she murmured.
"Aria... I tried."
"No. You calculated."
"That's not fair."
"Neither was marrying me to save your company's public image."
"You agreed."
"I was in love."
"And now?"
She looked at him for a long moment. "Now I'm awake."
He exhaled. "You always did know how to gut a man."
"Only when he deserved it."
Silence again. Not anger this time—but weight.
"I never hated you," he said.
"I never stopped loving you," she whispered, almost to herself.
He straightened.
She blinked. "But love wasn't enough, Elias. It never is."
He stood too. "Will I see you again?"
"Professionally? Yes."
"Personally?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"Whether you're ready to know what you missed."
A crease formed between his brows. "Missed?"
She didn't elaborate.
"Aria," he said softly, taking a step forward.
She raised a hand. "Not now."
"When?"
"When you stop looking at me like I'm still your mistake."
"I never saw you that way."
"Then maybe you didn't really see me at all."
She turned and walked out.
The elevator doors closed behind her.
As it descended, she exhaled—slow and shaky—and pressed a hand to her lower abdomen.
Just above the thin scar from the C-section.
Just above the place where life began again.
And he didn't know.
Not yet.
But soon.