The Reunion
The next morning, Ariella arrived at the Blackwood Enterprises headquarters with a calm mask plastered over the storm raging inside her. She wore a sleek navy dress and low heels, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. Every detail of her appearance was perfect—because nothing else felt in her control.
The boardroom was on the top floor, of course. She stepped out of the elevator to sweeping views of Manhattan and a glass office space that screamed power. Her heels echoed on the marble floor as she approached the receptionist.
"I'm Ariella Brooks, here for the gala proposal presentation."
Before the woman could respond, a door opened at the far end of the hallway.
And there he was.
Damien Blackwood.
Taller than she remembered. His black hair was swept back neatly, a tailored charcoal suit clinging to broad shoulders. He looked up from a tablet in his hand, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers.
The room fell away. Time collapsed.
Ariella's breath caught.
For a split second, confusion flashed across Damien's face. Then… recognition. His mouth parted slightly. His steps slowed.
She braced herself.
"Miss Brooks," he said, voice deep, smooth, and unreadable. "I didn't expect… you."
"Mr. Blackwood," she replied evenly, fighting the tremble in her hands. "It's been a while."
He stared at her. "Four years."
So he remembered.
She gave a polite nod and gestured toward the meeting room. "Shall we?"
Inside, she launched into her presentation like her life depended on it. Her hands moved with practiced ease over her tablet, showcasing venue layouts, menu options, guest experiences. But she could feel his gaze on her the entire time.
When she finished, he said nothing for a long moment.
Then, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "You've done well."
"Thank you," she said carefully.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "So have I. Apparently."
Ariella stiffened. Her instincts flared. "I beg your pardon?"
He tilted his head. "Never mind. Just… surprised to see you again."
She refused to let her composure crack. "I'm a professional. This is just another job."
"Is it?"
Silence stretched. She couldn't read him. He was either toying with her—or searching for something.
Just then, his assistant knocked and entered with papers. It gave Ariella a chance to breathe. She gathered her materials, ready to make her exit.
"I'll see you at the gala site next week," she said, turning to go.
"Wait."
She paused.
He stood slowly, something tightening in his expression. "There's something I need to ask you."
Ariella's heart pounded. Not here. Not now.
"Did we…" he started, his brow furrowing, "—was that night a mistake?"
Her lips parted in shock.
"No," she whispered. "But it was unfinished."
He took a step toward her. "You disappeared."
"You never called," she shot back, surprising herself with the bitterness in her voice.
"I thought you—" He broke off, jaw clenching. "I didn't expect you to just vanish."
"I had my reasons."
Another beat of silence.
"Are you married?" he asked suddenly, voice low.
Ariella blinked. "No."
"Dating?"
"Why does it matter?"
He didn't answer. He simply stared at her like he was trying to solve a riddle.
"I'll see you at the site, Mr. Blackwood," she said firmly and walked out before her emotions could betray her.
But the storm wasn't over.
—
That night, Damien sat in his penthouse office, swirling whiskey in a crystal glass. His thoughts were tangled. Ariella Brooks. The woman who disappeared after the most intense night of his life.
And yet… something about her had changed. She carried herself differently. Stronger. Protective.
Of what?
He couldn't stop thinking about the boy in the photo on her phone—he'd glimpsed it on the boardroom table. A little boy with black curls and piercing blue eyes. Eyes that looked too familiar.
Damien's stomach twisted.
No. It couldn't be.
But the seed of doubt had been planted.