Ayla's POV
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
The world tilts, and everything goes silent the hum of the AC, the faint tick of the clock, even my own heartbeat.
"Elena Morgan," I whisper.
My greatest fear.
My old high school bully.
And now…
My new boss.
"Any problem? How may I help you?" she says, her voice calm… almost amused.
The sound yanks me out of my daze.
"N-no… not at all," I stammer, crouching to pick up my fallen bag. My fingers fumble, my hands won't stop shaking. I know she sees it. I feel her gaze burning into my back.
"G…good morning, ma'am. I'm Ayla Davul. Your… your newly assigned secretary."
Her gaze lifts slow, deliberate.
When her eyes meet mine, I nearly step back.
That stare. It's the same one from high school, the kind that made girls shrink in their seats.
A hundred thoughts crash at once.
Does she remember me?
Will she mention the past?
Or worse… will she pretend it never happened?
"Good morning, Ms. Davul," she says finally, her voice low, smooth, slicing straight through the tension.
Ms. Davul?
Does she not remember? Or is she pretending?
She stands, shrugging off her suit jacket with the same grace she used to toss insults with. Even in heels, she feels taller, heavier the weight of her presence pressing down on the room.
"I assume you were briefed about your duties?"
I nod too fast. "Y… yes. I've read through the onboarding documents."
"Good."
She circles her desk, heels clicking against marble. Each step sounds like a countdown.
"I don't tolerate mistakes," she says. "I expect efficiency, discretion, and complete focus."
I swallow. "Understood."
Her gaze lingers a moment too long like she's searching for something in my face. Recognition, maybe. Or regret.
Then she turns back to her desk, already dismissing me.
"You'll report to the executive secretary in the west wing for orientation and official schedule."
"Yes, ma'am."
She's already back in her seat, eyes on her laptop. Typing. Dismissing.
My chest tightens.
Does she really not remember me?
Or am I just… not worth remembering?
"Anything else?" she says, without even looking up from her screen.
"No, ma'am."
She hums softly, polite and distant. That's all.
I turn, forcing my feet to move. The click of my shoes sounds too loud, too small.
When the door shuts behind me, I finally breathe shaky, uneven, like I've been holding it for seven years.
"I thought I was starting a new life," I whisper under my breath. "But maybe this is just the continuation of the old one."
Elena's POV
"No. No. No way."
The words slip out before I even know I've said them.
I slam the laptop shut and shoot to my feet. The chair screeches against the marble.
"Is this happening for real? Am I dreaming or in some kind of daze? Ayla Davul? after seven years? No, it can't be. It's definitely a dream," I say, lightly tapping my face.
That entire time while she stood there stammering, trembling I was staring at a blank screen, pretending to type. Just a blinking cursor mocking me.
I wasn't typing. I wasn't checking anything. I was just trying not to lose it.
"Why is she here?" My voice cracks. "Out of everyone in the damn world, why her?"
I pace once, twice palms pressed to my temples.
"She can't be here," I mutter. "She can't. No. No, no, no… it can be anyone else but not her."
I snatch the employment file I ignored days ago and flip through it like a madwoman. And there it is, right on top. Ayla Davul.
I stare at the name like it's laughing at me.
"I should've checked," I mutter. "I told HR to pick someone capable, and the universe decides to hand me my past wrapped in a neat little file marked Secretary."
I swallow hard.
"It's been seven years. Seven damn years. I was finally getting over her."
My voice cracks.
"And now she's… back. Not just back, but as the closest person to me at work."
I drop the file on the desk, not sure if I feel panic, disbelief, or something dangerously close to joy.
"She's still the same," I whisper. "Soft. Gentle. Radiant. That voice. That awkward little smile. Those goddamn eyes…"
The corners of my mouth twitch before I can stop them.
God, I'm smiling.
Before I can stop myself, I inch toward the door just enough to peek. Her back is to me as she waits for the elevator, bag in hand, posture too graceful for my sanity.
"Still so damn pretty," I breathe. "Prettier, even. And that walk…"
The elevator doors close. She's gone.
I shut the door slowly and lean my forehead against it, heartbeat all over the place.
"How am I supposed to survive in this company when she's here? Behave casually? Or professional? Me? With that smile in my office? I guess I'd better leave work immediately."
I groan, knocking my head lightly against the door. "Elena, you are so screwed."
I back away from the door, heart pounding like it's trying to break free from my ribs. The air still smells faintly like her perfume soft, floral, maddening.
Seven years of silence. Seven years of pretending I'd moved on from a girl who never really left my mind.
And now she's here.
I have to see her every damn day.
I sink into my chair, staring at the laptop screen that still blinks blank. Just like my mind.
"She remembers me," I whisper. "But which version? The one I hurt… or the one who…"
I stop myself.
"Whatever side of me she remembers doesn't matter now," I mutter, rubbing my temples. "All I'm sure of is that Solaria Manhattan won't feel the same again."
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. "Perfect. Just perfect…"
I drop into my chair, staring at the laptop screen. The cursor blinks, steady and mocking, just like before. My reflection glares back from the black glass all poise on the outside, chaos underneath.
"If this is a dream, can someone please wake me up? And if I'm trapped in some drama, can someone be merciful enough to beg the writer to give me a break?"
I let out a confused laugh, half-mad, half-nervous.
God… what twisted joke is the universe playing this time?