The city hadn't changed.It still gleamed like ambition dipped in glass — cold, sharp, and heartbreakingly familiar.
The skyline stretched before me as my car slowed near the intersection of Fifth and Vale. The same streets where I once drowned in him — where every window once felt like a reflection of our secret.Now, they were just mirrors I refused to look into.
The rain came in slow whispers, tapping on the roof like an old song that remembered too much. The scent of petrichor and exhaust blended with something more sterile — progress, perhaps, or pretense.
It had been eleven months. Eleven months since I'd fled with shaking hands and a secret blooming beneath my ribs.Now I was back, and the woman who stepped onto this pavement was no longer the one who ran.
"Welcome to Knight City," my driver said, voice polite and unaware.
I smiled faintly. Knight City. Even the place carried his name, like the whole skyline bowed to it.
The glass doors of Aurum Atelier hissed open, revealing the headquarters of the fashion house that had begged me to join their new line. My designs — once dismissed, now desired — had traveled farther than I ever thought I would again. Paris, Milan, Seoul.I'd worked in silence, no interviews, no traceable address. Only sketches, under aliases that sold faster than I could create.
Now, I was Selene Brooks again. The woman whose hands had learned to turn pain into silk and sorrow into couture.
The lobby smelled of lilacs and leather portfolios. My heels clicked against marble as I entered, the sound sharp, deliberate — like punctuation after a long silence.
"Miss Brooks!" A voice, bright and rehearsed. A woman in a pencil skirt hurried toward me. "We're so honored you've joined our team. Mr. Lemaire mentioned you're leading the New York expansion. Congratulations!"
I nodded, lips curving politely. "Thank you. I'm eager to begin."
My tone was composed — the way a blade lies quiet before it cuts.
The office they'd given me sat on the twenty-second floor, all glass and gold. I dropped my handbag on the desk and touched the cool windowpane.From here, I could see his tower — tall, obsidian, unmistakable — across the avenue.
Knight Enterprises.
Even now, his presence claimed the horizon.
I could almost feel it — that same gravitational pull, the kind that once made it impossible to breathe without him near.
I pressed my palm harder against the glass, grounding myself in the cold.
"You're not that woman anymore," I whispered under my breath.
The city below moved on — taxis honking, crowds shuffling, lights flickering awake. The same rhythm that had once carried me to him, night after reckless night.
My reflection in the window was calm, hair swept into a knot, lipstick precise. But beneath the practiced stillness was a heartbeat that refused to forget.
By the third day, I'd fallen into routine. Mornings were spent in design meetings, afternoons in fabric consultations, evenings buried under patterns and deadlines.
Work had always been my refuge — the one language I could speak without trembling.
But the city refused to let me forget its owner.
Every newsfeed flashed his name.Every whisper in the elevator seemed to circle back to Alexander Knight.His empire had doubled in size. His influence reached into industries I once thought untouchable.
The man I'd left behind was still everywhere — except where I'd hidden him: inside me, with the memory of two heartbeats that had rewritten my world.
One night, after a particularly long design review, I stayed late in the atelier. The city outside glowed like liquid gold, the kind of beauty that hurts if you stare too long.
I loosened my blouse, exhaled, and closed my eyes.
Silence pressed in — not empty, but full of ghosts.
In it, I could almost hear them.Tiny echoes, the sound of what once lived inside me. Two small heartbeats that had guided my escape, then vanished into a place I didn't let myself touch anymore.
I'd buried that part of me so deep that even I couldn't always find it.
A knock broke through my thoughts.
"Come in," I said, straightening.
It was Mia, my assistant — too kind, too young to know the weight of what silence can carry.
"Sorry to disturb you," she said, stepping in with a folder. "There's been a change to tomorrow's presentation schedule. The board wants to move it up. Oh, and…" She hesitated.
I glanced up. "And?"
Her eyes darted to the papers in her hands. "The Knight Group is partnering with Aurum for the luxury materials line. Their CEO will attend the launch gala next week."
My fingers went cold around the pen I held.
Alexander Knight.
Of course. Fate never misses its cue — it waits for the moment you believe you're safe.
I forced my tone steady. "I see. Then we'll ensure the presentation is flawless."
Mia smiled, relieved. "I knew you'd be prepared."
She left, and the door clicked shut.
My composure cracked only after the silence returned.
The room suddenly felt too bright, too small. I turned toward the window again, and there it was — his tower gleaming across the skyline, a dark sentinel watching from a distance.
I imagined him there, sleeves rolled, eyes like obsidian storm, voice calm even when cruel.
Once, that voice had been my undoing.
I'd promised myself I would never let him hear it again.
The night of the gala arrived too soon.
I'd chosen the armor carefully — a backless black gown, silk that whispered when I moved. My hair pinned high, my expression serene. The dress was my defiance — every stitch a reminder that beauty, like survival, could be deliberate.
The hotel ballroom glittered with chandeliers and power. Crystal laughter, clinking glasses, murmurs of wealth — all the languages Alexander Knight spoke fluently.
I moved through the crowd like a shadow with purpose, shaking hands, exchanging smiles, keeping my pulse hidden beneath diamonds and poise.
It wasn't until I felt it — that subtle shift in air, that instinctual awareness — that I knew he'd arrived.
I didn't have to turn.
Every nerve in my body recognized the echo of him — that low ripple of presence that once tethered me.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
The announcer's voice floated through the music."Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. Alexander Knight, CEO of Knight Enterprises."
Applause swelled like thunder. I stood utterly still, glass in hand, eyes fixed on the table before me.
Then — foolishly, inevitably — I looked up.
Across the room, past glitter and gold, he was there.
Unchanged, yet sharper. Time had honed him — darker suit, colder gaze, a man who'd learned that control was both armor and weapon.
His eyes swept the room once, then stopped.
On me.
The sound fell away — laughter, music, conversation — all fading into the roar of my own pulse.
Our gazes locked.And in that single moment, every wall I'd built cracked like glass under pressure.
I turned first. Because I had to.
Because if I didn't, I'd forget who I'd become.
Later that night, I left early — claiming fatigue, though it wasn't my body that was tired, only my resolve.
The city outside was drenched in silver rain. I stood beneath the awning, waiting for my car, breathing in the scent of asphalt and night jasmine.
A black SUV pulled up beside the curb. My chest tightened — instinct more than reason.
The driver's door opened.
And before I could move, I heard him — that voice, deep and measured, slicing through the rain like memory itself.
"Selene."
The sound of my name on his lips was the undoing of eleven months of silence.
I closed my eyes, exhaled, and turned — slowly, deliberately.
He stood there, the storm haloing around him, coat damp at the collar, eyes dark enough to drown in.
The city blurred behind him, just light and motion and everything I'd tried to forget.
For a heartbeat — two, maybe — neither of us spoke.
The rain fell harder, pooling at our feet.
And in that silence, in that unbearable closeness, the truth pulsed like a secret between us — unseen, unspoken, alive.
Two heartbeats.One secret.And a past neither of us had truly left behind.