The morning light poured through the thin curtains, soft and golden, kissing Amelia's face awake.
Her alarm had gone off twice already, but she lay there for a few seconds longer, listening to her heartbeat — fast, nervous, determined.
Today wasn't just another day.
It was the day.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and the screen lit up with a familiar name: Aunt Chloe.
She smiled instantly and picked it up. "Morning, Auntie."
"Morning, sweetheart!" came the older woman's warm British lilt. "How's my brave girl feeling today? Ready to conquer Nova Heights?"
Amelia sat up, pulling the blanket around her. "Trying to be. I've got that interview today."
"Ah, yes. The big one," Aunt Chloe said knowingly. "You'll do wonderfully, darling. You always do."
Before Amelia could reply, she heard giggles and tiny voices in the background.
"Mommy! Mommy!" three high-pitched voices chimed in unison.
Her whole face softened. "Lily, Ethan, Emily! My babies!"
The screen shifted as Aunt Chloe turned the camera toward them. Her three little angels sat at the breakfast table — cereal bowls in front of them, hair adorably messy.
Lily's curls were a halo of gold, Emily was already stealing from her twin's spoon, and Ethan — her only boy — grinned with that same mischievous spark that sometimes made her heart ache.
"Mommy, are you coming home today?" Ethan asked, eyes wide.
Amelia smiled through the lump in her throat. "Not yet, baby. Mommy has to work first. But soon, okay?"
Lily pouted. "Auntie says work makes people tired. Don't get tired, Mommy."
Her laughter cracked into a small sniffle. "I'll try not to, my love."
Aunt Chloe's face appeared again, full of warmth. "They miss you terribly, dear. But we're fine here, don't you worry. Just… keep your chin up today, alright?"
"I will," Amelia promised softly. "Give them a big kiss for me. All three."
"Already done," Aunt Chloe said with a wink.
The call ended, and the room fell quiet again. Amelia sat there for a moment, phone pressed to her chest, as if holding onto the echo of their voices.
Then she exhaled deeply, swung her legs off the bed, and got ready to face the world.
---
By 9:30 a.m., she was standing in front of a massive glass tower — King's Corporation, the city's pride and power.
Its logo gleamed in silver above revolving doors that looked like portals into another life.
Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure the receptionist inside could hear it.
She walked in anyway.
The lobby was a blend of elegance and intimidation — marble floors, towering plants, and a silence so sharp it made her footsteps sound too loud. A huge portrait of Christopher King, the founder and CEO, dominated one wall.
She froze for half a second.
Those eyes — that same stormy gray she'd never forgotten.
She forced herself to look away, inhaling deeply as she approached the desk.
"Good morning. I'm here for the event coordinator interview."
The receptionist gave her a professional smile. "Name, please?"
"Amelia Jones."
The woman tapped a few keys and nodded. "You're expected. Top floor, Office 31."
"Thank you."
Amelia stepped into the elevator, smoothing her blouse as it rose with a soft hum. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her — calm, composed, pretending not to fall apart.
When the doors opened, she stepped into a sleek hallway lined with glass offices and sharp-dressed executives. She followed the assistant who led her into a meeting room that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and power.
"Mr. King will see you shortly," the assistant said.
Her pulse stumbled.
Mr. King.
Amelia tried to steady her breathing, gripping her resume like a lifeline. She turned to the glass wall, gazing at the city below — her past and future colliding in the same skyline.
Then the door opened.
His voice was the first thing she heard — deep, smooth, commanding.
"Send the next candidate in."
It hit her like a memory.
That voice.
Her body went rigid as she turned around.
He stepped in, tall and impeccably dressed, his presence filling the room like gravity. Christopher King. The same man from that night — older now, sharper, more dangerous in his calmness.
He didn't recognize her.
Not yet.
His gray eyes skimmed her face briefly, indifferent, before settling on her resume. "Amelia Jones?"
Her lips parted, her throat suddenly dry.
"Yes, sir."
"Have a seat."
She obeyed, praying her heartbeat wouldn't betray her.
As he began reading her file, she studied him — the slight crease between his brows, the way his fingers tapped the desk impatiently, the same cold precision that once burned into her memory.
The air felt heavy.
He looked up suddenly, meeting her gaze — and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes.
Recognition? No.
Just curiosity.
"Your qualifications are impressive," he said evenly. "You've worked abroad?"
"Yes, sir. In event planning. I recently moved back to Nova Heights."
His jaw tightened subtly. "You're familiar with the city's corporate culture?"
"Yes."
He nodded, expression unreadable. "We'll be in touch."
That was it. No smile, no warmth, just dismissal.
Amelia stood, gathered her things, and turned toward the door. Her hand was already on the knob when his voice stopped her cold.
"Miss Jones."
She turned. "Yes?"
He tilted his head slightly, studying her with that sharp, calculating gaze.
"Have we met before?"
Her heart froze.
For a moment, time stopped — and the ghost of that night flashed in her mind: his voice, his touch, the way the world had fallen apart after.
She forced a small, polite smile.
"I don't think so, sir."
He nodded once, still watching her like he didn't quite believe it.
"Very well. You may go."
The door clicked shut behind her.
And as she walked down that glass hallway, her pulse pounded with one truth:
He didn't remember her.
But fate wasn't done with either of them.
Not even close.
---