Simon leaned back against the couch, his dark eyes studying Nora with unsettling intensity. His fingers drummed against the armrest, slow and deliberate, like a predator biding its time.
"You threw everything away?" he repeated, his voice low, almost lazy—but there was something cold lurking beneath it.
Nora forced a sigh, lowering her gaze. "Yes. I was devastated, Simon. Losing you broke me. I couldn't stand to be surrounded by memories of what we had. I acted impulsively, but can you blame me?" She took a step closer, her voice softening, calculated. "If I had known you'd come back, I never would have done it."
Simon said nothing, his gaze drifting across the room. It was clean. Too clean. Not a trace of him anywhere. No photographs. No lingering scent. Nothing.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but there was no humor in it. "That's funny," he murmured, his voice silk and venom. "I don't remember you."
Nora swallowed. "That's because—"
"Because I died," he cut her off, his gaze snapping back to hers, sharp as a blade. "Because I lost my memories." He tilted his head, his smirk widening just slightly. "How convenient."
Nora forced herself to hold his gaze. "Simon, I know this is confusing, but you have to trust me. Your mind is still adjusting—"
Simon moved before she could react. One second, he was lounging on the couch, and the next, he was right in front of her, his fingers curling around her throat—not to choke, just to hold. To remind her how easy it would be.
Nora's breath hitched, but she didn't dare move.
"Trust you?" Simon echoed, his grip tightening just slightly. Just enough to feel her pulse hammer against his palm. His eyes burned into hers, searching, unraveling.
Something was wrong.
Something about her words. About this house. About her.
His head tilted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Lying to me is a very dangerous game, Nora."
She forced a soft chuckle, though her pulse betrayed her. "Simon, I—"
He let go just as quickly as he had grabbed her, stepping back with an almost amused expression.
"I'll play along," he said smoothly, as if nothing had happened. His smirk widened. "For now."
"Simon, please believe me," Nora's voice softened into something pleading, something desperate. "You were the CEO of a company, powerful, untouchable. Any woman in her right mind wouldn't dare let you go. But I did." She let out a shaky breath, taking a step closer. "We loved each other, Simon. I know you don't trust me right now, but I swear—I'll fix everything. I'll give you back your life, everything that was taken from you."
Simon didn't speak. His dark eyes remained unreadable, his gaze locked onto her like he was dissecting her every word, every movement. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.
Then, finally, he nodded.
Nora exhaled in relief, masking the smirk that threatened to curl at her lips. It was only the beginning.
Over the next year, she played her role perfectly. She rebuilt his empire, handed him back his company, restored everything he had lost. She stood by his side, guiding him, shaping him. Every move she made was careful, calculated. She whispered reassurances in the dark, painted a past he couldn't remember, wove lies into truths until even she could almost believe them.
And yet, no matter what she did, no matter how much she gave—he never truly trusted her.
Simon watched her the way a predator watched its prey, with something unreadable lurking behind his eyes. Cold. Detached. Dangerous.
He had returned from the grave. But whatever had crawled out of the earth was not the man she once knew.
"Cancel the deal with Ivanoff," Simon said coldly, his tone leaving no room for discussion.
Nora frowned, her fingers tightening around the pen she held. "That would cause a massive loss," she argued, trying to keep her voice steady.
Simon's sharp gaze flickered toward her, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating. "And I forgot to tell you something," he said, his voice eerily calm. "You're fired."
Nora's breath hitched. "What?" she whispered, her face paling. "Why? I'm your girlfriend."
Simon let out a dark chuckle, his expression twisted with amusement and disdain. "Fuck yourself. I haven't even touched you in the past year, let alone cared about what you were doing." His voice dropped, dangerously low. "Get lost. You were never my type to begin with."
She staggered back, disbelief clouding her features. "I helped you get your company back!" she snapped, desperation creeping into her voice.
Simon leaned back in his chair, his smirk turning cruel. "My company. My decision. And you?" He tilted his head. "You were just a tool. I used you, and now, I don't need you anymore." His gaze darkened. "I'm in charge now. Get out before I decide to kill you."
A chill ran down Nora's spine, but she forced herself to stay composed. "You don't want to know who you really were?" she asked, trying to bait him.
Simon's smirk deepened, but his eyes were void of amusement. "I don't need to dig into my past, and I don't need you, Nora. What if I find something that changes everything?" He leaned forward slightly. "Something that proves you've been lying to me all along?"
Nora shook her head rapidly, but before she could speak, Simon casually reached into a drawer and tossed a stack of photographs onto the desk.
Her stomach twisted as she recognized them—pictures of her tangled in bed with different men, proof of her countless deceptions.
"Get lost before these go public," Simon warned, his voice laced with venom.
Her blood boiled with fury, but there was nothing she could do. Simon was untouchable now. Without another word, she stormed out, her mind already racing.
From that day forward, she went into hiding. She knew both Simon and Stella had become powerful, too powerful for her to challenge recklessly. She had to plan, to wait, to strike when they least expected it.
One thing she was certain of—Simon would never cross paths with Stella. The chances were impossibly low. Their worlds had been torn apart, and she had made sure of it. Still, unease coiled in her gut. She needed to think fast, to move before either of them could sense her presence.
But one question haunted her—why wasn't Stella making a move?
What was she waiting for?