Alstroemeria
Eight Years Later
The world had changed a lot in eight years. I had changed. In ways I hadn't even realized at the time.
It was a crisp autumn morning in the city of London, and the sun's pale light filtered through the tall glass windows of my condominium. I had come a long way since leaving Blackwood University, since walking away from everything that had once felt so consuming.
The tightness in my chest when I thought of Luca? It had faded. The pain of betrayal? Lessened. The lessons learned, however, had been invaluable. I wasn't the same person I had been at Blackwood. I wasn't the same person who had trusted too easily, who had let her heart bleed for someone who didn't deserve it.
Now, I was a woman who had built herself from the ground up. A woman who had chosen herself, and whose determination had taken her far.
I had gotten off the bed and made my way to the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead. I wore my usual business attire. Then drove to the office with my Mclaren 720s.

I walked into my office, my heels clicking against the marble floors as I made my way to the corner desk where my assistant handed me a few files. My work here—leading one of the most successful startup firms in the city—was demanding, but I had come to love the challenges it presented.
I had built my own company from the bottom. It's a retail or e-commerce company. Like what I wanted, away from the Taylors family legacy and all that.
In a strange way, it felt like a lifetime ago that I had been that unsure girl, lost in a whirlwind romance that ultimately shattered me.
"Miss Taylors, your 10 AM meeting is ready," my assistant, Grace, said, interrupting my thoughts.
I nodded, pushing the lingering memories of Blackwood and Luca aside.
"Thanks, Grace," I said, grabbing my cup of coffee from the counter.
As I entered the conference room, I adjusted my posture, slipping into the role of the confident CEO I had worked so hard to become. My eyes fell on the faces of the investors seated at the table, but something in the back of my mind made me pause for a moment. For the briefest of seconds, I felt like I was back in Blackwood, standing in front of a different kind of audience.
But I shook it off, focusing instead on the task at hand.
Meanwhile, Across the Seas...
The boardroom in Milan was drenched in tension. Silence thick as smoke hung in the air.
A man sat at the head of the table, a dark storm in an Armani suit. His fingers tapped a slow, cold rhythm against the polished mahogany.
"So, none of you can solve this problem?" he asked, his tone as cold as ice.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Valerian," one executive said nervously. "Only one company supplies those products—and they're based in London."
The man—Luca Zev Valerian—narrowed his eyes.
"Then what's the issue?" he demanded. "Why haven't we secured a deal?"
His voice was sharper now, impatient and commanding—the kind of tone that left no room for excuses. The boardroom fell silent, no one daring to speak until one brave soul finally muttered, "The company's CEO has refused our offer."
Luca's eyes darkened. "Refused?" he echoed, incredulous. "Do they know who they're refusing?"
"We tried contacting her again, but she's... difficult to reach. Her company's independent, tight on partnerships. She only accepts long-term contracts and chooses carefully."
Luca stood from his seat, towering and cold. "Then I'll go there myself."
There was a collective hush in the room. "You mean London?" one of the board members asked carefully.
"Yes," he replied, already pulling out his phone. "Schedule the jet. If this CEO thinks she can play hard to get, then she hasn't met a Valerian determined enough."
He walked out, his eyes stormy and jaw set.
...
London, Two Days Later
Luca stepped off the jet and into the sharp bite of London air, his long coat billowing slightly in the wind as he descended the private tarmac. His assistant trailed behind him, tablet in hand, listing off appointments and schedules.
"We've arranged a meeting with the CEO of the company—Eirlys & Co.," she said. "The office is in Central London. Very secure. Very private. Hard to get in without clearance."
"And the CEO?" he asked, slipping on his sunglasses, eyes focused straight ahead.
She paused. "Still no confirmed name. Goes by initials only—A.N.T. No press appearances, no interviews. Completely off-grid."
Luca frowned. "A ghost."
"More like a fortress," she replied. "But they agreed to meet. You impressed someone."
He smirked slightly. "Of course I did."
The black car waiting for them pulled away from the airstrip, slicing through the city traffic like a blade. Luca stared out the tinted window at the passing skyline, unaware that the person he was about to meet—the one who had been refusing his every offer—was none other than Alstroemeria Nyx Taylors.
The same woman whose heart he had broken eight years ago.
The same woman who had built an empire while he wasn't looking.
And this time, she wasn't going to be easy to win over.
Alstroemeria – London Office, 10:15 AM
The conference room was pristine, sunlight spilling through the tall glass windows, gleaming against the polished surfaces. Alstroemeria sat at the head of the table, legs crossed, an untouched cup of coffee beside her. She wore power like a second skin—tailored cream trousers, silk blouse, hair in a loose but intentional bun. Her presence was magnetic, calm, and quietly commanding.
She didn't even want to be here. The proposal came weeks ago—Valerian Enterprises requesting a supply contract. She had been reluctant to entertain the idea. Valerian was a name that still clung like smoke to the walls of her past, but the board had pressed.
It's not Luca, she'd told herself. It's his older brother. He's the CEO now. This is just business.
"Miss Taylors," Grace whispered as the door opened. "He's here."
She didn't look up right away, casually flipping through the file in front of her.
"Good morning," came a smooth, deep voice—familiar in a way that made her blood run cold.
Her pen slipped from her fingers.
That voice.
Slowly, carefully, she raised her head.
And there he was.
Luca Zev Valerian.
She hadn't expected this.
She hadn't expected him.
"Ms. Taylors," Luca said, his voice colder than she remembered. "It's been a long time."
Her heart skipped, but she fought the instinct to show it. "Mr. Valerian," she said coolly, standing up, masking her shock with professionalism. "I wasn't expecting you. I was told I'd be meeting with your brother."
Luca gave a shrug and look straight into me, though there was something hidden behind his eyes. Maybe hatred. "Change of plans. He's been busy. Thought I'd handle this myself."
Of course he did.
I didn't say anything for a beat, then gestured stiffly toward the chair across from me. "Let's get this over with. You might sat down Mr. Valerian"
And as he sat down, I realized something terrifying:
I wasn't sure I was ready for this.
Not for him.
Not again.
"Don't worry, Ms. Taylors," he said, voice cool as steel. "I'm not here for anything unnecessary. This is purely business."
Right.
Business.
I forced a smile. Professional. Polished. Detached. The kind of smile that never reaches the eyes.
"Good," I said. "Let's keep it that way."
Here's a refined continuation of your scene, still in Alstroemeria's POV, with the emotional tension deepening:
"I intend to," he replied, his voice as cold as ice.
Something in me tensed.
Luca had always been many things—arrogant, stubborn, emotionally constipated—but never cold toward me. Not like this.
It hit me then, in the stillness between us, just how different he was. How different we were.
This wasn't the boy who used to smirk whenever I caught him staring across campus. This wasn't the same Luca who used to pull me into his arms like the world might end if he didn't. No. This version of him was sharp edges and unreadable silence. Like a door slammed shut and bolted from the inside.
Unsettling didn't even begin to cover it.
But I wasn't about to let him see it got to me.
"Alright then," I said, flipping open the file in front of me with calculated ease. "Let's discuss the terms. Your company requested a supply contract for exclusive access to our latest product line."
He nodded, jaw tight. "That's right."
I didn't look up. I couldn't. Not yet.
"The board is open to it," I continued, "but there are conditions."
"Of course there are." His voice was dry, almost mocking.
I finally met his eyes again. "If you came here expecting me to roll over for Valerian Enterprises just because of your name, then you've wasted your jet fuel."
There was a flicker—barely—but I saw it. Something in his expression cracked, just for a second.
And then it was gone.
"Believe me, Ms. Taylors," he said slowly, "I came prepared."
I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. "Then I hope you brought more than just that last name of yours."
His jaw ticked.
So did my heart.
This was not going to be easy.
But then again, nothing with Luca ever was.
His jaw ticked again, but he didn't break. Of course he didn't.
Luca was always good at pretending.
What I didn't understand was *why*. Why the hostility buried beneath the surface? Why the venom in his silence? I could feel it—the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long, the way his replies were sharp enough to cut, but always wrapped in professional courtesy.
It wasn't indifference. It was something deeper. *Personal*.
Hatred?
No. Luca couldn't possibly hate me.
...Could he?
"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said suddenly, leaning back in his seat with that infuriating calmness. "Relax, Ms. Taylors. I'm not here to make your life difficult. Just business, remember?"
I forced another smile, one that probably looked more like a grimace. "You'll find I handle business very well, Mr. Valerian. Emotion doesn't factor in."
He hummed in amusement, but it didn't reach his eyes. Nothing about him did.
And that was what unsettled me the most. Luca had always been intense, yes, but there had been *warmth* once. Heat. Something raw and real beneath all that bravado. Now?
Now he was unreadable. I didn't know this version of him.
Maybe I never really did.
I tapped the end of my pen against the table. "Let's cut to the terms. You want exclusive rights. I want guarantees. A partnership on my terms, not just a buyout."
"Of course," he said smoothly. "You're the one holding the cards now, after all."
Something about the way he said it—so measured, so polite—felt like a slap dressed as a compliment.
I narrowed my eyes. "If you have something to say, Luca, just say it."
He gave a slow smile. Cold. Controlled. "Not at all. I'm impressed, truly. You've done well for yourself."
And that was the moment I knew—he *hated* this. Hated being across the table from me. Hated that I had built something he now needed. Hated that he had to ask *me* for anything.
But he'd never say it. He'd never let me see it.
So neither would I.
"Flattery won't get you far in this room," I said, tone cool.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on mine. "Wasn't trying to."
And just like that, we were back in the ring.
"Just say the terms, Ms. Taylors," he said, his tone clipped, final. "Then I'll be out the doors in no time."
I tilted my head, studying him. There it was again—that tightly reined impatience, the bitterness hiding behind sharp business etiquette.
He couldn't wait to get out of here.
Couldn't wait to be done with me.
I should've felt relieved. Instead, it stung in a place I didn't want to admit still existed.
"Of course," I said coolly, flipping open the file folder between us and sliding a copy across the table. "Exclusive contract for product supply, renewable annually. Full autonomy on distribution. No creative interference. Long-term projection estimates attached."
He didn't touch the file. Just looked at me like I was another boardroom obstacle he had to bulldoze through.
"This is what you offer to everyone?" he asked flatly.
"This is what I offer when I know what I'm worth," I replied, just as flatly.
He smirked, humorless. "And here I thought we could have a little grace for old times' sake."
I met his eyes, unflinching. "Old times don't belong in this room, Mr. Valerian."
"Right," he said softly. "Of course not."
And yet, his jaw clenched like he was biting down a memory.
I leaned back in my chair, pretending this was just another transaction. Pretending his presence didn't feel like salt on an old wound.
"Review the documents," I said. "Have your team contact mine if you're still interested."
"I won't need to," he said as he finally picked up the file. "I'll let you know by tonight."
Then he stood.
I did too, because I refused to let him have the last word. Not anymore.
His eyes lingered on mine for just a second longer than necessary.
And then he walked out.