Ava was sipping her second coffee of the day, half-distracted by a pitch deck on her screen, when the knock came.
It was polite.
Soft.
Too soft.
Her assistant usually buzzed people in. Clients booked appointments. Adrien texted before showing up. So when the knock came again — slow, deliberate — a strange chill crept down her spine.
She set the cup down.
"Come in," she said, voice steady.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Alex.
Her lungs locked. For a second, the room didn't feel like hers anymore.
He looked the same. No — worse. Like time had been too kind to him. Hair neat, shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show the edge of that stupid tattoo she once traced with her lips.
He smirked like he belonged there.
Like she hadn't pulled every root of him out of her life.
"Missed me?"
Ava stood slowly, fingers tightening around the edge of her desk.
"What are you doing here?"
"Just thought I'd drop by," he said, stepping inside without permission. "Wanted to see how the empire's doing."
She stepped to the side, subtly putting the chair between them. It was ridiculous — she was older now, stronger. She'd fought through storms, raised a son, built a company.
But her hands were still cold.
"I'm busy," she said curtly. "You can't just show up like this."
"Why not?" He ran his fingers across the frame of a photo on her shelf. One of her and Adrien, laughing on a hike. "I was part of your story too, Ava."
"That part is over."
He looked at her then — really looked.
"I don't think it is," he said softly. "You still get that look in your eye when I walk in."
She flinched.
"Don't flatter yourself."
Alex laughed once. "You still scared of me?"
Her jaw locked.
"I'm not sixteen anymore."
"Funny. You still look at me like you are."
She hated that he was right.
Even now, her body remembered. The quiet fear that wrapped around her ribs like barbed wire. The way her voice had once disappeared under his.
But she wouldn't let it win.
"Say what you came to say, Alex. Then leave."
He looked around, eyes sweeping the room like he was cataloguing her success. Like he was trying to find himself in it.
"I saw the press release," he said finally. "Big expansion. New investors. Real grown-up moves."
Her silence was blade-sharp.
"You here to congratulate me?"
"I'm here because I wonder," he said slowly, "how a girl who used to cry herself to sleep managed to become the woman who has all this… and still never let me in."
"You were never knocking," she said. "You were breaking down doors."
He smiled, almost proudly. "And you liked that once."
She didn't respond.
He took a step closer. She didn't back away, but her breath stilled.
"I look at you now," he murmured, "and I think — is this who you really were all along? Or did you become her… because of me?"
Ava raised her chin.
"I became her despite you."
That silenced him.
And for the first time, the smugness faded from his face.
She walked to the door, pulled it open. "I have a meeting in five minutes."
He stared at her, unmoving.
"I don't need your approval. Or your commentary. Or your memories," she said. "And I sure as hell don't need your ghost in my office."
Alex lingered.
Then he gave a low chuckle — something bitter, heavy. "You're good at pretending."
She didn't answer.
And when the door shut behind him, her knees nearly gave out.
She sank into her chair, fingers trembling — and reached for her coffee like it might warm the places he'd made cold again.
She thought he would leave when she opened the door.
But he didn't.
Instead, Alex took one step forward.
Then another.
And Ava—Ava didn't move back. Her spine was rigid, her breath stuck somewhere between fight and flight. The air between them grew thick, humming with a history that hadn't died no matter how many locks she'd bolted it behind.
He stopped inches from her.
Close enough that she could see the green ring around his irises. Close enough to remember how it used to feel to kiss him and hate herself for wanting it again.
"You know what eats me alive?" he said, voice low, dangerous.
Ava's throat tightened.
He leaned in, just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath by her ear. "It's not that you left. It's not that you built a new life."
Her fingers twitched at her side.
"It's him." His voice cracked like glass.
Ava blinked. "What?"
"Adrien."
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, and for once, he wasn't smiling. He wasn't playing. His jaw clenched, and something ugly simmered behind his gaze.
"I hate that kid."
Her breath hitched.
"You don't mean that," she whispered.
"I do," he said. "I mean it every damn day."
Silence.
"Because he's like me?" she asked slowly.
"No." His tone darkened. "Because he's not."
He stepped back, pacing now. Restless.
"You know what I saw two weekends ago?" he said suddenly, bitter heat pouring from every word. "I saw you on the beach with him. Feeding him with your hands. Laughing like—like the world never touched you."
Ava froze.
"You followed us?"
He didn't even pretend to be sorry.
"You looked like you belonged there. Like you weren't running anymore. And he—he sat there with that bored, teenage scowl like it was all his by right."
She said nothing.
Alex's voice cracked again. "You used to flinch when I touched you. You used to cry when I left. You used to chase me."
He turned back to her, eyes blazing.
"Now you chase him."
She stared, stunned.
"I used to think you were weak," he whispered. "That your love was fragile, breakable."
He took a breath.
"But you just never gave it to me the way you give it to him."
"Because he's my son," Ava said, quiet but firm.
"And I was your everything," Alex shot back. "But you never stayed. You never fed me fruit in the sun. You never laughed when I was cruel. You just—left."
Ava swallowed hard, heart pounding.
"You left too, Alex," she said. "In every way."
He shook his head.
"You love Adrien through it. Even when he's rude. Even when he doesn't care. He gets the version of you that forgives. That stays."
She crossed her arms, jaw tight. "Because he's a child."
"No," he spat. "He's a brat. A spoiled, arrogant, mouthy little copy of me."
His voice dropped.
"And you love him anyway."
Ava's eyes were shining now. Not with softness — but fury.
"You want to be jealous of him?" she whispered. "Fine. But you will not talk about him like that. Not in my office. Not in my life."
"You don't see it," Alex said, shaking his head. "He doesn't deserve it. You bend over backwards for him, and he doesn't even say thank you. He rolls his eyes. He snaps at you. And still—still—you love him like he's your miracle."
"He is," she said, voice breaking.
Silence.
Then: "You're just angry," she whispered, "that I didn't love you through the worst."
Alex didn't respond.
Because she was right.
"I was eighteen, Alex," she added. "And you...you were the storm. I couldn't survive you and love you."
He looked down. His fists were tight.
"You stayed for him," he muttered.
"I stayed because he never made me afraid."
That landed like a knife.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Ava stepped forward, voice calm but final. "You don't get to come into my life, my office, and throw daggers at the boy I raised — not when you gave up the right to be his father."
Alex turned slowly toward the door.
But before he left, he said, almost to himself, "He'll never love you like I did."
Ava looked him in the eye.
"No," she said. "He'll love me better."
And then she shut the door behind him.
Her hands were shaking.
But her spine stayed straight.