"Long time no see, Jedidiah."
The words left her lips softer than she intended, a strange mix of teasing and hesitation. She lingered at the doorway, her eyes tracing the silhouette of the man by the broad glass window. The late sunlight slanted across his frame, painting him in gold and shadow. He didn't turn.
He was adjusting the buttons at his wrist with slow, precise movements, his attention fixed on the city spread beneath them. Five floors up, the cars looked like moving pieces on a board game—tiny, insignificant. The distant hum of horns seeped into the quiet room, the traffic a restless, living thing.
He hasn't changed. Or maybe… he had. There was a stillness in him now, but it wasn't peace—it was the kind of calm that came after surviving storms.
"Yeah," he said at last, his voice low, even, but edged with something she couldn't name. "I thought you weren't planning on coming back. Two weeks of free time… somehow became two months, three weeks, four days, fifteen hours…" His lips twitched faintly. "…and thirty-eight minutes."
Her brows lifted. "Ooooh… someone's been keeping tabs on me."
He gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, but his reflection in the glass betrayed a smile—one of those rare, deliberate ones that always had a purpose.
"Excuse me?" His tone carried mock indignation, and his eyes—seen only through the window's reflection—gleamed with quiet amusement.
That smile… She remembered it far too well. It was the kind of smile that could make you forget the question you wanted to ask.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," he continued smoothly. "Besides… you're mine. Which means you belong to me, my dearest Kitten. And it also means less work for me now that you're back."
He finally adjusted his stance, shoulders straightening as he asked with casual command, "So—what's on my schedule today?"
She —elegant, composed—answered, updating him on meetings and calls, her voice brisk but respectful.
Then Jedidiah stepped away from the window, and for a heartbeat, the room seemed smaller. His presence was… undeniable. Controlled. The kind that could quiet a crowd without raising his voice. As he stare straight to Alice who was at his front door.
Alice's chest tightened. He's really here. As she stood partially hidden at his front door.
The woman smiled faintly noticing Alice presence at the door. "Jedidiah, I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Not at all, Kitten," he replied warmly, and Alice caught the subtle shift in his tone—gentler, more familiar.
"Kitten?" she repeated under her breath.
Jedidiah turned slightly toward her. "Ava. Her real name is Ava."
Alice's gaze moved to the woman, who met her eyes with a polite nod. "Ava. His personal assistant. And…" she added, her smile softening, "…an old friend from school."
A memory stirred. A shy girl with quick wit, clutching her books, standing between Jedidiah and the gossiping mouths that fed on his family's disgrace. She was the only one who defended him.
"You… have a personal assistant?" Alice asked, though she wasn't sure why her voice sounded so small.
Jedidiah's eyes met hers, his voice calm but carrying weight. "When you run what I run now, Alice, you keep people you trust close." He continued "You really are a surprising lady thinking you can sneak into a huge company without being noticed" a small chuckle escaped his mouth.
"I ….. wondered why it was easy, guess you made it possible" Alice spoke with a self mocking laugh.
Ava tactfully busied herself at the desk, sorting papers.
Alice stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, holding his gaze, the folded letter in her hand almost crumpling under the pressure of her grip.
"Would it have mattered?" His tone was unreadable, but the question landed sharp.
"Yes." The word shot out like a spark. "After everything… you vanished. You told me to stay away from the company, and now here you are—alive, working, and wrapped in secrets."
His eyes didn't waver. "I warned you because I owed him—the only one who ever cared for me—that much. Protection doesn't mean hiding forever. There are things moving behind the scenes, Alice… things your father had his hands in. I didn't want to be part of it, but that changed the day I overheard a certain meeting."
Her breath quickened. "You could have told me."
"You were never a mother I could relate to." The words were quiet but heavy.
Alice flinched as if struck. Silence hung like smoke.
Then, softer: "But your courage… is admirable. Your being here means you have questions."
His gaze fell to the letter in her hand. She noticed. Without breaking eye contact, she crossed the room and placed it on his desk.
"I want answers. No riddles. No half-truths. Just the truth."
He leaned back, studying her the way one might study an opponent before making the deciding move. "The truth is bitter. And the little I know… comes with a price. Are you willing to pay it?"
Something about his voice made her pulse skip—part warning, part challenge. She was about to answer when her phone rang.
She silenced it.
It rang again.
And again.
"I think you should answer," Jedidiah said, his lips curving faintly. "Might be important. I wouldn't want people thinking I've kidnapped you."
"No one knows I'm here. Not even Sophia," she replied.
"Interesting," he murmured, amusement flickering across his face.
She finally answered. "Hello—"
"Alice!" Sophia's voice cracked through the line, frantic. "You need to come back right now! Mom's garden—where she's buried—it's in trouble. And some of our properties, too—please, just come!"
Alice's heart dropped. "What? Slow down. Isn't Kennedith—or Dr. Raymond—handling it?"
"They're trying. And they're trying to reach Jedidiah too—he's our last choice now. But please, sister… come home."
The line went dead.
Alice lowered the phone, feeling the room tilt. She turned to Jedidiah. Her voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"How about we make a deal—for you to return to the company."
Jedidiah's lips curved into a slow smile, the kind that said he'd already been expecting this moment.
"Interesting," he murmured again, though this time, the word carried a different weight—like the opening move in a game only he knew the rules to.