-Daisy-
Being at the wrong place, at the wrong time would always be a way of defining who I am. It wasn't yet break time but here I am getting coffee. I clutched the already leaking paper cup, trying to remember why I needed this drink anyway. Then the elevator dinged.
And the second it did, the whole room changed. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Someone dropped their pen. I could literally feel it — the weird tension that rolls in when someone powerful walks in.
I didn't look up right away. I should've kept my eyes on the floor. Or the coffee. Or anything else. But of course, I didn't. I looked.
And I swear my heart just...stopped.
It was him. Fucking Maxwell Jordan?
Tall. Sharp. In a black suit that fit a little too perfectly. Same jaw. Same eyes. Same everything. Except more... cold. Older, sure, but in that expensive way some men age. Like time decided to make him richer instead of softer.
And he didn't look at me. He just walked right past like I was air. Like I hadn't once worn his ring.
Like I hadn't married him in a backroom chapel with shaking hands and a heart so full it could barely beat.
I stared. Couldn't help it. My throat went dry. The coffee in my hand stopped mattering.
"Daisy ?" Hailee from HR nudged me. "You okay? You spaced out."
I blinked. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. Just tired."
She raised an eyebrow like she didn't buy it, but thank God she didn't press.
I left. I quickly walked towards the ladies' restroom.
What the hell? He was supposed to be gone. Like... permanently. Disappeared like a bad dream I'd finally stopped having. And now?
Now he was back. Breathing and much alive. And apparently, MY NEW BOSS!!
Jesus.
I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't ready for him.
And I sure as hell wasn't ready to face him when I was engaged to his brother.
—
By the time I walked into the meeting room, I'd told myself five times that it was fine. That I was fine. That he probably didn't even recognize me.
Then he looked at me. Straight at me and I knew I was lying to myself.
His eyes didn't flinch. Not even a blink. Just full-on eye contact like he'd been waiting to see me walk through that door.
He didn't smile. He hated smiling. It just was never his thing.
He said my name. Particularly my last name.
"Miss White."
I answered the same way. "Mr. Maxwell."
Professionally distant and safe. But inside? My heart was wrecked.
The meeting kicked off. Slides. Numbers. Projections. I couldn't have repeated a single word they said if you paid me. All I could think about was how he looked exactly like the man I married and nothing like the boy who held me that night.
And then—because fate has a sense of humor—he dropped this:
"We'll be moving Miss White to report directly to me."
I actually turned my head like he was talking about some other Miss White.
He wasn't.
People looked at me. I forced my face not to crack.
I didn't argue. What would I even say? Hi, sorry, I used to be married to this guy and I'm currently engaged to his brother, so maybe a different assignment?
So I just said, "Understood."
—
Just as it was thirty minutes past five, exactly when I thought I'd made it through the day without another disaster, my phone buzzed.
Maxwell: My office. Now.
Oh for the love of—
I considered ignoring it. Honestly. But curiosity always wins. And anger. And this gnawing feeling that if I didn't confront him now, I'd explode.
His office was all glass and steel and too clean. Too cold. Exactly how I imagined his brain looked.
He didn't look at me right away. Just stood at the window, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.
I waited. Eventually, he turned. His eyes landed on me like I'd been dragging his name through the mud.
"You look different."
I didn't blink. "So do you."
"More confident," he added.
"More robotic."
He almost smiled. Almost. "Still have that sharp tongue."
"Still have that disappearing act?" I snapped. "What the hell, Maxwell?"
"I had my reasons."
"Don't care."
"I didn't sign the divorce papers."
I stopped breathing for a second.
"What?"
"I kept them," he said like it was some kind of twisted romantic gesture. "Still have them."
"You—" I stepped back. "Why would you—"
"Because you're wearing his ring now."
I covered my hand without thinking. My engagement ring wasn't flashy. Noah wasn't flashy. But it was real. Safe. Honest. Everything Maxwell wasn't.
"You don't get to comment on my life."
"I came back for you."
"Ten years late," I snapped. "You left me. No goodbye. No explanation. You married me, Maxwell, and then you disappeared. That doesn't just go away."
His jaw tensed. "You think I wanted to leave?"
"I think you did leave. That's all that matters."
He stepped closer. Too close. I could smell his cologne, and it shouldn't have done what it did to my knees. My brain told me to walk out. My body? My body wanted to lean in like a fool.
I didn't. I held my ground.
"Do you love him?" he asked.
I stared at him. "That's none of your business."
"It is. If you're still mine."
"I'm not yours," I whispered.
"Then why are you shaking?"
I didn't answer. Just turned and walked out before I cried or slapped him or—worse—kissed him.
—
Downstairs, Noah was waiting. My sweet, oblivious fiancé.
He smiled when he saw me. Kissed my temple. Opened the door like always.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Long day," I said, sliding into the seat and shutting the door on the chaos in my head.
He squeezed my hands gently. "Wanna grab food? Or go home?"
"Home," I said quickly. I needed silence. I needed to breathe. He nodded and started the car.
Upstairs, I knew Maxwell was still watching. And I hated that I could still feel it.