Chapter 2 — Shadows of What Once Was
Erica shut the glass door behind her, but the echo of his voice refused to fade. It lingered like perfume—familiar, unwanted, maddening. The conference room lights dimmed automatically behind her, and with every step toward her office, she tried to steady the rhythm of her breathing.
Three years. Three years of silence, of pretending she'd erased him. And now Dylan Cross was back—calm, composed, and sitting across her boardroom table as if he hadn't once torn her world apart.
Inside her office, she dropped the file on her desk and leaned against the edge, gripping the polished surface until her knuckles whitened. Her reflection in the window stared back at her, a woman perfectly put together—tailored suit, confident posture, the CEO everyone admired.
But beneath the armor, her heart was a battlefield.
The soft knock on her door startled her. She didn't have to ask who it was. She already knew.
"Come in," she said, her voice sharper than she intended.
The door opened, and there he was—Dylan, framed by the golden afternoon light. His presence filled the room before he even spoke.
"You walked out," he said quietly, closing the door behind him.
"I had another meeting," she lied, reaching for a pen she didn't need.
He smiled faintly, that same half-smile that used to undo her. "You've never been a good liar, Erica."
Her pen froze midair. "And you've never been good at knowing when to leave."
He took a slow step forward, eyes never leaving hers. "You want me to leave?"
She opened her mouth—but nothing came. The silence between them said too much.
Finally, she forced herself to look up. "Whatever happened between us, Dylan, it's over. This partnership is business, nothing more."
He nodded slowly, as if memorizing the words. "Business."
The word sounded foreign on his tongue.
"You should sign the final contract today," she added briskly. "Once the legal team clears it, we can—"
"Erica," he interrupted, his voice low but firm. "Do you ever stop pretending?"
Her pulse quickened. "Excuse me?"
He stepped closer, his tone quiet but cutting. "You can sit there with your perfect posture and those polite smiles, but I can still see it. The way your hand trembles when you're near me. The way you breathe differently when I walk in the room."
Her throat tightened. "You're imagining things."
He shook his head, eyes burning with something between anger and longing. "No. I'm remembering them."
The words hit her harder than she wanted to admit.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the years of pain and passion suspended in the air between them. Then Erica forced herself to look away.
"I've moved on," she whispered.
"Then why are you shaking?"
The question stole her breath. She hid her hands behind the desk, nails digging into her palm.
"Get out, Dylan."
He hesitated—then quietly turned and walked toward the door. But before leaving, he looked back at her.
"Some ghosts don't disappear just because you stop believing in them," he said softly.
The door clicked shut.
Erica stood frozen, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.
Only when she was alone again did she finally let out the breath she'd been holding. She pressed a trembling hand against her chest, trying to quiet the storm inside.
But she couldn't ignore the truth anymore. Dylan Cross wasn't a ghost from her past.
He was the storm that had come back for her.
Erica didn't leave her office for the rest of the afternoon. She sat behind her desk long after the sun sank low, pretending to work while her mind refused to cooperate. Each document she signed blurred into another; each email typed came out mechanical, hollow.
The problem wasn't the project. It was him. Dylan Cross had walked back into her life and knocked every piece of calm she'd built out of place.
When her assistant, Nora, entered quietly with a cup of coffee, Erica blinked in surprise.
"You're still here?" Nora asked, placing the mug down carefully. "It's nearly eight."
"I lost track of time."
"You're not fooling anyone." Nora's tone softened. "He's back, isn't he?"
Erica's pen stilled. She didn't answer.
Nora sighed. "I saw him in the lobby earlier. The man's aura screams unfinished business."
Erica looked up sharply. "You talked to him?"
"He said he wanted to make sure you got home safely."
Of course he did. Dylan always had a way of acting like concern was a right, not a choice.
"Tell security not to let him wait around," Erica said quickly. "And Nora… thank you."
Nora hesitated before leaving. "Just—be careful, okay? Some people come back to heal. Others come back to win."
The door shut again, and silence returned. Erica leaned back in her chair, staring at the dark city through the glass wall. Neon lights painted the skyline; below, car horns hummed a restless song. Somewhere out there, Dylan was probably watching the same view, remembering the same nights.
Across the city, Dylan stood on the hotel balcony, tie loosened, eyes fixed on the same stretch of lights. The city hadn't changed much—but Erica had.
He'd known she'd be different. Stronger. Sharper. But nothing could've prepared him for how calm she'd looked while slicing him open with a few precise words.
He'd thought he could handle it. He'd been wrong.
Inside the suite, his phone buzzed. A message from his partner:
Liam: Contract draft ready. You sure about working with Monroe Group?
Dylan: Positive.
Liam: Heard the CEO's tough.
Dylan: You've no idea.
He set the phone down and poured himself a drink. The amber liquid glinted under the city lights, but it didn't dull the ache in his chest. He'd come back to reclaim more than a company merger. He'd come back for redemption—though deep down, he wasn't sure he deserved it.
When his phone rang again, the name flashing on the screen made him pause.
Erica Monroe.
He answered before reason could stop him. "Erica?"
A long silence. Then her voice, quiet but composed: "You left a file behind. I'm having it sent to your hotel."
He smiled faintly. "You could've texted that."
"I didn't plan on talking to you."
"And yet you did."
A small exhale—irritation, maybe. "Goodnight, Dylan."
"Erica—wait."
She didn't. The line went dead.
Dylan stared at the phone for a long moment before setting it down again. He should've expected it. She wasn't ready to hear what he wanted to say. Maybe she never would be. But he'd built empires out of persistence. He could rebuild her trust the same way—slowly, relentlessly.
Tomorrow, he decided, he'd make her see him again. Not the man who left her. The man who still loved her.
The next morning, the elevator doors opened to reveal Dylan standing in the lobby of Monroe Group. Employees stopped mid-conversation, stealing glances. He wore a charcoal suit that matched the determination in his eyes.
Erica arrived five minutes later, heels clicking against marble, attention fixed on her phone until she looked up—and froze.
"Mr. Cross," she greeted coolly. "You're early."
"I didn't want to miss you."
"You could've scheduled an appointment."
"I tried. Your assistant said you were fully booked."
"Because I am."
He smiled. "Guess I'll wait."
The audacity in his tone made her jaw tighten, but a small part of her admired it—the same boldness that once drew her to him.
"Suit yourself," she muttered and walked past.
He followed at a respectful distance until they reached her office. When she turned to face him, his gaze softened.
"Erica," he began quietly, "I know what you think of me. And you have every right. But I didn't come back to ruin your peace."
"Then why are you here?"
"For a second chance."
Her laugh was low and bitter. "Second chances are for people who made mistakes. You made a choice."
He stepped closer, voice dropping. "And I've been paying for it ever since."
For a heartbeat, the world outside the glass walls seemed to fade. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air—hers uneven, his steady but trembling at the edges.
Finally, she turned away, forcing distance where her heart wanted none. "If you want this partnership to work, keep it about business. Otherwise, we're done."
He nodded slowly. "Then we'll start with business. But I'm not giving up on the rest."
Her eyes flashed as she met his gaze again. "That's not your decision anymore."
He smiled sadly. "It never was."
When Dylan finally left her office, Erica sank into her chair, her pulse still racing.
Every word, every look, felt like déjà vu—a reminder of nights when love had been easy, before ambition ruined everything.
And yet, beneath the anger, something dangerous stirred. Hope.
She hated that.
To be continued.....