Liam sat at the head of the long, sleek conference table, surrounded by his executive team. Screens and reports lay in front of them, charts, graphs, projections—the usual flurry of numbers and strategy. The team spoke quickly, recommending partners, analyzing potential outcomes, talking about growth and efficiency. Liam barely registered the words. He didn't nod, didn't ask questions, barely made a sound.
"Sir, the proposal from this institute—Greyhaven Secure Systems—they've done outstanding work in communications security. Their protocols are precise, advanced, and would complement our upcoming projects," one of the executives explained, clicking through slides filled with data.
Liam's eyes flicked down, almost mechanically, scanning the summary. It was all standard. A good recommendation, nothing more. He kept his expression unreadable, arms folded, a faint line between his brows.
Then one of the technical leads added, "And the lead researcher—Oliver Montero. His record on quantum cryptography and secure systems is—"
Liam froze, just for a heartbeat. The name hit him. Oliver Montero. His body didn't move, his face stayed perfectly blank, but a subtle, invisible jolt ran through him. He could almost feel the air thicken around him. The room's chatter dulled, like someone had lowered the volume of the world. He saw the profile: intelligent, meticulous, quiet, efficient. Precise to the point of obsession. All the traits he remembered. All the traits that made Oliver… Oliver.
Liam's jaw clenched subtly. His mind, normally razor-sharp and controlled, started replaying things he hadn't allowed himself to think about in years.
He said nothing. He didn't want to. He simply pressed the approval button on the presentation remote, letting the partnership pass without comment. "Approved," he murmured in a voice so low that only he could hear it.
The executives blinked, a little unsure. Liam didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. His face was still perfectly neutral, composed, a mask of authority and control. But inside, a storm of memories, anger, longing, and old guilt churned quietly, threatening to rise.
He leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his chest, staring straight ahead. Nobody could tell what was running through his mind. He would not speak. He would not react. He would let the work speak for itself. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a faint, stubborn thread of the past had resurfaced, tangled with every decision he would make from now on.
The meeting continued. Charts, recommendations, projections, and data. Liam listened, nodded at nothing, approved what needed approval. But the name—and the memories it carried—lingered in his chest like a quiet pulse.
The evening air was calm over the sprawling Adrien mansion. The sun had just begun to dip, casting a warm golden hue over the balcony. Lorette sat stiffly in the chair, hands folded neatly in her lap. The city stretched below, quiet in the distance, but the tension in the air was far from peaceful. Behind her, Mrs Adrien stood, her fingers deftly combing through Lorette's hair, the motion almost soothing, but her sharp eyes gave away the storm in her mind.
"So… working side by side with Liam," Mrs Adrien began casually, her tone light, almost teasing, "how does it feel?"
Lorette glanced out at the view, keeping her face calm. "Everything is fine, Mrs Adrien," she said softly. No tremor in her voice, but there was a tightness in her jaw.
Mrs Adrien hummed, pretending to leave it there, but then her tone shifted, sharper now, curious, almost probing. "And… that night," she said, combing slowed, "the night you went to Liam's house—what exactly happened?"
Lorette stiffened, a subtle pull of her shoulders as she tried to stay composed. Mrs Adrien noticed immediately. She moved gracefully to the front of Lorette, placing her hands gently but firmly on her shoulders. "Lorette," she said softly, leaning close, "don't keep secrets from me. I've been patient, but I need the truth."
There was a pause. Lorette's eyes flicked to the fading sun, then back to Mrs Adrien's unwavering gaze. She swallowed hard. "We… we did it," she admitted quietly, almost in a whisper, her words barely leaving her lips.
Mrs Adrien's face lit up, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across it. She clasped Lorette's shoulders gently, rocking her slightly, "Good… that's good. Very good." Her eyes glimmered with a sharp cunning that Lorette had always known was there, a mixture of pride and calculation.
Lorette's eyes flicked downward, hiding the unease curling in her chest. She didn't mention what Liam had told her afterward, the cold, precise instructions about precautions. She swallowed the memory down, keeping it tucked away.
Mrs Adrien leaned closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, the kind that sent shivers through Lorette. "Now… we have a way to hold him in place," she murmured, her tone confident, almost gleeful. "We can make sure Liam stays… focused, loyal, and… tied to you. But you must be patient. Everything has its time."
Lorette nodded slowly, still unsure whether to feel relief or dread. Mrs Adrien straightened, smoothing her hands over Lorette's shoulders once more, her eyes sharp and calculating as they swept over the young woman. "Remember, Lorette… nothing happens by accident. Everything is planned. And sometimes… one little piece in the right place is enough to guide a storm."
The balcony grew quiet after that. Lorette stared at her hands, the weight of what Mrs Adrien had just whispered sinking in. The city lights below blinked to life, indifferent to the plotting happening just above.
Mrs Adrien finally stepped back, hands on the railing, eyes scanning the horizon, but she didn't break the corner of her smile. Lorette stayed seated, her mind racing, knowing that her role had just changed—and that from now on, she was part of a plan much bigger than herself.
Oliver arrived at Stellar Corporations ten minutes early.
The building was exactly what he expected—glass, steel, silence. Everything clean. Everything controlled. The kind of place where footsteps sounded too loud and people learned quickly how to lower their voices.
Andrew, his partner, walked beside him, confident, talking lightly about schedules and deliverables. Oliver listened, nodded when needed, his tablet tucked under his arm. His face was neutral. Professional. The version of himself he had perfected over the years.
They were led into a meeting room on the upper floor. Long table. Dark wood. A screen already lit at the far end.
"Relax," Andrew whispered with a grin. "They're serious people, but fair."
Oliver gave a small nod.
The meeting began. Executives filed in. Polite greetings. Light handshakes. Names exchanged. Oliver introduced himself simply—no extra words, no personal details.
The presentation started.
Oliver stood when it was his turn. His voice was steady. Clear. He explained the system design, the safeguards, the logic behind the architecture. Numbers. Structure. Precision. This was his world—where feelings didn't interfere.
What Oliver didn't know was that two floors above, behind a wall of tinted glass, Liam was watching.
Liam stood in his office, hands resting lightly on the edge of his desk. The live feed from the conference room played on a wide screen in front of him. No sound. Just images.
Oliver, standing straight. Looking very different from what he remembered, gesturing calmly.
Oliver, more matured. Taller. Sharper around the eyes.
Liam's face didn't change.
The executives in the room leaned forward as Oliver spoke. Someone nodded in approval. Someone else whispered to someone beside them. The screen changed slides.
Liam didn't sit down.
He didn't speak.
When Andrew laughed at a small comment and Oliver responded with a polite smile—not wide, not warm—Liam's eyes followed that smile until it faded.
The meeting continued.
Questions were asked. Oliver answered them all without hesitation. No wasted words. No nervous habits. He didn't look around the room unnecessarily. He didn't fidget. He had changed a lot.
He didn't look up at the cameras.
Liam watched until the presentation ended. Watched Oliver gather his things. Watched him shake hands again, professional to the last detail.
The screen went dark.
The office stayed quiet.
Liam reached for the remote and turned it off himself.
He picked up a document from his desk—the partnership proposal—and signed it without pause.
When his assistant knocked a moment later, Liam only said one thing, voice even, unreadable.
"Proceed as planned."
Nothing else.
No expression.
No explanation...