Jenna's POV
I threw up twice before leaving my apartment.
The mirror showed a woman who looked confident, sleek black suit, hair pulled back, makeup covering the dark circles under my eyes. But my hands wouldn't stop shaking as I gripped my briefcase.
You can do this, I told my reflection. You survived leaving him. You can survive seeing him again.
My reflection didn't look convinced.
Maya had wanted to come with me, but I'd refused. This nightmare was mine alone. I'd destroyed Kieran five years ago, and now I had to face whatever came next.
The Uber driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror during the forty-minute drive to Manhattan. I must have looked like I was heading to my own execution.
Maybe I was.
Ashford Industries tower stretched into the sky like a steel and glass monument to everything I'd lost. I'd been here before—back when Kieran and I were engaged, back when I'd believed in happy endings.
Back when I'd thought I was dying.
Don't think about that now, I commanded myself. Focus. Get through this meeting.
The lobby was all cold marble and corporate power. A receptionist with a perfect smile directed me to the executive elevators. Fifty-second floor. Mr. Ashford is expecting you.
The elevator ride felt like falling. Each floor number that lit up was another second closer to seeing the man whose heart I'd shattered.
Thirty floors.
Forty floors.
Fifty.
The doors opened.
A woman in her thirties waited for me, clipboard in hand. Ms. Morrison? I'm Sarah, Mr. Ashford's executive assistant. Please follow me.
My legs moved on autopilot down hallways that screamed money and power. Everything here was designed to intimidate. To remind visitors exactly who controlled this building.
Who controlled everything.
Mr. Ashford is in the main conference room, Sarah said, stopping in front of massive double doors. He's asked not to be disturbed.
She opened the doors and gestured me inside.
And there he was.
Kieran stood with his back to me, staring out floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline. Broad shoulders, dark hair, the kind of presence that made a room feel smaller just by existing in it.
Five years hadn't softened him. If anything, he looked harder. More dangerous.
The doors closed behind me with a soft click.
Hello, Jenna.
His voice—God, his voice. Deeper than I remembered, edged with something cold that made my chest ache. He still hadn't turned around.
Kieran. My voice came out steadier than I'd expected. Small victory. Thank you for meeting with me.
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Meeting with you. How polite.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face me.
The breath left my lungs.
He was devastating.
The boy I'd loved had become a man carved from stone and shadows. His face was leaner, sharper, with new lines around his eyes that hadn't been there five years ago. Lines I'd put there. His amber eyes—eyes that used to look at me like I was his entire world—now looked at me like I was a stranger.
Or worse. An enemy.
It's been a while, he said quietly.
Five years, two months, and thirteen days, my traitorous mind supplied. Not that I was counting.
Yes, I managed. It has.
We stood there, ten feet of expensive carpet between us, and the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a physical force.
He looked good. Too good. Success suited him in ways that made my heart ache. The tailored suit, the confidence in how he stood, the power that radiated from him—this was a man who'd built an empire.
While I'd been struggling to survive, he'd been thriving.
You look well, I said, because the silence was suffocating.
Do I? His head tilted slightly, studying me with an intensity that made me want to run. That's surprising. I spent the better part of five years feeling like I was dying.
The accusation hit like a slap.
Kieran
How's your company, Jenna? He moved toward the conference table, each step deliberate. Morrison Marketing. You've built quite a reputation in Brooklyn. Small, but scrappy. Is that the word your clients use?
My throat tightened. He knew about my company. Had probably known for years.
We do good work, I said carefully.
Good work. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table. How admirable. Tell me, when you were building your little empire, did you ever think about the empire you walked away from?
Every word was designed to cut. And they succeeded.
I think about it every day, I whispered before I could stop myself.
Something flashed across his face—surprise, maybe, or pain—but it disappeared so quickly I might have imagined it.
Sit. He gestured to the chair directly across from him. Not a request. A command.
My legs carried me to the chair on shaking knees. I set my briefcase down, very aware that his eyes tracked my every movement.
The conference table stretched between us like a battlefield.
Do you know why you're here? Kieran asked, leaning back in his chair with the easy confidence of a man who held all the power.
Your assistant said you wanted to discuss Morrison Marketing's acquisition—
Acquisition. He smiled, and it was colder than winter. Is that what you think this is?
My heart hammered against my ribs. Isn't it?
That depends. He steepled his fingers, amber eyes locked on mine. On whether you're smart enough to understand what's really happening.
The air in the room felt thin. Wrong.
I don't understand, I admitted.
No, you don't. You never did. He stood abruptly, and I flinched. He noticed, and something dark crossed his features. Five years ago, you walked away from me without explanation. Do you have any idea what that did to me?
Kieran, I
I'm not finished. His voice cut like glass. I spent months searching for you. Hired investigators. Tracked down every lead. You'd vanished completely. Erased yourself like our three years together meant nothing.
Guilt crushed my chest. It wasn't like that
Then what was it like, Jenna? Explain it to me. He moved closer, and I could smell his cologne—the same one he'd worn five years ago. Because from where I stood, the woman I loved—the woman I was supposed to marry—decided I wasn't worth a conversation. Wasn't worth the truth. Wasn't worth anything.
Tears burned behind my eyes. You're wrong
Am I? He leaned against the table, too close now. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his amber eyes. Close enough to remember exactly what it felt like when those eyes looked at me with love instead of ice. Then tell me why. Right now. No more running. Tell me why you left.
The words tangled in my throat. I thought I was dying. A doctor lied to me. I was trying to protect you from watching me suffer. I made a terrible mistake.
But how could I say that? How could I explain five years of silence with a story that sounded insane?
I can't, I whispered.
His jaw clenched. Can't or won't?
Does it matter?
It's the only thing that matters! The control in his voice finally cracked. I need to know, Jenna. I need to understand why you destroyed us. Why you
He stopped himself, stepping back, dragging a hand through his hair.
The gesture was so familiar it hurt. He used to do that when he was frustrated, when he was trying to find the right words.
Some things hadn't changed.
You're right, he said finally, voice controlled again. It doesn't matter. What's done is done.
Relief and disappointment warred in my chest. Part of me wanted him to keep pushing, to force the truth out of me. Part of me was terrified of what would happen if he knew.
Kieran returned to his chair, all business now. The vulnerable moment had passed.
Let's talk about why you're really here, he said. Morrison Marketing belongs to me now. Through Meridian Holdings, I own controlling interest in your company. Which means, effectively, I own you.
The words sent ice through my veins.
What do you want? I asked quietly.
His smile was sharp as a blade. That's a very good question.
He pulled a folder from the table and slid it toward me. Open it.
My hands shook as I opened the folder. Inside were financial reports, client lists, revenue projections—everything about Morrison Marketing laid bare.
You've done well for yourself, Kieran said, almost conversationally. Built something from nothing. I respect that. I really do.
But?
But now your something belongs to me. He leaned forward. And I have plans for it. For you.
My mouth went dry. What kind of plans?
We have business to discuss, he said, echoing his greeting from earlier. Terms. Conditions. Expectations.
I'm listening.
Good. His amber eyes locked on mine, and I saw something dangerous beneath the ice. Something that looked like barely controlled rage. Because what happens next is going to determine whether Morrison Marketing survives the next six months
He paused, letting the threat hang in the air.
Or whether I destroy everything you've built, the same way you destroyed me.
The conference room felt like a trap closing around me.
Tomorrow, Kieran continued, standing. Nine AM. We'll discuss specifics then. I want you to spend tonight thinking very carefully about what you're willing to do to save your company.
Kieran, please
That's all for today, Ms. Morrison. The formality was another wall between us. Sarah will see you out.
As if on cue, the doors opened and his assistant appeared.
I stood on shaking legs, clutching the folder like a lifeline.
One more thing, Kieran said as I reached the door.
I turned back.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes held five years of pain and fury.
Welcome back to my world, Jenna. I hope you're ready for what comes next.
The doors closed behind me, and I stood in the hallway trying to remember how to breathe.
Tomorrow. He'd said tomorrow we'd discuss specifics.
Which meant I had twenty-four hours to figure out how to survive whatever revenge Kieran Ashford had planned.
And something told me that losing my company would be just the beginning.