There's a stillness to the early morning that feels heavy, like the world is holding its breath and so am I. I'm lying flat on the bare hardwood floor, staring at the ceiling with my hands rested stiffly over my stomach. My back hurts from the wood, but I don't move. When the alarm finally starts beeping, I shut it down instantly, the silence rushing back into the room like it never left. I didn't even sleep last night. Slowly, I push myself up from the cold floor and slip on my slippers, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound in the house.
The bathroom light hits me like a sudden gust too bright, too soon. I squint at my reflection in the massive mirror that takes up an entire wall. The woman staring back in her grey pajamas looks washed out, her skin pale and the shadows under her eyes darker than they were yesterday. It's hard to remember what it feels like to wake up without this weight clinging to me.
I glance down at the small clock resting on the edge of the sink. Seven a.m. It's too early to be awake, but too late to turn back now. My eyes drift from the red numbers back to my reflection, landing on my dark chocolate hair where the ends rest against my hips. It's a wild, untamed mess. I gather the length of it into a bundle, sliding the black band off my wrist to pull it all into a high ponytail. I let out a hollow sigh that carries the weight of every sleepless hour and worry I've been trying to ignore. This day, like so many others, doesn't feel like a fresh start; it just feels like a long, unavoidable chore.
After a quick shower, I move to the closet. The dark clothes are there, waiting like old friends safe, familiar, unremarkable. I pull on my usual black pants and black blouse and a black blazer. The colors are armor, shielding me from what lies ahead.
Coffee steams in the microwave, and I scroll through blinking emails on my laptop screen the constant drip of tasks and updates providing a rhythm to cling to. But beneath it all, there's a quiet storm brewing that today might bring. I glanced at the screen again and stood up putting everything in my tote bag, putting on my shoes before lifting the call.
"I'm coming downstairs in a minute' i informed the driver who is already waiting for me. I stepped outside and the chill in the air jerked my senses. that's Seattle for you. the ride to my office is approximately 30 minutes excluding the traffic.
Today is the day. The merger. Sterling, and Blackwood Industries. This morning is the first time I'll actually stand in a room with the Blackwood team My stomach tightens into a hard knot, but I force a breath and steady myself. This is my work. This is my responsibility.
I've already done a final run-through with the team and double-checked every document and presentation scheduled for the conference. I'm pacing the floor, clutching the final papers tight enough to crinkle the edges, when a knock hits the door. It's my assistant, Lucy.
"Ms. Eden? It's time," she says, her voice cutting through my focus. "The Dean called for you."
Near the entrance, the last-minute greetings are being rehearsed. Our CEO and Dean Sean are huddled together in a serious discussion until they spot me. "Ms. Harper, the day we've been waiting for is finally here," the CEO says, his eyes locking onto mine. "We're counting on you." I offer a humble smile and a small nod. "Certainly. I'll do my absolute best," I reply, though I can feel the Dean hovering, his chest puffed out like he's the one who mentored me. It's a lie, but today isn't the day to call him on it.
The convoy pulls up in front of the building, a line of sleek vehicles stopping in unison. The CEO, the Dean, and the rest of the company dignitaries step forward to play the part of the welcoming committee. It's all practiced smiles and polished suits as the Blackwood team climbs out, adjusting their jackets and shaking hands with wide, fake grins plastered on their faces.
In the middle of the chaos, Lucy appears at my side with a bouquet of yellow roses and white tulips. I'm supposed to present these to the lead of the Blackwood team. I find myself obsessing over the petals, checking the centers for bugs or wilted edges anything to keep from looking up at the high-ranking authorities marching toward us.
"Mr. Casper Collins, our new partner, and the next in line for CEO of Blackwood," the Dean says. The words just brush past my ears, meaningless. All my majestic introductions and endless preparations are stuck in my throat.
His blond hair is perfectly styled, and his navy three-piece suit is pressed like armor. A Rolex glints on his wrist, every move he makes deliberate and controlled. But it's his eyes, those piercing blue eyes that find mine so easily, unraveling everything I thought I'd survived.
"Ms. Harper," Casper says. His voice is steady, but there's something fragile vibrating just beneath the surface.
I barely manage a nod. "Hello."
Casper's eyes flick to Sean, then back to me guarded, unreadable, and far too close.
Before the CEO can continue, another figure steps out from behind Casper, and the air leaves my lungs for the second time today. It's a man in a sharp tobacco-brown suit, his honey-brown hair swept back, and his amber eyes locking onto mine with a shock that mirrors my own.
"And this," the Dean says, beaming as if he's presenting a prize, "is Mr. Ryan Vance. The Lead Strategist and the other half of the Blackwood powerhouse. He and Mr. Collins are the architects of this entire expansion."
Ryan's eyes flare he clearly had no idea I'd be the one standing here in this city, in this building. He recovers faster than Casper, stepping into my personal space under the guise of a professional greeting. His voice is a serrated whisper, low enough that only I can hear the venom.
"I didn't think you'd have the nerve to stay in this part of the country, Eden," Ryan says, his gaze narrowing. "Let alone at a firm like Sterling."
I don't move. I don't even blink. I keep my expression a perfect, frozen mask of professional indifference, even as the blood drains from my face.
"Careful with those flowers," Ryan murmurs, his tone dropping into a taunt that feels like a ghost from my past. "You always did have a habit of letting beautiful things wither the moment you touched them. Don't think for a second that we've forgotten what you're capable of. Keep your head down and stay in your lane, or I'll make sure the board finds out exactly who they've really hired."
He turns sharply, melting back into the crowd of suits before I can even draw a breath to respond.
Across the small gap between us, Casper's gaze lingers on me for a second longer. It's a storm of hatred, resentment, and a flickering, painful longing. He clenches his jaw, his tongue rolling into his right cheek a habit I remember too well. Then, he turns toward the conference room, leaving a deafening silence where the chaos used to be.
I'm left standing there alone. I clutch the bouquet so tight the plastic wrap crinkles, my knuckles turning white.
"Welcome," I whisper to the empty air.
The moment breaks. I swallow the surge of emotions threatening to tear me open and follow them inside.
Inside the conference room, the air hums with a forced energy. Conversations flutter and strategic plans are laid bare on the table as we all fall into our practiced roles: strategists, colleagues, professionals. Yet, beneath every word and every calculated glance, the past coils between Casper and me like a dormant beast, waiting for the first sign of weakness.
I have to remind myself to breathe, to keep my hands steady as I handle the documents, but every time our eyes meet, I'm sent reeling. The man who once held my heart is now a stranger clad in navy and steel, looking at me as if I'm a problem to be solved. As the meeting begins and the doors click shut, I'm left to wonder if time ever really heals these kinds of wounds, or if it just lets them rot until they're even worse.