Chapter Four: The Past Returns
1124 Words
Winter had settled firmly over Manhattan, and with it came a bitter chill that even the tallest skyscrapers couldn’t escape. Ethan’s days had begun to brighten—slightly, subtly—since Claire entered his life. She never demanded more than he could give, never intruded where she wasn’t invited. Instead, she slowly chipped away at the hardened exterior he’d spent years building, brick by emotional brick.
But just as healing began, the past returned like an unwanted guest.
It began with a message.
Marcella entered Ethan’s office late one morning with a subtle frown, her usually unreadable face carrying the weight of something personal.
“She’s in town,” she said.
Ethan didn’t look up from his monitor. “Who?”
“Isabella.”
The name landed like a thunderclap.
He leaned back in his chair, slowly exhaling. “What does she want?”
“She didn’t say. But… she’s requesting a meeting.”
Ethan was silent for a long moment, eyes distant.
“Should I cancel?” Marcella asked.
He shook his head. “No. Set it up. Tomorrow morning. My office.”
Marcella raised a brow. “You sure?”
“I’m not,” he replied. “But I need to see what she’s playing at.”
The next morning, Ethan wore a tailored charcoal suit—not for Isabella, but for control. His armor. He stood by the window of his office, watching the clouds shift over the skyline when the door opened.
She walked in like she owned the place.
Isabella Royce was still stunning, though sharper now. Her blond hair was pulled into a sleek knot, her designer heels clicking against the floor with every step. She carried herself like a queen—a woman who knew the world still bent for her, even if one man no longer did.
“Ethan,” she greeted, her voice like honey over ice.
“Isabella,” he returned flatly, motioning for her to sit. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call.”
She smiled, folding her legs as she settled into the leather chair. “Still as blunt as ever.”
“I don’t have time for nostalgia. What do you want?”
Her expression flickered, just for a second. “I came to apologize.”
He stared.
“To apologize?”
“Yes. For how I treated you. For what we became. I was selfish, Ethan. I didn’t know how to love someone who wasn’t my father’s shadow.”
Silence stretched between them. Ethan didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Part of him had dreamed of this moment—a small piece of closure. The rest of him didn’t care anymore.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said coolly. “But we’re past that now.”
She reached into her bag and slid a document across the table.
“What’s this?”
“A business proposal. My father’s stepping down from Royce Energy. I’ll be taking over. I want to merge—Royce and Blackwood. As equals.”
Ethan almost laughed.
“You think after everything, I’d consider merging with your family again?”
“This isn’t personal,” she said. “It’s smart. It’s strategic. We’d dominate the global energy market. You can separate your feelings from your mind, can’t you?”
He stood abruptly.
“Get out.”
“Ethan—”
“I said get out.”
Her face hardened. “You’ll regret this.”
“No. I already regret ever marrying you. Now leave.”
She picked up her bag and walked out without another word.
The door closed behind her with a final click.
Claire noticed the shift immediately.
They were at her apartment later that evening, a small two-bedroom in a modest brownstone. Emma was at a sleepover, giving them rare privacy. Ethan was quiet, more than usual. Tense.
“What happened?” she asked gently, touching his hand.
“She came back.”
Claire didn’t need to ask who.
He explained the visit, the proposal, the venom behind the polished apology. Claire listened without judgment. But her stomach twisted.
“You don’t think she’s trying to win you back?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. Not emotionally. But she wants what she always wanted—control. Power. Prestige. And she still thinks I’m part of that equation.”
Claire nodded slowly. “Well… she’s wrong.”
He looked at her, surprised by the conviction in her voice.
“You’re not who you were with her,” Claire continued. “You’ve changed. You smile now. You ask about my day. You laugh, sometimes. She doesn’t get to undo that.”
Ethan reached for her hand. “You’ve given me a reason to change.”
They sat in silence, hand in hand, letting the warmth push away the chill of the day.
But the past has a way of digging in its heels.
Later that week, headlines exploded.
“Royce Heiress and Billionaire Ex Seen in Heated Meeting.” “Blackwood and Royce: Merger or Rekindling Romance?”
Photographers had caught Isabella entering Blackwood Tower.
Social media lit up with speculation. Investors buzzed with merger theories. Claire’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing—friends asking questions, bloggers requesting comments.
Ethan issued a press statement, short and clear:
“There is no merger between Royce Energy and Blackwood Enterprises. Any claims otherwise are unfounded.”
But damage was done.
Claire came home one night to find Emma crying on the couch.
“Someone at school said you’re just a fling for a rich guy who’s going back to his real wife,” she sobbed.
Claire’s heart broke.
She texted Ethan: We need to talk.
He came immediately.
When she opened the door, he could see it in her eyes—fear. Doubt. Pain.
“I don’t care what the press says,” he said before she could speak. “I care what you think.”
Claire swallowed. “Do you still love her?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “I loved the idea of her. But not the woman she is. I was blind. I’m not anymore.”
Claire took a breath. “And us?”
“I’ve never been more certain about anything. You’re the only real thing I’ve felt in years.”
She stepped closer. “Then tell me we’re not just another story that ends in heartbreak.”
“We’re not,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “This is the story that finally starts right.”
As snow began to fall outside her window, they held each other close.
But the past wasn’t done yet.
Because somewhere in the shadows of the city, Isabella Royce was planning her next move.
- Writer
