LINES CROSSED
1066 Words
Vici’s heels echoed down the corridor of Donovan Grey’s towering corporate building. She didn’t book an appointment. She didn’t need one.
She walked past the receptionist without a glance, her presence commanding enough to make them hesitate before trying to stop her.
*Receptionist (rising nervously):*
“Ma’am, do you have an appoint—”
*Vici (coldly):*
“Tell him Vici Monroe is here. He’ll understand.”
Within minutes, she was escorted into Donovan’s office—its interior sleek, modern, and intimidating. Just like him.
Donovan was seated behind his desk, reviewing documents. He looked up—expecting someone else.
Then he saw her.
And something in his expression changed. Surprise. Then guarded curiosity.
*Donovan (setting his pen down):*
“Well, Miss Monroe. To what do I owe—”
*Vici (cutting him off):*
“Don’t play dumb, Donovan.”
He leaned back, eyes narrowing with interest.
*Donovan:*
“I assume this is about my visit to your parents?”
*Vici (her voice sharp):*
“You crossed a line.”
*Donovan (quietly):*
“You mean the line where people protect things they don’t want found?”
Her jaw clenched.
*Vici:*
“I don’t owe you an explanation about my past.”
*Donovan (measured):*
“I wasn’t looking for explanations. I was looking for truth. What I got was… carefully constructed silence.”
*Vici:*
“You think you can charm your way into their trust and dig into things I clearly don’t share?”
*Donovan:*
“I think a woman like you doesn’t build empires from thin air. And secrets don’t stay buried forever.”
There was a pause. A long one.
*Vici (coldly):*
“I came here to warn you once. Stay out of my business—professional or personal.”
She turned to leave.
*Donovan (calmly):*
“Then tell me something, Vici. If there’s nothing to hide, why does the truth scare you so much?”
She stopped.
But didn’t turn around.
*Vici (softly):*
“Because sometimes the truth isn’t the part that hurts. It’s who discovers it.”
Then she walked out, leaving him with silence—and a deeper obsession.
---
The moment Vici walked out of his office, silence cloaked the room like a fog. Donovan leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled under his chin, staring at the door she had just exited.
She was angry—furious, even.
But beneath the sharp words and cold stare, he’d caught something else. *Fear.*
Not the kind that comes from danger.
*The kind that comes from being exposed.*
He stood, walking over to the window, eyes sweeping over Valemont’s skyline. Her words replayed in his mind:
*"Because sometimes the truth isn’t the part that hurts. It’s who discovers it."*
That line sat in his chest like a stone.
*Donovan (muttering):*
“She’s hiding something... and whatever it is, it’s not just about business.”
The file his team put together felt too clean—too deliberate. People like Vici Monroe didn’t rise from nowhere. And no amount of polish could hide how carefully her past had been curated.
He crossed the room to his drawer, pulled out the file again. Her foster parents. Her company’s founding. Her sharp rise in the capital market. It all made sense—*too much sense.*
He flipped to the back, staring at her photo again. Same eyes. Same elegance.
But something in his memory nagged him… like a shadow he couldn’t place.
*Donovan (to himself):*
“Why do you look like her…”
He shut the file.
Then picked up his phone.
*Donovan:*
“Get me Lane. And tell her I want a full re-investigation. Discreet. Everything they couldn’t find before—I want it now.”
The screen dimmed as he hung up.
And as he sat back down, Donovan knew two things for sure:
**1. Vici Monroe wasn’t just a business rival.
2. If he wanted the truth, he’d have to dig deeper than ever before.**
But what he didn’t expect... was what the truth would cost him.
—
*Donovan's POV – Shadows of the Past*
After the call ended, silence reclaimed his office. Donovan remained seated, his fingers loosely holding Vici’s file, yet his gaze was fixed on the photo clipped to the corner. Her face—striking, composed, confident. But it wasn’t just the confidence that held him captive.
It was the resemblance.
A subtle curve of her smile… the tilt of her head… something *too* familiar.
*Donovan (murmuring):*
“Is it really you…?”
No—Vici Monroe couldn’t be her. That chapter had ended years ago. Abruptly. Painfully. In the States. And he hadn’t heard from *her* since.
Still, the ache stirred in his chest like a dormant fire suddenly sparked.
He pushed the file aside and opened a drawer—pulling out a small, aged photo. A younger Donovan, standing beside a woman whose features echoed Vici’s in a way that was now *impossible* to ignore. He hadn’t looked at this photo in years. It used to mean too much. Then it became too painful to even glance at.
And now?
Now it was a *question* he couldn’t ignore.
*Donovan (thinking):*
*“This isn’t a coincidence. If it is... then why can’t I shake it?”*
He leaned back, eyes closing for a second. The last time he spoke to *her* was during the fallout—when things ended without closure. When life forced them apart with silence and distance. That silence had never truly left him.
Not until Vici Monroe walked into his life.
A sharp knock on the door broke his thoughts.
*Secretary (from outside):*
“Sir, your meeting in twenty minutes—should I reschedule?”
*Donovan:*
“No. I’m coming.”
He straightened the photo, slid it into a folder, and locked it away again—deep beneath numbers and contracts and everything that helped him forget.
But the resemblance still clung to him.
Later that night, as he sat in the back of his car staring out at the city lights, he made another call—this time quieter, encrypted.
*Donovan:*
“Find me everything you can on her. From the beginning. No loopholes this time.”
And as he ended the call, a thought crept in—unwanted, unsettling:
*If Vici truly had any connection to the woman he once lost… this story was about to become far more complicated than business.*
- Writer
