Wrong Woman
1012 Words
Adrian
I’ve always hated waiting.
But there I was, sitting in the conference room for twelve straight minutes, watching the second hand on the wall clock tick away with annoying precision.
My assistant stood by the door, trying hard to pretend the silence in the room wasn't incredibly awkward.
"Elena Laurent got here five minutes ago, sir," she finally said.
I looked up from my laptop. "Five minutes ago?"
"Yes."
"Why didn’t anyone tell me right away?"
She hesitated. "She said she wanted to make you wait."
Great.
A cold feeling settled in my chest. It wasn't full-on anger yet—it was something sharper. More calculated. She was doing this completely on purpose.
I stood up. "Where is she?"
"The private lounge."
Of course. Not the boardroom, not the actual meeting space where we usually do business. The private lounge. She was picking the playground.
"Interesting," I muttered, walking out without another word.
My footsteps echoed down the executive hallway. Everything out here was glass, steel, and quiet. Everything in this building existed because I built it. I was always the one in control here.
But the second I pushed open the lounge doors, that control completely shifted.
She was sitting on the leather couch like she owned the entire place. Her legs were crossed, her coffee was untouched, and her tablet was just resting next to her. She wasn't in a rush, and she definitely didn't look sorry.
She didn't even stand up when I walked in. Normally, that would have ticked me off. With her, it just made it impossible to look away.
She looked up slowly, totally calm and unfazed. "Mr. Vale."
No warmth. No nerves. Nothing.
I shut the door behind me. "You made me wait."
She tilted her head a little bit. "Yes."
No excuse. Just "yes."
My jaw tightened. Most people scramble to make up some lie to justify themselves. She didn't even bother.
I took a few steps closer. "Was that supposed to prove something?"
Her expression didn’t change at all. "It did."
My eyes narrowed. "What?"
She looked me dead in the eye. "That you really don't like losing control."
The words hit exactly where it hurt. The silence stretched between us again.
Very interesting.
I walked over until there was only a small table separating us. "You’ve done your homework."
"I just like being prepared."
That answer shouldn’t have bugged me, but it did. Because she wasn’t analyzing me like a regular business rival. It felt like she already knew exactly how I ticked.
My voice dropped. "Who are you really?"
No more games. No business talk. Just the truth.
She leaned back on the couch. "Elena Laurent."
I let out a dry, frustrated laugh. "That answer is getting pretty old."
She didn't blink. "I didn't realize you preferred fiction."
Something inside me snapped. Before I could even think about it, I moved around the table. It was too fast, and I got way too close.
She stood up instantly. Now we were standing just inches apart.
She still didn’t back down, which made my heart start racing. Most people flinch or show some kind of fear when you crowd them like that. They get tense, or their breathing changes. She gave me absolutely nothing.
I lowered my voice. "Let’s stop pretending."
Her face stayed completely smooth. "Pretending what?"
"That you don't know exactly what's going on here."
A couple of seconds passed. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "And what exactly is going on here?"
I just stared at her.
And then, her perfume hit me. It was subtle and clean, but incredibly familiar. My chest instantly tightened up.
No. No way.
That specific smell brought back a rush of memories. Rain. Warm skin. Soft laughter. Evelyn curled up next to me in bed. “You always smell cold,” she had joked once.
My breathing hitched. It was just a tiny slip-up, but it was enough for her to notice. Her eyes flickered.
For the first time since I walked in, something cracked in her armor. It was tiny, almost invisible, but her fingers tightened up for a split second before she let go.
My pulse was pounding now. I grabbed her wrist. I didn't plan it; I just reacted.
Her body went totally rigid. But it wasn't a flinch of fear—it was recognition. It felt electric, almost violent. The rest of the room completely blurred out. Her skin felt like a live wire under my hand. It felt too familiar. It felt completely wrong.
I tightened my grip. "Who are you?" My voice sounded totally rough now. The professional boardroom act was completely gone. I just needed to know.
She looked down at my hand on her wrist, then slowly looked back up at me.
Her face had changed. Not a ton, but enough. The fake calm was fading, and something much colder was staring back at me. Something dangerous.
When she spoke, her voice was quieter than before. "Let go."
I didn’t. Instead, my eyes dropped to her arm, and my entire body went completely numb.
Right below her wrist, half-hidden under her sleeve, there was a scar. It was small, thin, and white. You'd miss it if you weren't looking, but I knew that exact scar. I knew exactly where it came from.
Six years ago. A broken glass on the kitchen floor. Evelyn laughing while blood ran down her hand. “Adrian, stop looking at me like I’m dying. It’s just a cut.”
My grip loosened.
No. This was impossible.
My throat felt incredibly tight. I stared at the scar, then back at her face, then back down.
My voice was barely a whisper. "...Evelyn?"
The silence that followed was brutal.
She looked right into my eyes. There was no softness or warmth in her expression anymore. Just pure ice.
Then, she smiled. It wasn't a kind smile, and it wasn't familiar at all. It was the smile of a complete stranger.
And she said, "Wrong woman, Mr. Vale."
- Writer
