BACK TO THE BOY WHO BROKE ME

NATALIE What the f**k is going on? I whispered it to no one, barely a breath leaving my lips as the door to the boardroom creaked open… and he walked in. Edwin Adams. My brain short-circuited. My body? Oh, it betrayed me instantly, like it had been lying in wait all these years, just for this moment. Every nerve in me ignited like it recognized him before my mind could even catch up. My grip slackened, and my pen slipped from my fingers, landing with a loud clatter against the polished table. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My hands hovered midair, suspended above my notepad like I was paused mid-life. My chest clamped shut, my ribs squeezing my lungs, and my legs… they weren’t legs anymore, they were Jell-O. Trembling, treacherous Jell-O. My entire body was screaming in panic. And my face? Completely blank. HR poker face: activated. I thank God for waterproof mascara, years of practice, and the holy spirit of "don’t you dare fall apart right now." He looked good. Like… offensively good. Tall. Broad. Powerful. He walked in with that annoying kind of confidence, effortless, like the world had never told him no. That navy-blue suit? Tailored to sin. Sculpted around his frame like it had been stitched by demons. His dark hair was longer now, messily perfect, probably styled by fingers that weren’t mine. And that jawline? Still sharp enough to cut glass, or maybe reopen every damn wound he left behind. Why the hell does he still look like a sin I never got over? I hated that he still had that effect on me. That a single glance…no, lack of a glance, could set my blood buzzing and my stomach turning. Like my body hadn’t gotten the memo that he was the man who left me gutted. Because he didn’t look at me. Not once. Not even a flicker of hesitation or familiarity. He just walked in like he hadn’t once held me so close I could hear his heartbeat through his shirt. Like he hadn’t kissed me like I was made of stardust and soft skin. Like I was no one. Just another body in a boardroom. And just like that, my heart, my traitor of a heart started rolling the damn film. Flashbacks I hadn’t signed up for. Pain I thought I buried six feet deep and locked shut. Back in high school, Edwin wasn’t just a boyfriend. He was the boy. The dream. The first kiss that made my heart sprint. The hand I held when my parents fought too loudly downstairs. The voice I fell asleep to on the phone when I was too anxious to sleep. He was my safe space. My man. My everything. We were that obnoxiously in-love couple. The ones that made single people gag and relationship people jealous. We had the notes, the stupid inside jokes, the playlist named "us against the world." Mrs. Blackwood, our AP English teacher once said, “You two better not forget me when you get married.” And we laughed. Because it felt like a sure thing. We had plans. Real ones. College together. A tiny apartment with string lights and mismatched mugs. A dog named Atlas. Matching tattoos, maybe. He used to kiss the inside of my wrist and whisper, “You’re my forever, Nat.” And God help me, I believed him. Every word. Every smile. Every damn promise. Until Eva Bernard entered our world like a beautifully wrapped curse. Eva, with her beige wardrobe and soft eyes. Always sweet. Always helpful. Always there. She was the kind of girl who never raised her voice but always got her way. The kind you couldn’t hate without looking jealous. Which was strategic. Genius, even. Edwin’s mom loved her. Of course she did. His mom never liked me. Said I was too opinionated. Too emotional. Too passionate. I took up too much space. Eva, on the other hand? She was just enough. Just enough softness. Just enough obedience. Just enough elegance to make people believe she was harmless. And then came the Greece trip. His sister’s wedding. The one we’d planned for months. We made Pinterest boards. Outfits. Flight playlists. Even had a “wedding shenanigans” checklist. But two days before the flight, his mom called. And suddenly, I wasn’t invited. “Eva will be coming instead,” he said casually, like he was telling me it might rain. “You know how she is, Nat. We’ll do something together soon, yeah?” I laughed. I smiled. Like it didn’t gut me. Like that wasn’t the first crack in everything I thought was solid. He went. With her. Two weeks later, Eva showed up at his house. Crying. Pregnant. I swear the air around me shattered. It felt like I was underwater. Like someone pressed pause on my life and forgot to unfreeze it. “She said she couldn’t raise the child alone,” I whispered that night, curled up in bed, heart pounding so hard I thought I might die. “And suddenly, it wasn’t just my heart on the line. It was his future.” I begged him. I stood in the cold on his porch, voice shaking, tears staining my jacket, asking him to choose me. To run. To fight. To believe in us. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He just stood there. Eyes on the ground. Hands in his pockets. Guilt in every inch of his body. “I’m sorry, Nat,” he said. Voice like an empty hallway. “I have to do what’s right.” And then he left. Didn’t hug me. Didn’t cry. Didn’t look back. I shattered. Not metaphorically. Literally. I didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Became a shell. My parents tried, but they didn’t know how to help. My mom begged me to talk. My dad kept pacing the halls like he could walk me back into happiness. But it was Joan who saved me. Joan, my best friend. My person. She didn’t say anything. She just showed up one night, opened my closet, and started packing. “We’re leaving,” she whispered, crouched beside my bed. “Even if it kills me, I’m going to make you okay again.” She drove us away from the wreckage. From the porch. From the pain. And I built a life. From the ashes. Slowly. Quietly. A new job. A new city. New walls around my heart. And now? Now he’s here. In this boardroom. Breathing the same air. Dressed like power and perfection. Sitting ten feet away like the past never happened. He doesn’t look at me. But I looked at him. And I remembered everything. I am not the girl he left behind. I’m Natalie James. And this time? This time I won't be the one breaking. Not again. Not for him. I blinked hard. Once. Twice. Pulled myself back to now. People were whispering. Quiet but not subtle. I could feel the energy shift, the silent curiosity, the sideways glances, the is-that-him tension hovering above the table like static. He was someone. Someone important. That much was clear. And of all the men in the world… of course it had to be him. Here. Today. Now. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and swallowed the nausea creeping up my throat. My stomach had flipped itself inside out. My palms were sweaty. I could feel heat rising from my neck, flushing my cheeks in that telltale way humiliation loves to announce itself. He didn’t know I’d be here. But the universe did. And she was laughing her petty little ass off. “You okay?” someone whispered beside me. It was Kim, one of the newer hires. Sweet. Oblivious. I nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.” Lie. Big fat professional lie. But my voice didn’t shake, so I called it a win. I forced myself to focus on the folder in front of me. On the room. On literally anything that wasn’t Edwin Adams existing ten feet from me. His eyes found mine. And everything stopped. Time. Breath. Noise. He froze for the smallest second, his lips parting like he’d just seen a ghost. Like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t expected me either. I wanted to look away. I should’ve looked away. But I couldn’t. I was trapped in that stare, helplessly, stupidly stuck there. It made my skin crawl. I didn’t blink until he did. His mouth pressed into a tight line, and he turned his gaze back to the front, clearing his throat. I exhaled slowly, silently, like maybe that would calm the chaos clawing through my chest. The room quieted. And then my boss, Collins, head of HR and the only person I genuinely respected in this company, stood. He clapped his hands once, loud and clear. “Alright, everyone. Let’s settle down.” He looked proud. Almost too proud. My stomach twisted. “We’re incredibly honored today to officially welcome someone very special,” he began. “The man behind the name, the vision, and the legacy.” No. No, no, no. “This company—E.A.—is not just his initials. It’s his heart, his mind, his empire.” My breath caught. My throat went dry. Oh God. “Let’s welcome the owner of E.A… Mr. Edwin Adams.” I didn’t hear the applause. Not really. My ears were ringing. Owner? Owner?! I blinked, once, slow and disbelieving. Every part of me tensed like I’d just been slapped in front of everyone. He walked forward. Confident. Sharp. Cool as winter and twice as distant. He moved like a man who knew exactly who he was and exactly where he belonged. Like he could walk into a room and have the floor reshape itself beneath him. Power didn’t just sit on him, it clung to him. I felt sick. This was his? This whole company… the job I’d bled for these past few years… was his? He reached the front of the room, shaking hands with Collins, giving the room a perfectly timed, perfectly bland corporate smile. And just before he turned toward the projector screen, he scanned the room again. And his gaze landed on me. Again. Softer this time. Quieter. I straightened, refusing to shift in my seat, refusing to be the one who looked away first. He held it for just a moment. Like he wanted to say something. Like he might. But then he turned, faced the room fully, and let his voice cut clean through the silence. “Good morning, all.”