Chapter Four
1137 Words
Present Day
The city wasn't the same, but not so much that I didn’t remember it.
Chicago's skyline still cut through clouds like shards of glass, tall and shiny. The same city in which I used to walk with a coffee mug and dreams; where my laughter once echoed off gleaming hallways and glass labs. Now, as the black sedan idled out in front of Valente Biotech's tower, the only thing that echoed in me was emptiness.
Five years.
Five years after the fire.
Five year after Papa passed away.
I stepped out of the car, my heels clicking on marble as if in deliberate countdown. The glass reflected me back: not the girl who once trembled with excitement, but a woman sharpened by loss. I'd traded innocence for precision.
“Welcome to Valente Biotech,” the guard said as he scanned my badge. “Have a great day, Miss Aster.”
Aster. The name still felt strange in my tongue. But Flora Ricci had died the night of the fire, and I’d buried her with my father.
I gave a polite nod to the receptionist and made my way toward the elevators. The mirrored walls caught fragments of my face—too calm, too distant. With every floor that blinked past, memories clawed their way up: laughter in the lab, Christopher’s teasing grin, the rooftop view that made me feel like the world could be mine.
I folded my arms, grounding myself.
“Not today,” I whispered.
The doors opened with a soft chime. The scent of disinfectant and steel rushed at me…the same smell that used to mean ambition and love. Now it smelled like unfinished vengeance.
“Miss Aster?”
“Miss Aster?”
A woman in a silk blouse and pencil skirt appeared, wearing the perfect smile of corporate hospitality.
“Mr. Valente will see you shortly. May I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“Neither, thank you.”
Something in my tone must’ve unsettled her; her smile wavered before she quickly turned away. I didn’t care.
The office she led me into had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city: beautiful, unbothered, unchanged. I used to love this view. I’d stood at a window just like it once, beside Christopher.
“Whenever things get too loud, come up here,” he had said to me.
“Why?”
“Because silence isn’t empty,” he’d answered. “It’s full of answers.”
That day, I believed him.
Now, silence was just another weapon.
The door behind me clicked open.
“Miss Aster,” a male voice said…smooth, low, and achingly familiar.
I turned. And there he was.
Christopher Valente. My Chris.
Older. Harder. The warmth in his eyes had turned to ice. His hair was darker now, his jaw sharper, but the sight of him was still like a ghost pressing a knife against my ribs. A slow, deliberate pain.
“Mr. Valente,” I said evenly.
For a moment, he simply looked at me…eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to remember where he’d seen me before. But I knew he wouldn’t recognize me. I’d made sure of that.
“I’m told you’re the consultant reviewing our bioconversion protocols,” he said. His tone was professional, distant. “You’ve come highly recommended.”
“I deliver results,” I replied. “That’s why I’m here.”
His eyes lingered on me too long. “You remind me of someone,” he murmured, almost to himself.
I smiled faintly. “I get that a lot.”
He gestured toward the seat across from his desk. “Please. Sit.”
The office was minimalist, sterile…no traces of the man who once loved rooftop coffee breaks and late-night laughter. My gaze landed on a framed photo turned face-down on the shelf. My fingers itched to see it, but I forced my attention back to him.
“Your specialty is sustainable enzyme pathways, correct?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And improving bioconversion efficiency. My team focuses on what others overlook.”
“Good,” he said, tapping his pen. “We’ve had inconsistencies in data from an older prototype. My uncle used to run that division, but I’ve… restructured since.”
His jaw tightened at the word uncle.
So, Adrian Valente was still in the picture or maybe just a shadow of it. Either way, this was my way in.
Bingo.
“I look forward to reviewing your files,” I said, sliding my tablet across his desk. “I’ll need access to your archives, especially the early ones.”
“Why the old ones?”
“Because,” I said, “that’s usually where the real problems start.”
Something flickered in his eyes: curiosity, or suspicion. I couldn’t figure which it was. “You don’t waste time, do you?” he asked.
“No,” I said quietly. “Time is expensive.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. For a moment, the air between us thickened… familiar, dangerous.
“You’re not like most consultants,” he said finally.
“You’d be surprised how often people underestimate a woman in a suit.”
He smiled faintly. “Touché.”
His famous line when we bantered.
For a split second, it felt like the years had folded…as if the intern and her supervisor were still teasing each other over broken sensors and late-night tests. But then his phone buzzed, breaking the spell.
He excused himself to take the call. I let my gaze drift toward the photo frame on the shelf… curiosity finally winning.
I stood, crossed the room, and turned it just slightly.
The image inside made me gasp from shock.
It was younger Christopher, smiling with my father beside him. Both in lab coats. A Valente Biotech logo gleaming behind them.
I felt dizzy for a second. The two men who defined my life, side by side in a photo that shouldn’t exist.
I forced my fingers to still, straightened the frame, and stepped back just as he turned around.
“All good?” he asked.
I smiled. “Perfect.”
That night, in my apartment overlooking the lake, I poured myself a glass of wine and opened my encrypted drive. Lines of data, years of research, old company blueprints, everything I had collected since the fire, glowed on the screen.
At the center of it all was one project name.
Prototype V-Sensor.
The project that cost my father his life.
And now, sitting at my desk, whispering the vow I’d made in the back of that ambulance five years ago.
“Until every secret burns,” I said softly, “I will not stop.”
Outside, lightning flashed across the Chicago sky, reflecting in the glass like fire.
Almost like the night everything began.
- Writer
