CHAPTER 2
1234 Words
Victoria didn’t remember walking out of the building. One moment she was standing in Tristan Moore’s office, spine rigid, lungs burning as if she’d forgotten how to breathe—and the next, she was outside, the revolving glass doors sliding shut behind her with a quiet finality that felt too much like fate.
Her hands were shaking. She clenched them into fists as she crossed the plaza, heels clicking against polished stone, forcing herself to keep her pace steady. She would not run. Running suggested fear, and fear had ruled her life for too long already.
Still, her heart hammered violently against her ribs.
Tristan Moore.
Not the boy she once knew. Not the reckless, sharp-smiled college student who skipped lectures and kissed her like the world might end tomorrow. This Tristan was carved from ice and power and silence. And he hated her, she could feel it.
Victoria stopped at the edge of the street, breath finally shuddering free as the noise of the city rushed back into focus. Cars honked. People laughed. Life moved on, indifferent to the fact that her past had just walked straight back into her present and taken a seat behind a mahogany desk.
You’re hired. The words echoed in her head, heavy with something far darker than opportunity.
She should have walked away. She’d known it the moment she recognized him—the moment his eyes locked onto hers with that cold, unreadable stare. But she hadn’t. Because rent was overdue. Because hospital bills didn’t care about old heartbreaks. Because two small lives depended on her swallowing fear and standing her ground.
Victoria pulled her phone from her bag. No missed calls. She exhaled slowly, then dialed the number she’d memorized years ago.
“Hey, Mama,” a small voice chirped after the second ring. Her throat tightened instantly. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Did you get the job?” The question was innocent. Hopeful. “Yes,” Victoria said softly. “I did.”
A cheer erupted on the other end, followed by another voice—brighter, louder.
“Does that mean you’ll stop working nights?” Elisa demanded.
Victoria closed her eyes, letting the sound of her children anchor her. “Not yet. But it’s a good start.”
Ethan’s voice came quieter, slower. “Mama… are you okay?”
She smiled despite the sting in her eyes. “I’m fine, baby.”
It was the truth she told most often.
After hanging up, Victoria leaned against a lamppost and stared up at the towering building she’d just left. Somewhere near the top, Tristan Moore was probably already back at work, dismissing her existence as easily as he dismissed entire departments.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Please, she thought, not sure who she was praying to anymore. Just let me survive this.
Tristan didn’t sit down for a long time after Victoria left. He stood behind his desk, hands braced against the surface, jaw locked so tightly it ached. Her presence lingered in the room like a scent he couldn’t escape—something familiar and infuriating and devastatingly real. She looked at him like she hadn’t expected to survive the encounter.
Good. Let her feel it. Let her understand what it was like to have the ground ripped out from under you without warning.
He dragged a hand through his hair and turned toward the windows, forcing his reflection out of sight. The man staring back at him was calm. Controlled. A man who didn’t break over memories of a woman who had chosen to leave.
That was the lie he told himself. Because the truth was far uglier.
Victoria Blair had been the one good thing in a life he’d spent trying to burn down. She hadn’t just walked away—she’d vanished. No explanation. No goodbye. Just absence. And absence had hardened him.
His phone buzzed.
HR: Are you sure about this hire? We can reopen the shortlist.
Tristan stared at the message for a long moment.
Yes, he typed back. I’m sure.
He didn’t add the rest. That hiring Victoria Blair had nothing to do with forgiveness—and everything to do with control.
Victoria arrived the next morning ten minutes early. She stood in the lobby, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt, breathing in slowly. The building felt different now that she knew who occupied the top floor. Heavier. Colder.
By the time she reached Tristan’s office, her nerves were frayed raw. The assistant desk outside his office was spotless. Intimidatingly so.
“Good morning,” she said to the departing EA, a woman who looked more relieved than sad as she gathered her things.
“Good luck,” the woman muttered, not unkindly.
Victoria swallowed. She sat.
The door behind her remained closed. For twenty minutes.
She checked the time once, then stilled herself. Waiting was a test. She recognized that much. Tristan had always loved tests—pushing, provoking, seeing who broke first. She would not break.
Finally, the door opened.
“Coffee,” Tristan said without looking at her. “Black.” She stood immediately. “Of course.”
The office was even colder in the early morning light. Tristan didn’t acknowledge her presence as she set the cup on his desk. His attention was fixed on his screen, jaw sharp, expression unreadable.
“Your schedule is synced,” he said. “You’ll keep up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No personal calls during office hours.”
Her spine stiffened. “Understood.”
“Your lunch break is flexible.”
She almost laughed at that. Almost.
He finally looked at her then—really looked.
“Don’t mistake this for charity,” he said quietly. “You’re here because you’re efficient. Nothing more.”
Victoria met his gaze, refusing to look away. “I wouldn’t.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Annoyance. Or something more dangerous.
“Good,” he said. “Because if you fail, I won’t hesitate to replace you.”
She nodded. “I don’t plan to fail.”
Their stares locked, tension coiling tight between them. Years of unspoken words pressed against the air, begging to be acknowledged. Tristan turned away first. “Get to work.” Victoria returned to the desk, pulse racing.
Hours passed in a blur of emails, calls, and schedules. Tristan moved through the day like a force of nature—decisive, relentless, impossible to slow. He spoke to her only when necessary, his tone clipped, professional.
But she felt him watching her. Measuring. Waiting.
By late afternoon, exhaustion crept in, dull and familiar. She rubbed her temples discreetly, forcing herself to focus.
A file slid onto her desk.
“Reschedule Zurich,” Tristan said. “And cancel my dinner tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” She paused, then added quietly, “You’ve had three nights in a row scheduled without rest.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “That’s not your concern.”
She nodded. “Of course.” But something had shifted.
When she left that evening, long after sunset painted the city gold, Tristan remained in his office, staring at the closed door.
Victoria Blair had returned. And despite everything—despite the anger, the bitterness, the past clawing at his ribs—he couldn’t ignore the truth settling uncomfortably deep inside him.
This was far from over. Not by a long shot.
- Writer
