THE BILLIONAIRE'S LOST LOVE

THE MEETING

By Tuesday morning, I had almost convinced myself that Adrian Vale was no longer my problem.

Almost.

The wedding had been strange, embarrassing, and deeply confusing, but strange things happened. People made mistakes. People mistook strangers for old acquaintances. Rich people, I was beginning to suspect, were simply more dramatic about it.

I had work to do, and work had never been particularly interested in my personal confusion.

My morning meeting was at nine.

By eight forty-five, I was already sitting in the conference room at Maison Laurent, reviewing the presentation on my tablet while Sophie paced beside the window.

“You're going to be fine,” she said.

“I know.”

“You look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You've checked your presentation six times.”

“Because it's important.”

“You've also checked your hair three times.”

I looked up at her.

“That was unrelated.”

Sophie laughed.

The meeting was for a new luxury campaign we'd been developing for the past several weeks. Maison Laurent was expanding into a new market, and my team had been brought in to help shape the visual direction. It was exactly the kind of project I enjoyed—fashion, branding, photography, a little bit of chaos.

More importantly, it was work.

Something normal.

Something that had nothing to do with Adrian Vale.

At least, that was what I thought until the conference room door opened.

A man walked in first, followed by two executives I'd met during previous meetings.

Then Adrian Vale entered.

I stopped breathing for half a second.

Sophie looked at me.

I looked at her.

Neither of us said anything.

Adrian didn't look surprised to see me.

That was the first thing I noticed.

The second was that his expression changed the moment his eyes landed on me.

Whatever had happened at the wedding, the uncertainty I'd seen in him was gone.

There was no confusion now.

No shock.

Just a coldness so deliberate that I almost wondered whether I'd imagined the man from two nights ago.

“Good morning,” one of the executives said. “I believe everyone is here.”

Adrian took the seat opposite me.

He didn't greet me.

I told myself I didn't care.

The meeting began.

For the first fifteen minutes, everything went smoothly. We discussed the campaign concept, the target audience, the photography style, and the proposed launch schedule.

I contributed when necessary and kept my attention on the presentation.

Then one of the executives turned toward me.

“Ms. Brooks, we'd like you to walk us through the visual direction.”

I nodded and stood.

I connected my tablet to the screen and began.

The first few slides went well.

I explained the concept, the colour palette, the campaign story, and the way we'd use the clothing to create a sense of movement rather than simply photograph the pieces as static products.

When I finished, there was a brief silence.

One of the directors nodded.

“Excellent.”

Adrian leaned back in his chair.

“Is that it?”

I looked at him.

“Excuse me?”

His expression didn't change.

“I expected more.”

A few people around the table shifted uncomfortably.

I kept my voice calm. “The presentation covers the entire concept.”

“It covers a concept.”

He glanced at the screen.

“Whether it's a good one is another question.”

I felt Sophie tense beside me.

I refused to let him see that his words had bothered me.

“Do you have a specific concern?”

“Several.”

“Then perhaps you could be specific.”

His eyes met mine.

There was something almost personal in the way he looked at me.

“I don't think the campaign has enough substance.”

“That can be addressed.”

“It shouldn't need to be.”

I smiled politely.

“Then I'm sure you'll have no trouble telling me exactly what you'd change.”

He stared at me for a moment.

“I would start with the person presenting it.”

The room went quiet.

My smile disappeared.

One of the directors cleared his throat.

“Mr. Vale—”

“No,” Adrian said calmly. “If we're going to spend this much money, I think we should be honest about the quality of what we're buying.”

I looked at him.

“You're entitled to your opinion.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then perhaps we can keep this professional.”

Something flashed in his eyes.

“Professional?”

He almost laughed.

“You're right. We should.”

The way he said it made my stomach tighten.

I didn't understand him.

I hadn't done anything to him.

Yet he was treating me like I had personally offended him.

The rest of the meeting continued, but Adrian challenged nearly everything I said.

The photography.

The campaign title.

The styling.

Even the choice of location.

At one point, he interrupted me before I had finished explaining a concept.

“This isn't what you would have done five years ago.”

The words were so unexpected that I stopped.

He seemed to realize his mistake immediately.

I studied him.

“Five years ago?”

His expression hardened.

“Yes.”

“Have we worked together before?”

“No.”

“Then how would you know what I would have done?”

He said nothing.

I waited.

Finally, he looked away.

“I don't.”

Something about that answer unsettled me more than if he'd simply admitted that he knew me.

I sat down.

The meeting ended twenty minutes later.

Everyone began gathering their papers almost immediately.

I stayed behind.

Adrian did too.

The others filed out until only the two of us remained.

I packed my tablet into my bag.

“I don't know what your problem is with me.”

He stood near the window, his back to me.

“I don't have a problem with you.”

I laughed softly.

“You've spent the last hour insulting everything I've said.”

“You've survived.”

“That wasn't an answer.”

He turned.

His expression was unreadable.

“You want an answer?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

He walked toward the table.

“You walked into my wedding and pretended not to know me.”

I stared at him.

“Because I don't know you.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened.

“You have no idea what you've done.”

“I haven't done anything.”

“You left.”

The words came out quietly.

I frowned.

“Left what?”

He looked at me.

“Me.”

There was no mistaking the pain underneath the anger now.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

I felt something strange in my chest.

Not recognition.

Not exactly.

Something closer to unease.

“Adrian,” I said carefully, “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“I don't.”

“You keep saying that, but you haven't given me a single reason to believe you.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You really intend to keep doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending.”

I felt my patience snap.

“I am not pretending.”

He stepped closer.

“You expect me to believe that you don't remember our marriage?”

The room seemed to tilt.

Marriage.

I stared at him.

“What marriage?”

His expression hardened immediately.

“Our marriage.”

I couldn't speak.

He watched my face.

Then his anger seemed to return.

“You disappeared.”

“I didn't.”

“You walked out of my life.”

“I've never even met you.”

“You left me with nothing.”

His voice was sharper now.

“Five years, Elena.”

The name struck me differently this time.

Elena.

For some reason, hearing it in his voice made my stomach twist.

I looked away.

“I told you. My name is Lilian.”

“Of course it is.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

He reached for something on the table.

A photograph.

He didn't hand it to me.

He simply looked at it.

I couldn't see the picture clearly from where I stood.

Then he placed it face down.

“You're very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Acting like none of it happened.”

My heart began beating faster.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I spent five years hating you.”

That silenced me.

He looked up.

“And now you're standing in front of me, expecting me to believe that you simply forgot everything?”

I didn't know what to say.

Because for the first time, a terrible possibility had entered my mind.

What if he wasn't mistaken?

What if Elena wasn't another woman?

What if Elena was me?

The thought was absurd.

Completely impossible.

I knew my own name.

I knew my life.

I knew where I'd lived, where I'd worked, who I was.

Didn't I?

Adrian watched me carefully.

“You look exactly the same,” he said quietly. “And you expect me to believe you're someone else.”

I swallowed.

“I don't know what happened to Elena.”

“You happened to Elena.”

The cruelty of the words made me flinch.

He noticed.

For the first time, his expression softened.

Only for a fraction of a second.

Then it disappeared.

“I should hate you,” he said.

I looked at him.

“You should?”

His eyes remained fixed on mine.

“You abandoned me.”

“I didn't.”

“You did.”

“I didn't!”

The words came out louder than I'd intended.

He stared at me.

I took a breath and lowered my voice.

“I don't know who Elena is. I don't know what happened between you two. And I don't know why you think I'm her. But I am not lying to you.”

He looked away.

His shoulders rose and fell slowly.

For a moment, he seemed exhausted rather than angry.

Then he looked back at me.

“I loved you.”

The words were quiet.

I didn't know why they affected me.

Perhaps because there was no anger in them this time.

Only hurt.

He looked down at the photograph again.

“And I spent five years trying to convince myself I didn't anymore.”

Something inside me shifted.

I didn't know this man.

I couldn't remember ever meeting him.

Yet standing there, listening to him talk about a woman named Elena, I felt an inexplicable sadness that didn't seem to belong to me.

I picked up my bag.

“I think I should go.”

He didn't stop me.

I reached the door.

“Lilian.”

I turned.

His expression had become cold again.

“If you're going to keep pretending you don't remember me, at least have the decency to stay away from my life.”

I stared at him.

Then I left.

The corridor felt strangely quiet after I closed the door behind me.

Sophie was waiting at the other end.

One look at my face and she straightened.

“What happened?”

I shook my head.

“Nothing.”

“Lilian.”

I kept walking.

She followed.

I didn't tell her what he'd said.

I didn't tell her about the photograph.

I didn't tell her about the way he'd looked at me when he said he loved Elena.

And I definitely didn't tell her about the thought that had been growing louder in my mind since I'd left that room.

Because it was ridiculous.

Impossible.

And yet, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

What if Adrian Vale wasn't mistaking me for Elena?

What if, somehow, impossibly—

I was Elena?