Until We Choose Us

CHAPTER 3 A Name from the Past

POV: Elena

At 1:42 PM, I stood outside the executive conference room at the Crescent Hotel and tried to convince myself that my hands weren't shaking.

They were.

Only slightly.

But enough for me to notice.

I looked at my reflection in the glass doors.

My blazer was straight.

My hair was in place.

My presentation folder was organized.

I looked exactly like the professional woman I had spent years becoming.

So why did I feel like an 18-year-old girl again?

“Stop staring at yourself.”

I turned.

Mia was standing behind me.

“I wasn't.”

“You were.”

I sighed.

“Do I look nervous?”

She considered me.

“You look like you're about to negotiate a billion-dollar contract.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It's the best answer I have.”

I laughed despite myself.

Then the conference room door opened.

An assistant stepped outside.

“Ms. Maren? They're ready for you.”

My stomach tightened.

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

I looked at Mia.

She gave me a small smile.

“You've got this.”

I took a breath.

Then I opened the door.

The room was bright, spacious, and filled with executives.

I noticed the table.

The presentation screen.

The folders.

The people.

And then I saw him.

He was standing near the windows.

For a second, everything else disappeared.

Alexander.

I couldn't move.

The last time I'd seen him, he had been younger.

So had I.

Now he stood in front of me looking like someone I recognized and didn't recognize at the same time.

He was taller than I remembered.

Older, obviously.

More controlled.

His dark suit fit perfectly, and there was something about the way he carried himself that told me he had become accustomed to being in rooms where everyone waited for his decision.

But his eyes were the same.

I knew them immediately.

They found mine.

Neither of us spoke.

Seven years disappeared.

I remembered summer afternoons.

Long conversations.

His laugh.

The way he used to look at me when I talked about my dreams.

Then I remembered the last time I had seen him.

The unanswered questions.

The silence.

I forced myself back into the present.

“Mr. Vale.”

My voice sounded surprisingly steady.

His expression changed slightly.

“Ms. Maren.”

That was it.

No dramatic reaction.

No explanation.

No acknowledgment of what had happened between us.

Just two people greeting each other in a conference room.

I took my seat.

The meeting began.

I focused on the presentation.

That was easy.

Work was something I understood.

I discussed our creative direction, the hotel's new visual identity, the guest experience, and the event spaces.

Every question had an answer.

Every concern had a solution.

The more I spoke, the more comfortable I became.

This was my field.

My company.

My work.

I wasn't the girl standing across from Alexander.

I was Elena Maren.

Then Alex asked a question.

“What would you change if the project received an additional 20% in funding?”

I looked at him.

“I wouldn't spend it simply to make the hotel look more expensive.”

One of the executives glanced at him.

Alex remained calm.

“Where would you spend it?”

“The guest experience.”

I explained my ideas.

Lighting.

Service flow.

Personalized details.

Flexible spaces.

He listened without interrupting.

Then he asked, “Why?”

I looked at the design on the screen.

“Because people remember how a place makes them feel.”

His eyes remained on me.

I felt something shift.

That sentence belonged to another time.

Another version of us.

We had once spent an entire afternoon talking about how people remembered moments rather than things.

I looked away.

The meeting continued.

Eventually, the executives seemed satisfied with our proposal.

The project was moving forward.

That should have been all that mattered.

When the meeting ended, I collected my folder.

I wanted to leave.

I needed air.

I was almost at the door when I heard his voice.

“Ms. Maren.”

I turned.

“Good work.”

Two simple words.

I didn't know why they affected me.

Perhaps because I remembered another version of him saying similar things when I was younger.

He had always believed in my work.

Back then, his approval had meant everything.

Now it shouldn't mean anything.

“Thank you,” I said.

I left.

The elevator doors closed.

I exhaled.

Only then did I realize how tightly I had been holding my folder.

Mia looked at me.

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

She smiled.

“How do you feel?”

I stared at the elevator numbers.

“I don't know.”

“Angry?”

“No.”

“Sad?”

“No.”

“Happy?”

I looked at her.

“Definitely not.”

She laughed softly.

“I wasn't sure.”

I leaned against the wall.

“I thought I'd feel something obvious.”

“What did you feel?”

I thought about it.

“Everything.”

She didn't push me.

That was one of the reasons I loved her.

When we reached the lobby, I walked toward the entrance.

The afternoon light streamed through the glass doors.

I stopped before stepping outside.

For 7 years, I had imagined seeing Alexander again.

In every version, I had been prepared.

In reality, I wasn't.

Because the hardest part wasn't seeing him.

It was realizing that some part of me still recognized him.

His voice.

His eyes.

His expressions.

The small things.

I hated that.

I had worked too hard to become someone who didn't need him.

And now he was standing in my present as if the years between us were nothing more than a pause.

I stepped outside.

The air felt cooler.

I took a deep breath.

I wasn't going to let him pull me backward.

Whatever happened next, I would handle it.

Because I wasn't 18 anymore.

I was 25.

I had my own life.

And Alexander Vale was no longer the person who decided where that life went.

At least, I hoped he wasn't.