Safe With You

~Alyssa~ Fuck. I shoot upright like I’ve been struck by lightning. My heart’s racing, sheets tangled around my legs like they’re trying to keep me hostage. The red numbers on the clock glare back at me, cruel and unapologetic. I should’ve been up hours ago. Of all the days to oversleep, it had to be today. I stumble out of bed, knocking into the dresser, cursing under my breath. My hair’s a disaster, my head’s pounding, and my phone is vibrating like it’s possessed. Perfect. The universe really woke up and chose violence. The shower is a blur of scalding water and caffeine-level panic. By the time I’m out, my bathroom looks like a sauna exploded. Makeup, hair, clothes — all done in under thirty minutes. Honestly, if multitasking was an Olympic sport, I’d have gold by now. I breathe out when I see a text from my best friend: Already dropped Quinn off at school. Bless her. She’s a saint. I make a mental note to send flowers to her office… maybe wine too. Actually, definitely wine. Heels in one hand, Converse on my feet, I glance at the clock and tell myself I can make it on time — if I drive like I’m being chased by the devil and maybe break a law or two. Then I open the door and— “Are you f*****g kidding me?” Rain. Sheets of it. The kind of rain that feels personal. I take a deep breath, silently pray my hair survives, and sprint to my car. The downpour hits me like ice, soaking the ends of my blazer before I even reach the door. By the time I slide into the driver’s seat, my heart is still hammering — but the soft leather of the RSQ8 is a small mercy. Absolutely bloody typical. The one morning I need everything to go right, the universe decides to play a joke. My phone lights up — Elle. My assistant. I hit speaker before she can say a word. “I know, I know! I’m in the car, I’m leaving, I swear!” A laugh floats through the line, light and teasing. “Well, it’s a good thing Mr. Riley’s stuck in traffic. If you’re quick, you might even beat him here and pretend you’ve been early all along.” I grin despite myself. “Maybe luck hasn’t abandoned me completely. Is everything ready for the meeting?” A car pulls up beside me at the light, the driver smirking in that you free later? kind of way. I roll my eyes. Not today, pal. Elle snorts. “You know me. If it wasn’t ready, I’d have been fired years ago. Coffee’s waiting for you. Drive safe, boss.” The line clicks off, and I let out a groan that’s half exhaustion, half self-inflicted regret. Two bottles of wine last night. Why. Right. Priorities. I adjust the rearview mirror, catch my reflection — tired eyes, sharp eyeliner, determined. Hi. I’m Alyssa. Twenty-five. Single mom. CEO. Apparently, a contradiction on legs. I built my empire out of spite. Pure, unfiltered, beautiful spite. And I don’t regret a damn thing. When Quinn’s father left — claiming we were “holding him back from his true potential,” whatever that meant — I made myself a promise. He had plenty of potential, sure. Mostly the potential to empty my bank account and complain about being tired. So, I decided we’d never need a man again. Not him. Not anyone. Quinn is seven now. Bright, funny, and thank God she looks nothing like him. She’s got my hair, my stubborn streak, and a smile that makes every sleepless night worth it. She’ll never know what it’s like to go to bed cold. Or hungry. Or scared. Not if I have anything to do with it. At her age, my world was noise and fear and shadows. Hers is warmth and laughter and pink glitter shoes. And that — that’s my greatest success. Six-bedroom house. Three floors. A car that could practically fit a cheer squad. A company built from nothing but grit and fury. I’ve done well. But the best part? The way Quinn’s face lights up when she calls me Momma. By the time I pull into the underground car park, the rain has slowed to a drizzle. Thank God for past me, who insisted on building a covered entrance. I slip my Converse off, slide my heels on, and grab my bag. The elevator hums softly as it climbs. I check my lipstick in the mirrored wall, swipe away a smudge, and force a smile. The CEO mask slides neatly into place — confident, composed, untouchable. The doors open. And then — I freeze. The air leaves my lungs like I’ve been punched. He’s standing there. A face I haven’t seen in seven years. At first, my brain doesn’t catch up. The lobby noise — phones ringing, heels clicking against tile — fades into a dull hum. All I can hear is my pulse, thundering in my ears. He looks almost the same. Maybe older, sharper, more polished. But his eyes — those same dark, cutting eyes — haven’t changed. Eyes that once knew exactly how to find my weak spots. My breath catches. My fingers tighten around my bag until my knuckles ache. And suddenly, I’m eighteen again. Eighteen, standing in a kitchen too quiet. Eighteen, flinching at the sound of a slammed door. Eighteen, learning how to make myself small enough not to be noticed. My body remembers before my mind can stop it. The stillness. The fear. The way my skin used to crawl when the air got too tense to breathe. Seven years. Seven years I’ve spent becoming someone else — someone powerful, someone untouchable. But standing here, my heels sinking slightly into the carpet, I feel the edges of that girl again. The one who whispered sorry too many times. He hasn’t seen me yet. I could turn. Leave. Hide in my office and breathe until the world feels solid again. But my feet won’t move. My chest feels too tight, my throat dry. My mind flashes through every late night I spent rebuilding the pieces of myself he shattered. And now he’s here — in my space, my world — like the past has come to collect a debt I never agreed to owe. I take a slow, measured breath. Straighten my spine. He will not see me break. Not again. But then his gaze lifts — and our eyes meet. A slow, cruel smile tugs at his lips. It’s faint, practiced, the kind that hides a thousand things beneath it. And just like that, the ground tilts beneath me. Why? Why today? Why him? The noise of the lobby rushes back all at once — phones ringing, voices murmuring, the ding of another elevator arriving — but it feels far away. The air feels thinner, like there’s not enough oxygen in the room. And for one unbearable heartbeat, I’m back in that kitchen again, wishing I could disappear into the wallpaper. Then the elevator doors behind me slide shut. The sound makes me flinch. I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, lift my chin, and take a step forward. If the universe wants to test me today, fine. But I am not that girl anymore. Still, as I walk toward him, my pulse betrays me — fast, wild, terrified. And all I can think is— Please, Not again...