Safe With You

Seriously?

Please, not again.

The words echo in my skull like a heartbeat I can’t silence. My throat feels dry, my hands slick against the leather strap of my bag. He’s standing right there — like the past never ended, like the years I spent clawing myself free never happened.

I force a breath. Then another.

My mind tells me to move, but my body feels cemented to the floor. The world tilts for half a second before I drag in another lungful of air and remind myself where I am.

This isn’t a kitchen in a half-lit apartment. This isn’t the past.

This is my building. My lobby. My world.

He doesn’t get to control how I breathe anymore.

I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and force my feet forward even though my pulse is screaming. Each click of my heel feels like an act of defiance.

When I reach the reception desk, I drop my laptop bag and handbag onto the polished surface a little harder than intended.

“Are you f*****g kidding me?” The words come out sharp, dry, like I’ve swallowed glass. I sigh and roll my eyes, trying to hide the tremor in my chest.

For a second, I count — one, two, three — then ten.

When I open my eyes again, my smile is brittle, professional. The kind that could cut someone open if they’re not careful.

“I don’t even have the energy to pretend,” I say, my voice lower now, steadying. “Why are you here? And make it quick. Some of us actually have work to do.”

I glance at my iPad, pretending to check my schedule, pretending he’s not sucking all the air out of the room.

His mouth twists into that same self-satisfied smirk I used to know too well — the one that meant trouble was coming. “I didn’t believe it when I saw your face on that magazine cover,” he says, gesturing around with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “But it’s true. This — all of this — is yours.”

“Congratulations,” I deadpan, not looking up. “You’ve mastered the art of stating the obvious.” I finally lift my gaze, meeting his eyes with practiced indifference. “You’ve been gone for years, so I’m guessing you didn’t show up here to give me a building tour. Why are you really here?”

He steps forward.

It’s subtle — half a pace — but I feel it like a threat. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I shift back just enough to keep distance between us, and I see it: that flicker in his eyes. Recognition. He knows I’m still wary of him. He likes that.

Behind him, I catch a glimpse of my security detail. Two of them, both watching from their usual posts. They notice. They start to move. I lift a hand quickly, signaling no. I don’t want a scene. Not yet. Not unless he gives me a reason.

He tilts his head, his tone softening in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Well, Alyssa,” he says, pretending familiarity that makes me want to scream, “I’m here for us. I’ve missed you. And Quinn. Surely she asks about me.”

For a moment, I don’t breathe.

Then the sound bursts out of me — a laugh so sharp and disbelieving it echoes off the marble floors. I laugh so hard my stomach tightens, because the alternative is screaming.

When I finally manage to speak, my voice is rough, splintered with fury.

“What, you see my face on a magazine cover, realize I’ve made something of myself, and suddenly you remember you’re the love of my life?” I give him a smile so cold it burns. “You’ve got to be joking.”

I grab my bag from the counter, slipping my laptop inside with steady hands even though they’re shaking. “Get out of my building. Unless you have a meeting on my calendar, don’t show up here again.”

I signal to security with a quick flick of my wrist. They start to move closer, quiet but deliberate.

That’s when his expression changes — something darker slipping through. His smile twists.

“It’s a nice private school you’ve got Quinn in,” he says softly. “I might have to go and say hi to her.”

My vision snaps into tunnel focus. The blood rushes in my ears like a storm.

Every sound — the click of keyboards, the buzz of phones — fades into white noise. All I can see is his mouth moving, and all I can hear is my daughter’s name.

Something in me breaks loose.

I step forward so fast he flinches. My voice comes out low, dangerous.

“You ever so much as breathe in her direction again, and you’ll regret it. I swear to God, if you even think about going near her school, I’ll make sure you don’t get the chance twice.”

He takes a small step back — the first time I’ve ever seen him retreat. His smirk falters just slightly, and that’s enough to remind me: he doesn’t get to win anymore.

Security closes in, and I don’t look at him again. “Escort him out,” I say quietly, keeping my tone even. “Make sure he doesn’t set foot on this property again.”

They move fast. There’s a brief exchange I don’t bother to watch. I turn away, keeping my back to him as they guide him toward the exit.

If I look, I’ll lose the composure I’ve fought too damn hard to rebuild.

Only when the sound of the front doors closing hits my ears do I let myself breathe. Really breathe.

My fingers tremble as I pull my phone from my bag. I open my messages and type fast — muscle memory.

> To: Presten

Need you at Quinn’s school. Now. Don’t let her out of your sight until she’s with me.

The three dots blink for barely a second before his reply appears:

> On it. Will bring her straight to you.

The relief hits me like a wave I didn’t know I’d been holding back. My knees threaten to give for a moment, but I catch myself on the edge of the reception desk.

For a few seconds, I just stand there, staring at nothing, willing my hands to stop shaking.

Then I straighten. Adjust my blazer.

Breathe.

Because the truth is, he’s not worth my collapse.

Not anymore.

I ride the elevator to my floor in silence, my reflection staring back at me in the mirrored walls. I look composed. Cold. Controlled.

Inside, I feel like glass held together by tension alone.

When the doors open, my office smells faintly of vanilla and coffee. There, on my desk, is a neatly organized stack of folders — today’s meeting prep — and beside it, my saving grace: Elle’s handwriting scrawled on a pink sticky note.

> Lunch and flowers arranged for Kelsi. You owe her big time. – E.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Even on the worst days, Elle knows how to ground me.

I sink into my chair, the leather creaking softly beneath me. For a long moment, I just sit there, staring out the glass wall at the skyline. The city feels alive today — bright and sharp, indifferent to whatever chaos I just endured.

I sip my coffee. It’s lukewarm now, but still comforting. I take a long breath and focus on the rhythm of normalcy — the hum of the office outside, the faint tapping of keyboards, the muffled laughter near the break room.

Normal.

I can do normal.

Elle appears at my doorway, clipboard in hand, her eyes flicking across my face with that quiet, perceptive concern I’ve come to rely on.

“Mr. Riley’s just arrived,” she says softly. “You ready for your meeting?”

I glance at the files on my desk, at my name printed across the top of company documents that used to feel like armor.

And then I nod.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Let’s do this.”

I gather the folders, straighten my shoulders, and head for the meeting room.

But as I walk, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched — a shadow of him still lingering somewhere in the back of my mind. The sound of his voice, the way he said her name.

No.

He’s gone. I made sure of that.

Still, my pulse stays elevated, my chest tight. I reach the glass doors of the boardroom and pause just long enough to inhale, hold, and release.

Whatever today throws at me, I’ll face it.

Because I’ve survived worse.

Because I refuse to be that eighteen-year-old girl ever again.

The boardroom lights hum softly above me as I step inside.

Mr. Riley greets me with an easy smile, all charm and confidence. I return it, polished and professional, sliding the documents across the table like my world isn’t still shaking.

Outside these walls, the rain has stopped. Sunlight breaks through the clouds, streaking gold across the skyline.

For the first time that morning, I let myself believe it’s a sign — that maybe, just maybe, the storm has passed.

But deep down, I know better.

Men like him don’t just vanish.

And as much as I hate to admit it, part of me already knows — this isn’t the last time I’ll see him.

Still, I straighten my papers, lift my chin, and meet Mr. Riley’s gaze like nothing ever happened.

Because no matter what comes next, I’ll face it the same way I always have.

With teeth.

And fire.