IN HIS EYES

Present Day 11:43 a.m. Maddox Innovations, Executive Tower — 57th Floor The elevator jerked. Not the gentle kind that makes your stomach flutter—no, this was a shuddering, metal-grinding halt that left Amelia breathless and clutching her worn tote bag like it might save her life. And then silence. Deafening, heavy silence. Until a calm, male voice spoke beside her. “Don’t panic. These things have emergency protocols.” She didn’t need to look. She didn’t want to look. But she did. Roman Creed. Three feet away. Leaning casually against the mirrored wall of the elevator like the world hadn’t just thrown her into her own personal hell. He was even more terrifyingly composed than she remembered. Crisp charcoal suit, navy tie, no tie pin—still allergic to accessories. Hair darker now, swept back in that ruthless way that made him look more like a prince of shadows than a CEO. And those eyes. Ice blue. Calculating. Empty. The same eyes her son had. Amelia swallowed and turned toward the control panel, stabbing the emergency button. The speaker crackled. “Maintenance is on the way,” came a distant voice. “Elevator 4 has paused due to a system glitch. Please remain calm.” Roman's arms folded. “How long?” “Thirty to forty minutes.” Amelia exhaled slowly through her nose. Of all the elevators in all the damn buildings in New York City— why this one? why now? Roman glanced at her again, brows slightly furrowed. Like he was trying to place her. Like he knew something about her didn’t add up. But of course he didn’t recognize her. Five years, a different haircut, no makeup, and about ten thousand nights of pain changed a woman’s face. She prayed he wouldn’t speak again. “Do I know you?” God. Her breath caught, but her voice didn’t crack. “No.” He tilted his head slightly. “You look familiar.” “Lots of people do,” she replied flatly, eyes fixed on the flickering numbers above the door. Stuck between 57 and 58. Just like she was—stuck between past and future. He stepped closer. “I rarely forget a face.” Her spine stiffened. “Well, this one doesn’t matter anymore.” That startled him. A twitch at the corner of his mouth, like amusement—maybe surprise. “Feisty,” he murmured. She met his eyes then. And for the first time in five years, she let him see the fury, the heartbreak, the pure rage she’d buried beneath quiet survival. “If you knew who I was,” she said softly, “you’d hate me.” Roman’s expression faltered. For just a second. She stepped back, pressing herself against the cold mirror behind her. “Or worse,” she added, voice barely a whisper, “you’d remember.” Roman didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But something in his gaze shifted—only slightly. Not confusion. Not recognition. Something colder. Amelia turned her head, hiding the heat creeping up her neck. She shouldn’t have said that. She was supposed to keep a low profile. Let the days pass, earn her paycheck, and get out. But five years of silence had teeth, and apparently, hers had started to bite. She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. The leather creaked. “You work in this building?” he asked finally, voice smooth, impassive. “I do now.” “In which department?” Her pulse thumped wildly. “Admin.” Roman’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press. He turned away instead, running a hand through his hair. He looked exactly how she remembered him—except for the stiffness in his jaw. The wear around his eyes. Five years hadn’t touched his wealth, but it had carved something sharper into the lines of his face. More ruthless. More... closed off. She watched him glance at his watch, then tap something on his phone. Silence. And then— “You’re not scared,” he said. “What?” “Most people trapped in an elevator panic. Breathe fast. Call their mother. You—” He gestured lazily. “You just stand there like you’re used to being stuck.” That hit harder than she expected. She looked down at her boots. “Maybe I’ve just been in tighter spaces,” she murmured. Leon chuckled under his breath. “What are you, a poet?” She smiled bitterly. “Not anymore.” He kept watching her. There was an intensity in his gaze that hadn’t changed—like he saw things people didn’t want seen. It used to thrill her. Now it just made her want to disappear. “Amelia.” The name fell from his mouth before he even realized it. Her heart stopped. Literally stopped. Slowly, she turned her head to face him. His brows drew together. “Amelia...” Her throat tightened. “No. You’re mistaken.” But Roman didn’t answer. His gaze was a storm now. He took a step closer, then another, eyes scanning her face like a man unearthing a memory buried beneath rubble. “Your name is Amelia,” he said again, voice low. She could’ve lied. Should’ve lied. But her voice failed her. A soft ding interrupted them. The elevator jolted, then began moving again. He didn’t look away from her. “You’re Amelia Hart.” She didn’t confirm it. Didn’t need to. The doors opened, and a gust of cool air flooded the small space. She stepped out without a word, heels clicking sharply on the marble floor. She could feel him behind her, eyes burning into her spine. She had three seconds of freedom before he called after her. “Hey,wait....." "What are you doing here?" She paused, just once. Then turned her head enough to let him see the ghost of a smile. "Why?Is it a crime to be here?" she looked forward trying so hard to control herself then she disappeared into the crowd before he could say something else.