BURNING BRIDGES

CHAPTER 1: The Reckoning

The rain on the windshield matched the rhythm of Elena Voss's heartbeat—erratic, heavy, unavoidable. She gripped the steering wheel of her silver Audi, knuckles white, as she stared at the neon sign of The Alibi Room through the downpour. Three years. Three years since she'd walked away from this town, from him, from the life that had nearly consumed her whole.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Don't do it, the text from her sister read. Nothing good waits in Ashford.

But Elena had stopped listening to good advice the moment she signed the papers that made her the sole owner of Voss Architectural Restoration. The firm was bleeding money, her father's legacy crumbling, and the Henderson contract—the one that could save everything—required her personal attention. In Ashford. Where Julian Cross still lived.

She stepped into the rain without an umbrella, her designer heels clicking against wet pavement. The bar hadn't changed—same sticky floor, same smell of spilled beer and broken dreams. And there, at the corner booth where he'd always sat, was Julian.

He looked up as if sensing her presence, those dark eyes locking onto hers with the same electric intensity that had unraveled her at twenty-two. He'd aged spectacularly—stubble darkening his jaw, shoulders broader beneath a black Henley, hair longer and tousled. Dangerous. Beautiful. Still hers, if the way his pupils dilated meant anything.

"Elena." Her name on his lips. God, she'd forgotten how he said it—like a prayer, like a curse.

"Julian." She slid into the booth across from him, refusing to let her hands shake. "I need the Henderson building. Don't make this difficult."

He laughed, low and humorless. "Three years, and that's your opening? No 'how are you?' No 'sorry I disappeared without explanation?'"

"I don't owe you explanations." Lie. She owed him everything. "I need that contract. The building is historical landmark—"

"And I bought it," he interrupted, leaning forward. The movement brought his scent—cedar, whiskey, something uniquely Julian—washing over her. "Fair and square. My hotel chain needs a flagship property, and that Art Deco masterpiece is perfect."

"Your hotel chain?" She'd heard rumors, of course. Julian Cross, former bad boy with a record, now a real estate mogul worth billions. But seeing the evidence in his tailored clothes, the Patek Philippe on his wrist, the confidence radiating from him—it was disorienting.

"Surprised?" He reached across the table, his thumb brushing her knuckles before she could withdraw. The touch burned. "People change, Elena. Or didn't you get the memo?"

She pulled her hand back, but not before he felt her tremble. "The Henderson building needs restoration, not demolition disguised as renovation. If you let Voss handle it—"

"I'll think about it." He stood, tossing bills on the table. "Dinner. Tomorrow. The new place on Fifth. Eight o'clock." It wasn't a request.

"I don't—"

"You want the contract?" He leaned down, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. "Then wear something that reminds me of what I lost. And Elena? I haven't forgotten a single inch of what that feels like."

He was gone before she could respond, leaving her breathless and furious and, against all logic, aching.