ONE LAST CHANCE

THE RETURN

That’s how long it had been since Ava Sinclair left New York. Five years since she’d sworn never to look back. Five years since her heart had been shattered by the one man she trusted the most. And now, here she was—back in the city that knew all her secrets, all her scars, all the things she fought so hard to forget.

The city greeted her with a wintry gray sky, a biting wind, and the unmistakable smell of ambition laced with exhaust fumes. Manhattan hadn’t changed much. The skyline was still a collage of steel and glass, the streets still pulsing with life, and the people still too busy to notice the woman standing on the curb with her past breathing down her neck.

She adjusted her coat and tightened her grip on the leather strap of her handbag, her heels clicking against the pavement as she made her way into the gleaming tower that housed one of the city’s most prestigious PR firms—her firm, technically. Sinclair & Rowe wasn’t her name on the building yet, but it would be. After five years of climbing, scraping, and swallowing her pride in Chicago, she was on the brink of a promotion that could change everything.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Lena, her assistant and best friend.

Lena: You sure you want to do this? You could still turn around. I’d cover for you. Pretend your appendix burst. Something dramatic.

Ava smiled despite herself.

Ava: Too late. The city already smells my blood.

This assignment was supposed to be her final test. She was told she’d be handling the crisis management for one of the firm’s most high-profile clients. It wasn’t until she got on the plane that she learned the name. By then, it was too late to back out.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt like a lifetime. The receptionist had been overly polite, overly rehearsed. Ava’s instincts flared. Something wasn’t right. Her client file had been suspiciously thin. And Julian Cross? He hadn’t been mentioned at all until yesterday.

The receptionist gave her a bright smile as she stepped off the elevator. “Ms. Sinclair, they’re waiting for you in the conference room. Mr. Julian Cross just arrived.”

Her pulse stuttered.

Julian Cross.

Her ex. The ghost of her past. The man she loved—and the man who destroyed her.

She smoothed a hand over her skirt and nodded, her face a perfect mask of calm. No one would know that inside, her heart was rattling like a freight train. She had trained for this moment. She was a professional. She could handle Julian Cross.

Even if she wanted to punch him in the throat.

The door to the conference room swung open before she touched the handle.

And there he was.

He stood at the head of the long glass conference table, wearing a navy suit that screamed power, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and an expression carved from stone. His eyes locked on hers—and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

Then he blinked, and the mask slid back into place.

“Ms. Sinclair,” he said smoothly, extending a hand. “Welcome back to New York.”

A beat passed, then two. Five years. And still, her pulse reacted to his presence like he was gravity. His voice hadn’t changed. Deep, calm, dangerous.

“Mr. Cross,” she replied, keeping her tone ice-cold as she shook his hand. His touch burned. “This should be fun,” she murmured under her breath.

“Let’s begin,” he said.

The meeting dragged. Ava kept her focus on the crisis at hand: a leak involving insider trading rumors, a disgruntled former employee, and a major product launch in jeopardy. She fired off questions, took notes, and kept her expression unreadable.

But she felt Julian’s eyes on her. Watching. Measuring. Regretting?

At one point, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and for the first time, the calm cracked. His jaw tightened. He excused himself and stepped out.

She noticed.

Minutes later, the meeting ended. As everyone filed out, she lingered. Her fingers itched to grab her phone and call Lena.

Then Julian returned. Alone. His mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I didn’t come for you,” she said, her voice crisp. “I came for the job.”

“Of course,” he murmured, walking around his desk. “PR crisis management for CrossTech. High-stakes. High visibility. Just your style.”

He was baiting her already. Some things never changed.

“And yet, the scandal you’ve created is surprisingly low-brow. Data leaks? Internal whistleblower? I expected something more… sophisticated.” Her gaze didn’t waver.

Julian chuckled, but there was no amusement in it. “Glad to know you still think so highly of me.”

“I don’t think of you at all,” she said.

Julian leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her. “You don’t think of me,” he repeated slowly, like he didn’t believe it for a second. “And yet you flew halfway across the country to save my company.”

Ava gave a tight smile. “I didn’t come to save you, Julian. I came to save my career. CrossTech is a major client, and if your scandal explodes the way it’s threatening to, the fallout will reach every corner of the industry. Including my firm.”

“Still blunt, I see.”

“And you’re still arrogant.”

He grinned at that, and for a brief, dangerous second, it was like they were back in that brownstone apartment in Brooklyn, arguing over takeout and making up hours later with whispered apologies and tangled sheets. But that was another lifetime. One she’d buried deep.

Ava pulled a folder from her bag and placed it on the desk. “Here’s the preliminary strategy. My team will be reviewing all public communications and controlling the narrative. But I’ll be taking point on this account personally.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think I rated that kind of attention.”

“You don’t,” she said, snapping the folder shut. “But if your mess tanks this company, I want to make sure I’m not caught in the blast radius.”

A pause settled between them. The silence stretched long enough for Ava to hear the quiet hum of the city outside the glass windows, the tension thickening like smoke.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Julian said softly.

Ava blinked. The audacity of him—five years and he opens with that?

She exhaled, keeping her face still. “Don’t. Don’t pretend this is about us. That was over a long time ago.”

“But not finished.”

She ignored the pang that flared in her chest. “You’re my client now, Julian. Nothing more. We have a job to do, and I expect your full cooperation.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Understood.”

She turned to leave, but paused at the door, her hand on the handle. “And Julian?”

He straightened.

“If you keep secrets from me this time—I walk. No hesitation.”

His jaw tightened. “You have my word.”

Ava turned to leave, then Julian stopped her.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“About the scandal?”

“About everything.”

Ava laughed without humor. “Now you want to talk?”

He stepped closer. “I didn’t request you for this job just for the PR, Ava.”

Her pulse skipped.

“You pulled strings,” she said.

He didn’t deny it.

“Why?”

“Because someone is trying to destroy me,” Julian said quietly. “And I think it has something to do with what happened five years ago.”

Her breath hitched. “You think this leak… is about us?”

“I think it started with us.” Julian answered.

"I need to leave now", she said as she made her way out.

Her heels echoed through the hallway as she left his office, the polished confidence on her face cracking only when she stepped into the elevator. Alone, with the doors closing, Ava let her shoulders sag, just for a moment.

Because the truth was… seeing him again had done more damage in five minutes than she’d allowed in five years.