The scent of yesterday

We meet again

Chapter 8:

The morning sun didn’t rise gently for Nicole—it slapped her awake.

Cold water splashed across her face and chest, soaking into the thin blanket she had curled into sometime after midnight. She gasped, bolting upright, heart thudding in panic. Her eyes fluttered open just in time to see her stepmother, Rebecca, standing over her with a now-empty bucket in hand and no trace of guilt on her face.

“Get up,” Rebecca snapped, as though Nicole had just committed a crime. “You think this house is a hotel? Sleeping when everyone else is up working their bones off.”

Nicole was still trying to catch her breath. “It’s barely six…”

Rebecca turned and stormed toward the kitchen, muttering loud enough for Nicole to hear. “Six or sixty, you’re still a disgrace lying around doing nothing.”

Nicole bit the inside of her cheek. Her clothes clung to her skin, her hair dripping onto the thin pillow she used for support. She looked around the room—the corner of a two-bedroom flat that had long since stopped feeling like home. Her stepmother had taken over after her father’s death, and while her two step-siblings had rooms with actual beds, Nicole had the couch by the window and an unwelcome wake-up call every other day.

She got up slowly, rubbing her arms to warm herself, and tiptoed to the bathroom before anyone else could claim it. No hot water, of course. She wiped herself down quickly and changed into the best she could find—an old button-down shirt, ironed three days ago, and a black skirt that barely matched. She twisted her braids up and clipped them at the back. No time for makeup. She could already hear the clock ticking against her.

She skipped breakfast. Not because she wanted to, but because there was nothing to eat. The kitchen shelves were barren, and the rice container was empty. Her stomach ached, but she ignored it. She grabbed her bag and rushed out, hoping to beat the worst of the traffic.

She didn’t.

The bus was full. The next one broke down halfway through the trip. When she got to the train station, delays were announced due to electrical issues. She stood among the crowd, jittery and breathless, checking her cheap phone every five seconds. Her shift at the insurance firm started at 8:00. It was already 8:12.

By the time Nicole arrived at the front desk, she was flushed and panting, heels clicking urgently as she ran past the elevator doors. Her bag strap slipped off her shoulder, but she ignored it. She reached her department floor and dashed in, hoping to sneak past unnoticed.

But fate had other plans.

“Nice of you to finally join us.”

Nicole winced.

The voice belonged to Angela, her supervisor—a woman who wore high heels and higher pride. She was standing by the coffee machine, a cup in her perfectly manicured hand, eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole mumbled. “The bus broke down—”

Angela clicked her tongue. “The bus? You’re blaming public transport for your inability to manage time?”

A few heads turned toward them. Nicole could feel their stares—the new girl getting chewed out again.

“I left early,” Nicole said quietly. “There were just... issues.”

Angela took a long sip from her mug and looked her up and down. “There are always ‘issues’ with people who lack discipline. This is a professional environment, not a community kitchen.”

Nicole clenched her jaw. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

“I’ll be watching you,” Angela said, brushing past her. “If you can’t manage basic punctuality, I’ll personally recommend your dismissal.”

Nicole nodded stiffly and made her way to her desk.

She hadn’t even dropped her bag when someone touched her shoulder.

She turned and came face to face with a man she recognized—Raymond.

He was tall, in his early thirties, with an easy smirk and a sharp presence. He was one of Ethan Blackwood’s close friends, though Nicole had only heard murmurs about his role in the company.

“You’re Nicole, right?” he asked, voice friendly but firm.

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me.”

She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she’d done something wrong again. Raymond didn’t give her a reason, just led the way toward the elevators. She noticed Angela watching from a distance, lips pursed.

In the elevator, Nicole tried to speak, but Raymond looked at his phone, fingers tapping rapidly. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and kept quiet.

The elevator climbed smoothly. When it finally opened on the top floor, her heart rate doubled.

The executive suite.

Raymond guided her down the long, carpeted hallway. They passed a few closed doors and finally stopped in front of one—sleek, dark, and intimidating.

Ethan Blackwood, CEO.

Raymond knocked once, opened the door, and stepped aside.

“He’s not in yet,” he said. “But you’re supposed to help organize the client files on his desk. Just wait here. Don’t touch anything else.”

Nicole nodded, stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind her.

The room was enormous. Everything in it screamed power. The walls were lined with dark wood, the shelves filled with thick files, metallic sculptures, and a few art pieces that looked painfully expensive. A massive window overlooked the skyline, and a sleek desk sat at the center like a throne.

Nicole approached slowly and began arranging the folders laid out on the table. She worked quietly, hands trembling slightly. The silence in the room was heavy. Every small sound felt amplified.

She had just placed the last file down when the door opened behind her.

She turned—and froze.

Ethan.

He stepped into the room with the presence of a storm. Charcoal suit, dark eyes, expression unreadable. Their eyes met for a long second.

Something flickered in his eyes. Recognition? Confusion? Disgust?

She couldn’t tell.

Nicole straightened immediately. “I was just organizing the documents. Mr. Raymond sent me.”

He didn’t respond. He walked past her and placed his phone on the desk, not even sparing her another glance.

The silence returned.

Nicole shifted awkwardly. “I’ll leave now…”

She moved toward the door.

Ethan’s voice stopped her.

“Next time, knock before entering my office.”

Her stomach dropped. “I didn’t mean to come in uninvited. I was told—”

“That will be all,” he said, cutting her off.

She nodded quickly, embarrassed, and stepped out.

Behind the closed door, Ethan remained still for a moment. Then he walked to the window, hands in his pockets, his reflection staring back at him.

There was something about her.

The curve of her face. The tone of her voice. The shape of her eyes.

He’d seen her before.

Not at a party. Not in the street.

No.

Years ago. A hospital. A room. A cry.

A baby.

His baby.

His jaw tensed. He turned away from the window and hit the intercom button.

“Raymond,” he said, voice low.

“Yeah?” came the reply through the speaker.

“I want everything on her. Nicole.”

Raymond was silent for a second. Then: “Why?”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

“Because I need answers. And I don’t like questions that wear her face.”