THE CEO's REGRET

CHAPTER 26- NOT AGAIN

He kept looking for seven months, while everyone around us made sure he never found me. I folded that last letter and sat with it for a long time, the paper warm between my fingers. The realization pressed in slowly, settling deep in my chest like it had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

I still went to work, not because I had processed any of it. I hadn’t. Some things don’t untangle quickly, and I was tired of pretending otherwise. I went because work was the one piece of my life that still felt like mine. Untouched, unclaimed. I had built it alone, and stepping into it each day reminded me I could still stand without everything else crumbling.

The vendor meeting started at ten. Final catering numbers before the gala locked in. I ran it from the head of the table, voice steady, questions sharp. On the outside, I looked in control. Inside, I was barely holding the pieces together.

Sebastian was there. He sat across from me, notepad open, listening more than speaking. He was surprisingly good at it, present without taking over. It unsettled me how much I noticed that now.

I kept looking at him, not with strategy or distance. I just looked at the twenty-three-year-old who had been raised to trust no one. The man who was handed a cruel lie at his lowest point by his own father. He believed it for less than a day. By the time he realized the truth, I was already gone. The damage was done. No way back.

I kept all of it locked inside. I confirmed the numbers, asked about staffing ratios, and held my voice together. By the time I drove home at five-thirty, I felt completely drained.

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Isla looked up the second I walked through the door. She studied my face the way only she could…gentle, searching, like she could see every c***k I was trying to hide. “How was today?” she asked softly, her voice full of quiet concern.

I set my bag down and busied myself at the sink. “Long,” I said, the word catching a little. I filled a glass with water. “Fine.”

She waited, the silence patient but heavy. I turned around and met her eyes. She sat there at the kitchen table, steady and open, pen in hand. After the letters, after everything with my mother… she deserved more than my careful half-answers.

“Complicated,” I said, the word coming out quieter, almost shaky. “But okay.”

Her expression softened with understanding and a hint of relief, like she’d been waiting for me to let her see even a little of the truth.

“Okay,” she replied gently, her voice warm with love and worry she didn’t quite hide. “I made pasta. There’s extra.”

I sat down across from her. She didn’t push. We talked about ordinary things, and for that short hour the weight in my chest felt a little easier to carry. It was the closest thing to comfort I’d felt all day.

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At eight-thirty I was reviewing floor plans when the email came in. My assistant had flagged it, “Think you need to see this tonight.”

It was from a journalist. Polished and direct. “We’re running a features piece this weekend on Hale Industries’ new event management partnership. We’ve been made aware of a personal history between yourself and the CEO and would like to offer you the opportunity to comment before publication. Forty-eight hours.”

My stomach dropped. I read it again. “Made aware of a personal history.”

This was getting bigger and moving faster. I called Marcus, he picked up on the first ring. “I know,” I said, my voice already tight with tension.

“This isn’t the column,” he replied, careful but edged with real worry. “This is a proper piece, Naomi. If they’ve been briefed with enough detail to pitch a feature story…”

“They don’t have Isla,” I cut in, the words coming out sharper, protective.

“Not yet.” His voice dropped, heavy with the fear he was trying to keep from me. “That’s what I’m sitting with.”

I stared at the screen, heart pounding harder now. The story was going out, that part was already decided. The only question left was who got to tell it, and whether I would let someone else rewrite my life for the second time in sixteen years.

The first time I was twenty, scared, and too slow to fight back. I’m thirty-one now, and I’m not that girl anymore, I am going to fight for what I worked so hard for, I don't care what it takes.