The Heart I Buried

There are some people you forget, there are others you bury. I buried George Preston six years ago. At least, that was what I told myself, but I was wrong. The moment I stepped through the glass doors of Preston Tower, my heart betrayed me. It happened before I saw him, before anyone called his name, before my mind had time to remind me that I was twenty-nine now, not twenty-three, and before I could remember that I had survived him. My body remembered first, my stomach tightened, my palms became cold, my heartbeat changed, and suddenly, I was no longer standing inside the largest corporate building in Metropolis. I was standing in a tiny apartment six years ago, crying so hard I could barely breathe while the man I loved looked at me like I was a stranger. A liar, a disappointment, a mistake, I swallowed. No, not today. I looked down at the tablet in my hand and forced myself to breathe. I was here for business, nothing else. I had spent six years building a life that did not include George Preston, I had worked until my fingers hurt, I had studied until my eyes burned, I had taken every small opportunity that came my way and turned it into something bigger, I had built a career from nothing, I had built a name, I had built walls, very strong ones at that. George Preston would not break them, not again. "Ms. Cummins?" I looked up. A young woman in a black suit stood in front of me. "Yes?" "Mr. Preston's executive assistant is waiting for you upstairs." My chest tightened at the name. Mr. Preston! Not George, not the boy whose laugh used to make me forget my problems, not the man who used to hold my hand under restaurant tables because he thought nobody noticed. Mr. Preston. A stranger, that was what I needed him to be. "Thank you." I followed her toward the private elevators. The moment the doors opened, I stepped inside. The elevator was almost silent, too silent. I stared at my reflection in the polished metal. Dark-brown eyes, Straightened black hair falling around my shoulders, Cream blouse, Black trousers, Simple gold earrings. No trembling, no tears, no girl waiting for somebody to save her. I smiled faintly at myself. "You're fine," I whispered. The elevator began moving, I pressed my lips together. I was not fine, but I had become very good at looking like I was. Six years ago, I thought losing George would kill me. It didn't, it simply killed the part of me that believed love was safe. The elevator stopped the doors opened, the woman gestured toward a large hallway. "Mr. Preston's office is at the end." "Thank you." I walked away from her. Every step felt heavier than the last. The hallway was beautiful, white wallsz dark wood, huge windows overlooking Metropolis . People moved around quietly, dressed in expensive suits, speaking into phones, carrying folders and tablets. This was George's world. Of course it was. He had always belonged here. Power, Money, Control, everything I once thought I needed protection from. I stopped outside the large double doors, there was a small brass plaque. GEORGE PRESTON CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER My breath caught. For one second, I almost turned around. Nobody would know. I could say the meeting had been inconvenient, I could take another client, I could walk back into the elevator. Disappear, again. But I had not come this far to run. So I lifted my chin. Knocked twice. "Come in." His voice. My heart stopped. Not almost, stopped. For one terrible second, I could not move. That voice was deeper now. Colder, but I knew it. I had heard it in dreams, In nightmares, In the quiet moments when I was angry enough to hate myself for still remembering. I opened the door, and then I saw him. George Preston stood behind a large black desk with a file open in front of him. Six years had changed him, or maybe life had. He looked older, harder. His black hair was shorter than I remembered. His jaw was sharper. His shoulders looked broader beneath his dark suit. There was no warmth in his face, no easy smile, no trace of the man who used to steal fries from my plate, no trace of the man who once kissed my forehead when I fell asleep on his shoulder. This man looked like he belonged to headlines, business magazines, forbes lists, boardrooms. The kind of man people feared disappointing. His eyes lifted from the file, and found mine. Everything inside me went silent. George froze. I watched something pass over his face. Shock. Disbelief. Then something deeper, something I could not name. His lips parted. For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Then he said the one word I had spent six years trying not to hear. "Sophie." My fingers tightened around my tablet. I refused to show him that my heart had just shattered and rebuilt itself at the same time. "Mr. Preston." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Mr. Preston?" I gave him a small smile, professional, polite, empty. "That's what people call you now, isn't it?" He stared at me. I wondered if he could see the girl I had once been beneath the woman standing in front of him. I hoped not, because she was dead. At least, that's what I had told myself. "Sit down." I walked toward the chair opposite his desk. "My assistant said you were here for the restructuring project." "I am." He continued staring. "You look different." I almost laughed. Different. That was one word for it. "I grew up." His jaw tightened, "I can see that." "Good.", I sat down. He remained standing. "How long have you been back in Metropolis ?" The question was too personal. I looked at him. "I'm not sure I understand how that's relevant to the project." His eyes did not leave mine. "It isn't." "Then perhaps we should discuss the project." Silence. A strange, uncomfortable silence. I hated that my body still reacted to him, I hated the tiny flutter beneath my ribs, I hated that my fingers remembered the feeling of his. Most of all, I hated that part of me still wanted him to say something. Anything. Maybe an apology, an explanation, a lie. I didn't care. I wanted to know why. Why he had looked into my eyes six years ago and decided I was guilty. Why he had listened to strangers before listening to me. Why he had allowed them to drag my name through the mud. Why he had let me leave. Why he never came after me. The questions were still alive, I had just learned how to live with them. George finally sat down. He opened the file in front of him. "The restructuring of Harrison Logistics is one of the most important acquisitions Preston Holdings has made this year." "I know." "You're aware of the risks?" "I studied the company before applying." "You studied it?" I raised one eyebrow. "Did you expect me to walk in here unprepared?" "No." His response came too quickly. I looked down at the documents. That was still George. He noticed everything. "Your proposal is impressive." "Thank you." "You've worked with three companies in the past four years." "Four." He paused. "Four?" "One was private." He studied me. "You built your consulting firm yourself?" "Yes." "Without investors?" "Yes." "Without family support?" My hand stopped moving. There it was. The question beneath the question. I looked up. "You researched me." "I needed to know who I was dealing with." I smiled without humor. "Interesting." "What?" "Six years ago, you didn't think you needed to know." His face changed only slightly, but I saw it. Pain, Regret, maybe anger. I didn't care. At least, I told myself I didn't. "I made a mistake." I laughed softly. The sound felt strange in the room. "A mistake?" George said nothing. I leaned back. "You don't get to call it a mistake." His eyes locked onto mine. "What should I call it?" "The truth." His expression hardened. "You want the truth?" "More than anything." He stood. I felt the air change. George walked around the desk, slowly. He stopped a few feet from me. "Six years ago, I believed you had betrayed me." "I didn't." "I know." My heart stopped. I stared at him. "What did you say?" His voice was quiet. "I said I know." My mouth went dry. Just before I could respond, the door opened. A man in a gray suit entered. "Sir, the board members are waiting." George did not look away from me. "Tell them I'll be there in five minutes." The man glanced between us. "Yes, sir." He left. I stood. "Then I should go." George's voice came quickly. "Sophie." I stopped. He looked at me. For the first time since I entered the room, the cold mask slipped. "I looked for you." My heart betrayed me again. One beat, then another, but I forced my face to remain calm. "You should have looked harder." His eyes darkened. "I did." I turned toward the door. "You didn't look hard enough." I reached for the handle. His voice stopped me again. "I never stopped." I closed my eyes. Just for a second. There were things I did not want to hear. Things that would make the walls inside me shake. I opened my eyes and turned around, George was still standing there. The powerful billionaire, the ruthless CEO, the man everybody feared, and suddenly, for one tiny second, I saw him. Not the CEO, not the billionaire, not the stranger. George. The man who once held my face in his hands and told me I was the only person in his world he trusted. Then I remembered what happened, I remembered standing in his apartment, I remembered the documents, the accusations, the coldness in his eyes. I remembered begging him. Please believe me. And his answer. I don't know who you are anymore. That sentence had destroyed something inside me. I looked at him now. "You should have." He frowned. I opened the door. "You should have looked harder." Then I walked out. I did not run, I did not cry, I did not look back, not until I reached the elevator. The doors opened, I stepped inside. Only when they closed did my breath finally escape, my hands began shaking. I pressed them together. "Don't." My reflection stared back at me. "Don't you dare." But my eyes were already burning, I blinked quickly. No tears. I refused. I had cried enough for George Preston. Six years ago, I had buried the woman who loved him, I was not going to dig her up today. The elevator reached the ground floor. I stepped out. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I walked toward the entrance. The receptionist smiled politely. I smiled back. I pushed open the glass doors. Hot Metropolis air touched my face. Freedom. I took a deep breath, then another. My phone vibrated, I looked down. An email. FROM: PRESTON HOLDINGS SUBJECT: RESTRUCTURING APPOINTMENT I opened it. My eyes moved over the first paragraph, then stopped. The appointment was confirmed. I would be working directly with George Preston for the next eight months. Eight months, my heart sank. "You're joking." I looked back at the enormous building behind me. Somewhere above those glass windows was the man I had spent six years forgetting. The man I hated, the man I once loved. And now, somehow, he was going to be part of my life again. I closed my eyes. There was only one thought in my mind. I should have stayed gone. Upstairs, George Preston remained standing beside the window long after Sophie left. He watched her disappear through the entrance. Six years. Six years of searching, Six years of unanswered questions, Six years of wondering whether she was alive, whether she hated him, whether she had found someone else, and now she was here. Alive, Successful, Beautiful, Angry. He deserved the anger. George picked up the file from his desk. His hand stopped when he saw the photograph attached to the bottom. It was an old photograph. Sophie. Laughing. Her head resting against his shoulder, he remembered the day it had been taken, he remembered thinking he would marry her, he remembered thinking nothing could ever take her away from him. He had been wrong. His phone rang. George answered. "Yes?" Marcus's voice came through. "Did she meet you?" George stared at the photograph. "Yes." A pause. "How did it go?" George looked toward the doors Sophie had walked through. "She hates me." Marcus was silent. Then he asked the question George had been avoiding for six years. "Are you sure she was safe all these years?" George's expression changed. He looked down at the old photograph again. "No." Marcus lowered his voice. "George..." George's eyes hardened. "What?" "We found something." George straightened. "What?" "The file from six years ago." A long silence. "The original file?" "Yes." George's heart began pounding. "Where is it?" "That's the problem." Marcus took a breath. "Someone accessed it yesterday." George's face went cold. "Who?" "We don't know." George looked through the glass wall toward the city, then toward the building's entrance, and toward the direction Sophie had disappeared. For six years, he had thought the worst thing that happened to him was losing her. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure. Because maybe Sophie hadn't simply returned, or maybe the past had returned with her. And someone was afraid of what she might remember. George tightened his grip on the phone. "Find out who accessed that file." "And if they refuse?" George's eyes became ice. "Then make them talk." He ended the call. His gaze returned to the photograph, His thumb brushed over Sophie's face. Six years ago, he had lost her because he chose not to trust her. He would not make that mistake twice. But there was one thing he had not yet understood. Sophie did not need him to save her. And if he wanted any chance of getting her back, he would have to learn how to love a woman who no longer needed him at all.