Old flames, new fire
669 Words
A business trip, one hotel, and two people trying to pretend the past doesn’t burn.
Emilia stared at her reflection in the hotel mirror, silently uttering profanity fate. She hadn’t known when she approved the last-minute business trip that the client’s resort was booked solid. And she hadn’t understood she’d be stuck in the same suite as the man who’d once smashed her heart with an autograph and silence.
Ethan Blackwood.
CEO. Ex-husband. Expressive hurricane.
She adjusted her blouse, smoothed her skirt, and forced her expression into something composed. She would survive this. Just like she’d survived everything else.
Through the suite, Ethan stood at the minibar, gushing himself a drink. The ice clinked. His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, and tie loosened just enough to be dangerous.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You can relax, Emilia. I’m not going to bite.”
“I’m not worried about you biting,” she replied. “I’m worried about your silence.”
His brow lifted. “My silence?”
“That’s always how you end things, isn’t it? With nothing.”
He strengthened but didn’t respond. Instead, he handed her a glass of water, like they were just colleagues, just two professionals caught in an inconvenient booking.
Like there wasn’t a past between them still smoldering.
They sat on opposite ends of the small couch, the TV flickering quietly, but neither of them paid it any attention.
“So,” he said, voice low, “is she mine?”
Her heart dropped.
“You don’t get to ask that.”
“I do,” he said, jaw gripped. “I have a right to know.”
“No,” she said sharply, eyes locked on his. “You had the right. You lost it when you pushed me out of your life without even asking if I was okay.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
She laughed—short, bitter. “By making me feel worthless?”
He set the glass down too hard. “I was scared, Emilia.”
“You don’t get to play the scared card. Not when you had every choice in the world and still chose to make me feel like a mistake.”
He stood. Walked to the window. Ran a hand through his hair.
“You were never a mistake,” he said quietly.
She rose, fury and heartbreak rising with her. “Then why did you treat me like one?”
He turned.
The air between them crackled.
“I thought if I kept you at a distance, I wouldn’t fall in deeper. That if I hurt you first, I’d protect myself.”
Her voice cracked. “And you succeeded.”
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then, without thinking, she walked past him—toward the bedroom—but he reached out, fingers brushing her wrist.
“Don’t,” she whispered, eyes shining.
But he didn’t let go.
“You said it was real for you,” he muttered. “It was real for me too. I just didn’t know how to handle it.”
She looked up at him. For a moment, they weren’t in a hotel suite. They were back in that courthouse, back in that tiny apartment where dreams lived on borrowed time.
He leaned in.
She didn’t move.
His breath brushed her lips, and for a second, it felt like the world paused.
But she stepped back.
“No,” she said, voice trembling. “This isn’t forgiveness. It’s a storm. And I can’t let it destroy me again.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Then stop trying to have me.”
She walked into the bedroom and shut the door softly.
He didn’t follow.
And for the rest of the night, they lay in separate rooms, a wall between them.
But neither of them slept.
Because sparks had flown.
But so had pain.
And old flames?
They burned hotter the second time.
- Writer
