THE WIFE WHO FORGOT

CHAPTER 3: THEY MEET AGAIN - PART 1

*CHAPTER 3: THEY MEET AGAIN - FINAL*

INT. HARTLEY ENTERPRISES — TOP FLOOR OFFICE — NEXT MORNING

9:00 a.m. sharp.

Rose steps off the elevator and her stomach drops to the floor.

Sam Kingsley walks right beside her — equal partner, right where she belongs, hand linked through Rose's arm like an anchor. Rose had debated the blue dress all evening, twisting the hem between her fingers a dozen times in front of the mirror, before finally reaching for the black pantsuit — sharp, tailored, professional.

Armor, she'd called it at 2 a.m. last night, staring at herself in the mirror. Unreachable. Unshakable. Exactly how he should see me. Not the girl he left.

Sam, meanwhile, looks bright and ready in a soft cream blazer, notebook tucked under one arm, humming under her breath. Sam isn't nervous. Sam never gets nervous.

The receptionist — young, perfect ponytail — lights up. “Good morning Miss Leving and Mrs Kingsley, Mr Hartley and his team are expecting you both, this way please." she said as she led the way to the office, heels clicking fast across the marble.

Rose takes a steadying breath that doesn't steady anything. Her palms are sweating inside her blazer. She walks in — and stops dead.

The office is all floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out over the entire city. Sunlight spills across the mahogany desk so bright it hurts. And Jason Hartley is already there with his team — leaning against the edge of the desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, no tie, suit jacket draped over the back of his chair like he owns the place. Which he does.

He looks up the moment they walk in — and for a heartbeat, everything slows. The air conditioning, the traffic outside, Sam's humming — all of it cuts out.

His eyes find hers first. Always hers first.

He stands slowly. Too slowly. Like he needs the second to compose himself.

“Miss Leving. Mrs. Kingsley.” His voice is lower than she remembers. Rougher.

“Mr. Hartley.” Rose keeps her voice cool, steady, professional — but her heart is hammering hard enough to ache, hard enough that she's sure he can hear it across the desk. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with a hand that won't stay still.

"Mr Hartley!" said Sam as she smiled at him ear to ear, completely oblivious to the electricity crackling between them. “We are here finally! Long in waiting, but we have made it! Are the papers ready for the signing?" she asked, already pulling out her chair.

“Ahh yeah, we have everything in place. Please — sit.” He gestures to the leather chairs across from him, rounds the desk, and slides the contracts toward them with one smooth push. His fingers brush Rose's as she reaches — just a graze — and she flinches like she's been burned. He doesn't miss it. His jaw tightens. “Everything’s finalised. The Carousel Building is yours — fully leased, fully yours for the launch. All signed off by both families.”

Rose sits. Sam sits beside her, already scanning the pages — business-minded, sharp, the perfect partner, flipping pages fast. Rose picks up the pen. It's heavy. Montblanc. His.

“All of it?” She looks up at him, and she hates that her voice is smaller now. “No fine print. No last-minute changes? No surprises?”

She means more than the building and he knows it.

“None.” He leans forward, forearms on the desk, his dark eyes never leaving hers. Not Sam's. Hers. “I made sure of it. This building matters to you both. That matters to me.”

The words hang in the air — quiet, heavy, loaded with five years of things unsaid. Five years since he left without a goodbye. Five years since she cried on Sam's bathroom floor until she had no tears left.

Rose’s breath catches. She looks down fast and signs. Her signature is messy, nothing like Sam's. Then Sam signs — quick, confident, hers right beside Rose’s, looping and perfect.

Jason slides the papers back, his thumb lingering over Rose's signature for a second too long. “The building is officially yours. Your name will be above the door. Your designs on the runway. Everything you’ve worked for.” He pauses, then adds, softer — just for them, not for his team — “Ladies, your hard work has paid off. Congratulations to you both! You deserve every bit of it.” The rest of the team also congratulated them, clapping politely.

Sam closes her notebook with a snap, already standing, phone buzzing in her hand — beaming, bright and apologetic all at once.

“That’s perfect — all done. But listen — I’m so sorry, I can’t make dinner tonight. Jonathan’s finally back from Asia — the fabric contracts are all sorted, and I haven’t seen him in weeks. He’s just walked through the door as we speak. I need to go home to him.”

She pauses, glances between them — and her grin turns knowing, bright and unmistakable. Sam has always been a terrible liar. Rose knows that look.

“But- there’s no reason the two of you can’t still go, is there? It’s a big night — We finally got our own retail building, everything we worked for! Ten long hard years. You should celebrate properly. Rose, you’ve been waiting for this, you deserve this." She said and squeezed her arm, hard. A warning. A push. A set-up. And Jason — has come all this way to help us, he's here and you’re here. Make the most of it and, you might as well. Why don’t you two go? On me.”

Silence. Rose freezes — caught completely off guard. Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out. She looks at Sam like — what are you doing? You promised you wouldn't leave me alone with him.

Jason looks at Sam, then slowly, his gaze turns to Rose — steady, quiet, waiting. That look. The one that used to make her say yes to everything, that used to make her forget her own name.

“I —” Rose starts, then stops. Her armor is cracking. The black pantsuit suddenly feels too hot, too tight. She can feel sweat on the back of her neck.

Sam’s already at the door, waving them both off, practically glowing, phone to her ear. “Go on! Enjoy yourselves! I’ll see you both tomorrow — and we’ll celebrate properly then! Bye!”

And she’s gone. The door clicks shut — leaving them alone. Just the two of them and the city behind glass and a contract that says they now own a building together and a history that says they own each other.

Jason looks back at Rose — one eyebrow lifted, a slow, quiet smile tugging at his mouth. The first real smile since she walked in. It makes him look 22 again. It makes her knees weak.

“Well?” He leans back against the desk, arms crossed, eyes on her mouth, then her eyes. He looks at her like she's still his. “Sam has spoken. Seven o’clock? I’ll pick you up.”

Rose’s heart hammers — half panic, half something far warmer, far more dangerous, something she thought she buried five years ago when he boarded that flight.

Inside her head: Don't say yes. Don't you dare say yes. You wore armor for a reason. You said you wouldn't do this again.

Out loud, her voice barely a whisper, betraying everything:

“Seven. I’ll be ready.”

And his smile deepens like he just won everything. Like he knew she would say it.