Emily's POV
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window of her apartment, casting long shadows on the hardwood floor. But Emily didn't move. She sat at the edge of her bed, eyes fixed on the letter she had tucked under her pillow the night before.
Ethan's unsent words still echoed in her mind.
"I loved you then. I still do."
"I never wanted to let you go."
"They made me choose."
Words written in a moment long gone. But they clung to her, burrowed deep, like old thorns that still found ways to ache.
She closed her eyes, fingers pressing into her temples.
This wasn't why she came to the city.
She was here for a professional contract. A career-defining opportunity. A chance to prove herself, rebuild her life after everything she and her family had endured.
And yet... Ethan was everywhere. In meetings. In boardrooms. In her dreams.
And now, even in the pages of a letter that should've been lost to time.
Emily's POV (continued)
A knock on her door broke her thoughts. It was Wren, her friend and co-designer.
"You're late," Wren said gently, holding two cups of coffee.
Emily blinked. "Am I?"
Wren walked in and set the drinks down. "You didn't answer your phone. I figured you needed caffeine—or backup."
Emily managed a small smile. "Thanks."
Wren sat beside her, scanning her face. "You look like you've been through a storm."
"I have," Emily murmured. "An emotional one."
She handed Wren the letter. Wren's eyes widened as she read.
"This changes things," she said softly.
"I know."
Wren looked at her seriously. "So what now? Are you going to finish the project?"
Emily looked toward the window, at the city beyond it. Alive. Ruthless. Beautiful.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Ethan's POV
Across town, Ethan sat in his office, staring blankly at a spreadsheet.
His jaw was tight, his mood darker than the black coffee cooling beside him.
Emily's eyes last night—her voice, her nearness—it was too much. And Lexi had seen it.
He knew the way her voice changed when she said "Emily" over breakfast, her smile brittle and her eyes calculating.
She knew something was off.
And he was tired of pretending nothing was.
But what could he do?
Walk away from a marriage bound by bloodlines and business?
From a child not yet born?
Ethan ran a hand down his face.
The only thing he was sure of... was that he still loved Emily.
And that loving her was tearing him apart.
Emily's POV (later that day)
By noon, Emily was in the company conference room, sketchpad open, markers neatly aligned beside her. She threw herself into her work like it was a shield—structure, logic, precision.
The project needed her. Her team needed her.
She wasn't a girl anymore. She was a woman with responsibilities. With goals. With something to prove—to herself, to her past, and maybe even to Ethan.
When the door creaked open, she didn't have to look up to know it was him.
She felt it.
The quiet tension that filled the room. The air shifting.
Ethan stood silently for a moment, then stepped in and placed a file on the table.
"I thought you might need the updated logistics chart," he said, voice even.
She nodded, not looking up.
"Emily."
Her hand froze on the paper.
"You didn't come here expecting this," he continued. "I didn't either."
She finally met his gaze.
There it was again. The storm. Swirling in his eyes.
"I don't know what you want from me," she said.
Ethan stepped closer. "The truth. That's all I've ever wanted."
She laughed bitterly. "You want the truth? It hurts. That's the truth."
He looked away, jaw clenched.
"I never stopped loving you, Emily."
Her heart gave a dangerous lurch.
"But I'm married now," he added quietly. "And you… you deserve more than this mess."
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
"I came here for my future, Ethan. Not to relive our past."
She turned away from him.
And for now, that was the only answer she could give.
Emily's POV (Evening)
That night, Emily stood on her balcony, the city lights flickering like restless stars. She held her phone in her hand, thumb hovering over her email app.
She could send a resignation letter.
Walk away.
Cut the thread before it strangled her heart.
But she didn't.
Because walking away meant surrendering—to the pain, to the memory, to the control his family once had.
And she wasn't that girl anymore.
She was Emily Carter. Architect. Visionary. Fighter.
She would finish what she started.
No matter how much it hurt.