Luca
The moment the glass doors shut behind me, I exhaled. The kind that felt like I'd been holding it in for eight goddamn years.
I walked past the sleek lobby, ignoring the curious glances from the staff, my steps calculated, measured. On the outside, I looked like I always did—composed, in control, untouchable.
But inside?
A storm. The kind that never really passed.
She hadn't changed. If anything, she was sharper now. Colder. That same fire in her eyes, except this time it wasn't for me—it was for self-preservation. Like she'd built an entire empire just to make sure I could never touch her again.
And maybe I deserved that.
Still, when I looked at her across that conference table… it hit me all over again. The way she left. No warning. No closure. Just gone. One moment she was everything. The next, she was a ghost I couldn't chase.
She walked out of my life like it was easy.
And I let her think I didn't care.
I still let her think that.
Because pride is a hell of a thing.
I stepped into the car and shut the door behind me. My jaw clenched. My fists, tighter.
"Back to the hotel, sir?" my assistant asked quietly.
I didn't answer right away. I was still seeing her—poised and ruthless in ivory silk. I hated how fast she disarmed me. Hated that she had that kind of power after all this time.
But mostly, I hated that part of me had wanted her to ask why I came myself.
To say something.
To ask if I was okay.
But she didn't.
Because she was Alstroemeria Taylors now. Untouchable. Unbothered.
And maybe the only way to survive her was to become the same.
"Yes," I said finally, voice cold again. "Take me back."
As the car pulled away, I looked out the window and whispered to no one—
"You could've stayed."
But she didn't.
And now I'm the one haunted by the silence she left behind.
Alstroemeria
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup that had long gone cold. I sat there in the silence of the conference room, staring at the chair he'd just vacated like it had personally offended me.
He was different.
Colder. Sharper. Harder in all the places that used to be soft—at least with me.
I used to be the exception.
I used to know that version of Luca that most people didn't get to see. The quiet smirks, the lazy confidence, the way he used to look at me like I was the only thing that made sense in a world full of chaos.
And now?
He couldn't even look at me without ice in his eyes.
"Just say the terms, Ms. Taylors, then I'll be out of the doors in no time."
Like I was some stranger he had no patience for. Like I was just another name on a contract, another meeting he had to get through before lunch.
I told myself it didn't matter. That it was better this way. That whatever existed between us had died the moment I walked away.
But the truth was—I hadn't expected it to hurt this much.
I stood, ignoring the tremble in my knees, and smoothed down my blouse like it could somehow iron out the mess of thoughts in my head. I had a full schedule, a stack of reports to review, a dozen decisions to make—but I couldn't move.
Not yet.
Because for a few seconds, I'd looked at him and remembered.
Remembered the nights we spent sneaking out of Blackwood. The way he kissed me like the world would end if he stopped. The promises he made in the dark, and how I almost believed them.
And then I remembered the silence. The way I left. The way I never gave him the chance to fight for me.
He didn't ask me why.
He didn't say anything personal.
And maybe that was the most painful part of all.
Because the Luca I once loved… would've.
The Next Day
The morning after felt heavier than it should have.
London's skies were overcast—typical—but the grey felt personal today. I stood by the tall windows of my condo, fingers wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee, watching the traffic snake its way down the street below. Somewhere out there, people were getting on with their lives. Efficient. Unbothered. Intact.
I, on the other hand, couldn't shake the echo of Luca's voice from yesterday.
"Just say the terms, Ms. Taylors, then I'll be out of the doors in no time."
Ms. Taylors.
It wasn't the name that got to me. It was the way he said it. Like I was a stranger. Like he didn't spend months tracing that name against my skin.
I hadn't slept well. I kept hearing the clipped tone in his voice. Seeing the way his jaw clenched. How distant his eyes were—as if I were just another deal he needed to close.
And maybe I was.
Maybe I made myself that the day I walked away without a word. I had my reasons. I had to choose myself. And that day also. But damn it, I never expected that look in his eyes. It was partly his fault why I left. But Why?
I hadn't expected it to feel like losing him all over again.
Grace messaged to remind me of the follow-up meeting. Luca's team wanted updated documents. Another round of negotiations.
I typed a quick reply.
Reschedule. I need time to review the terms again.
Which was a lie. I already knew the terms were airtight.
I just needed time to put my armor back on.
Time to stop being that girl who once loved Luca Zev Valerian.
Because clearly, he didn't love her anymore.
Later That Week
I wasn't expecting to see him again so soon.
Grace had rescheduled the follow-up meeting to Friday, and I told myself I'd be prepared this time. Colder. Sharper. Unshakable. I wore my favorite black blazer—the one that made even my board members hesitate before speaking—and a pair of heels that clicked like warnings against the floor.
By the time I entered the meeting room, the documents were neatly stacked, the coffee was already poured, and Luca was already seated.
He didn't look up right away. Just kept flipping through the file like I was late.
"I wasn't sure if you'd show," he said, not looking up.
"I run the company," I replied coolly, taking the seat across from him. "Of course I showed."
His eyes met mine then, calm but guarded. "Let's skip the pleasantries."
"By all means."
We went over the revisions, but the air in the room wasn't just professional—it was taut, sharp, like a string pulled too tight. Every word between us carried double meanings, ghosts of what we once were hovering between lines of supply chain logistics and shipping schedules.
At one point, our fingers brushed as we reached for the same page. I flinched, barely, but he noticed.
He always noticed.
His lips twitched—mocking, maybe bitter. "Relax. It's just paper."
"You always were dramatic," I said, flipping the page harder than necessary.
"You would know," he said under his breath, voice low.
I looked up. His jaw was tight. His fingers gripped the pen like he wanted to snap it.
"Why are you really here, Luca?" I asked before I could stop myself. "You could've sent someone else."
He looked at me then—not the cold businessman, not the CEO—but the boy I once knew. Angry. Wounded.
"You left," he said simply. "I never got the chance to say what I wanted."
A beat passed.
"And now?"
His eyes darkened. "Now I don't want to."
I nodded slowly, heart quietly cracking in places I thought had healed.
"Good," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "Then we're on the same page."
Silence fell between us, loud and painful.
Business concluded. But nothing was truly finished.
Not between us.
Later That Night
The meeting had ended, but my mind hadn't. I couldn't stop replaying the way Luca had looked at me—how, despite all his bravado, there was something raw beneath his usual mask.
I sat at my desk, the soft glow of my desk lamp the only light in the otherwise dark room. The noise of the city was a constant hum outside, but inside, it felt like the weight of the years between us had settled on my shoulders.
I had built this life for myself, hadn't I? A life free from the heartbreak, the mess of emotions that had clouded my judgment when we were together. I had worked so damn hard to become someone who wasn't tied to him, to the lies, to the betrayal.
And yet, here he was—again. Still able to make my pulse quicken, even though I wanted nothing to do with him.
I exhaled sharply and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. The cool, detached businesswoman I'd become wasn't just a persona; it was armor. But when Luca spoke—when I caught the flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes—it felt like that armor was slipping.
I didn't know if I wanted to confront him, to ask why he was still so hell-bent on holding onto whatever grudge he carried from the past. I didn't know if I could handle whatever answers he might give.
But one thing was for sure: I was no longer the girl who had walked away from him eight years ago. I had fought for every inch of the life I had now, and I wasn't about to let him—or the past—destroy it.
I pushed my thoughts aside, opening my laptop to distract myself with work. But it didn't work. Every notification, every email, every ping from my phone brought me back to that damn moment in the meeting.
Why hadn't he said more? Why had he kept his distance—so cold, so distant? And yet, there was something in his tone, in the way he had spoken to me—something that made it clear this was far from over. He hadn't just come for business.
I closed my laptop and stood up, walking to the window. London stretched out before me, vast and indifferent, and I felt like I was staring at something I couldn't control. Something that was bigger than me.
Was it him? Was it the lingering threads of the past we had never properly untangled? Or was it simply that we were both too damn stubborn to move on?
I pressed my hand to the cool glass, letting the city's quiet pulse seep into me. I could ignore it. I could keep playing this game. But I couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, it wasn't over—not by a long shot.
Alstroemeria
Two Days Later
It was a rare moment of freedom, a few hours carved out of my otherwise chaotic schedule. I had told myself I wouldn't check my emails or think about work, but even as I stepped into the street, the weight of the city around me seemed to pull me back toward the grind.
I needed air. I needed to clear my head, so I wandered, my heels clicking against the cobblestone streets, heading toward a nearby café I liked. The weather was cool but not too cold, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows that stretched across the city. It felt peaceful. For the first time in what felt like ages, I could breathe without the pressure of a looming meeting or a stack of files.
And then I saw him.
Luca.
He was standing outside a restaurant, looking out at the street, his dark coat giving him a sharp, almost dangerous presence. I didn't know what was more striking—his usual polished appearance or the unmistakable tension in his posture. He hadn't noticed me yet.
I was about to turn and walk the other direction, but my steps faltered. Part of me wanted to walk past him, to pretend I hadn't seen him, but another part—the part that always got tangled up in memories I couldn't quite shake—wanted to confront him.
So, I kept walking.
When he finally turned, his eyes meeting mine with that familiar intensity, I stopped dead in my tracks. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or annoyed that he had seen me, but there was no going back now.
"Ms. Taylors," he said, his voice colder than it had been during our last meeting. His gaze was guarded, like he didn't know what to do with me anymore.
"Mr. Valerian," I replied, keeping my tone neutral, my pulse suddenly uncomfortably loud in my ears. "What a surprise."
He took a step toward me, his eyes narrowing. "I wasn't expecting to run into you here."
"Clearly," I said dryly, crossing my arms. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much seeing him—after all these years—affected me.
Luca exhaled, as though frustrated, and glanced down at the ground briefly before meeting my gaze again. "Are you free for a coffee? I'd like to talk."
I almost laughed. "You don't waste time, do you?"
His lips twitched in what almost looked like a smirk, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. "I never did."
We stood there for a moment, the space between us heavy with unspoken things. He seemed like he wanted to say more, but couldn't—or maybe wouldn't. I didn't know if I could bear the weight of whatever it was he was holding back.
"I'm busy," I said abruptly, turning to leave. But I felt his presence follow me as I walked.
"Alstroemeria," he called softly.
My heart skipped a beat at the sound of my full name. The way he said it—it almost sounded like an apology. Or maybe it was just a trick of my mind, wanting to hear something I couldn't have.
I kept walking.
But then I heard the sound of his footsteps matching mine. Close. Too close.
I stopped and turned, my back straight, my eyes sharp. "What do you want, Luca?"
He took a breath, his jaw clenched. "I want to talk about everything. What happened between us... what's still hanging over us."
There it was—the mess that had been left unsaid for eight years. The things that had never been resolved, the emotions that we'd buried and hidden beneath layers of time and distance.
I didn't know what to say to that. I wanted to tell him to forget it—to leave it in the past. But the words stuck in my throat.
Instead, I muttered, "There was never an us." I stop and look straight back at him "I'm sorry Luca, but it's already too late for us to bring up the past now" I said finally, turning and walking away. My pace quickened, trying to outrun the thoughts swirling in my head.
Luca's POV
I stood there, watching the space where she had disappeared, my chest tight with frustration and something darker—a bitter, aching emptiness that made it hard to breathe.
There was never an us.
The words replayed in my mind like a broken record, each time slicing deeper. I had thought... I had believed that we had something real. I had believed that the moments we shared meant something to her, something more than just fleeting, disposable encounters. But now, in the cold light of reality, it was clear.
It was never real for her.
She had walked away eight years ago without a single word, and yet I had spent all this time, all these years, holding onto the past. Holding onto her. And now I understood why she had left.
She didn't need me. She didn't want me.
I had come here to confront the ghosts of our past, to break down the walls between us. I thought that maybe, just maybe, we could rebuild whatever was broken. But her words—there was never an us—had shattered whatever hope remained inside me.
The anger and the frustration that had flared up in me only moments ago seemed to fade, replaced by a cold resignation. It was over. The girl I had known, the woman I had once loved, had moved on long ago.
And I had nothing left to hold on to.
I could have fought for her. I could have insisted that we talk, that we figure this out. But the truth was, I didn't think I could stomach the pain of hearing her tell me that she had meant nothing to me. It wasn't worth it. I wasn't worth it.
With a heavy sigh, I turned around and made my way back to my car, the weight of everything pressing down on me with every step. There would be no grand gesture. No sweeping her off her feet. Not anymore.
I had tried. And I had failed.
Alstroemeria had chosen her path, and I had no place in it.
It was time to let go.
For good.