Aria stood frozen in front of the elevator, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
One button press.
That was all it would take to face him again.
Her reflection in the polished steel stared back—calm on the outside, chaos underneath. Lipstick flawless. Hair neatly coiled. Every inch of her armor in place.
She tapped the button.
A soft chime answered as the elevator descended. No going back now.
Not that she ever had that option—not since the moment Killian Laurent stepped out of that black SUV like a living ghost.
But this ghost didn't come to haunt.
He came to conquer.
⸻
The presidential suite greeted her with soft jazz and an ocean breeze seeping through open balcony doors. The scent of imported coffee drifted in the air, rich and bold.
Killian stood near the window, facing the sea, a wine glass in hand. His silhouette was sharp against the setting sun—elegant, poised, completely unfazed.
He didn't turn when she entered.
He didn't need to.
"You came," he said.
"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Her heels echoed as she stepped inside. "You tend to make offers no one can refuse."
A soft chuckle. "Some things haven't changed."
"Some things have," she replied.
That made him glance over his shoulder. "We'll see."
⸻
The dining table was set for two. Silver domes covered the plates, candles flickered beside a chilled bottle of white wine.
She folded her arms. "So this is dinner?"
"You were expecting a trapdoor and a shark tank?"
"Honestly, I wouldn't put it past you."
Killian smiled faintly. "Still dramatic."
"Still manipulative," she shot back, unmoving.
"Have a seat, Aria."
"I'd rather stand."
"You'll stand a lot over the next two months. Might as well enjoy the chair while you can."
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
Killian set his glass down and walked toward the table. "It means your role has changed. Effective immediately."
"I wasn't consulted."
"No," he said, lifting the domes to reveal perfectly plated lamb and risotto. "Because I wasn't asking."
She stared at the food. "I'm not hungry."
"Then don't eat." He gestured to the seat again. "But sit. You'll want to be off your feet when you see what I have planned."
Against her better judgment, Aria sat—slowly, cautiously—her posture stiff and eyes locked on his.
"I've reassigned you," he said, taking his place across from her. "Effective tomorrow morning, you'll serve as my personal liaison for all Sapphire Reef operations."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You'll manage my appointments, coordinate high-level guests, vet incoming staff, and be my direct point of contact for anything I need within this resort."
Aria's jaw clenched. "You bought the resort just to put me under your thumb?"
"I bought the resort because it was profitable," he said coolly. "Putting you under my thumb is just an added benefit."
"Why?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Why now? Why me?"
Killian's gaze didn't waver. "Because unfinished business has a way of ruining perfectly good empires. And I don't like loose ends."
Her breath caught.
"You think I'm a loose end?"
"I think you were the one story I never finished reading."
⸻
Silence stretched between them like a blade.
Aria stood abruptly, her chair scraping softly against the floor. "I'm not doing this."
Killian remained seated. "You signed a standard employment contract with Sapphire Reef. Clause 17 allows ownership to reassign employees at will. It's all legal."
"And morally bankrupt."
"Morals are for people who have the luxury of closure."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what this is about? Closure?"
Killian stood slowly. "It's about clarity. It's about putting things in place."
"It's about power."
He stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough that the air between them thinned. "Call it what you want. You'll report to me at 7 a.m. sharp. I expect results, discretion, and loyalty."
"I'm not loyal to you."
"You will be. Or you'll wish you were."
⸻
She stepped back, heart thudding so loudly she could barely hear herself think.
"This is personal," she said. "You're using your position to manipulate me."
He smiled again, cold and unreadable. "You used to say I never fight for what I care about."
"This isn't fighting," she said. "It's warfare. And you don't care about me."
Something flickered in his eyes—quick, quiet, dangerous.
Then, he turned and retrieved a folder from the counter. He handed it to her without another word.
Inside were documents—detailed plans, budgets, upcoming high-profile bookings. His schedule. International meetings. Resort expansion strategies.
At the bottom: a personal memo, marked with her name.
It wasn't just a symbolic position. It was a real one.
And he was trusting her with it.
Or testing her.
Aria looked up. "You're serious."
"I always am."
"I won't fall for this."
"I'm not asking you to."
He turned away, walking toward the balcony again. "Dismissed."
⸻
Outside the suite, Aria leaned against the hallway wall, the cool marble grounding her. Her hands were still gripping the folder too tightly.
What had she just agreed to?
Working side by side with Killian. Every day. Under his roof. With him watching. Waiting.
And worse—remembering.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her sister, Evelyn:
"Scholarship came through!!! I got it, Aria! Thank you thank you thank you!! ❤️"
Aria's throat tightened.
She looked back toward the presidential suite. Her enemy's lair. Her ex-lover's stronghold.
This wasn't a job.
This was survival.
And if he thought she'd crumble under the weight of old wounds, he'd forgotten something important—
Aria Blake knew how to rise.
Even when the fire came from someone she once loved.
The elevator doors opened with a low ding, startling her out of her thoughts.
She didn't step in right away.
Her legs felt heavy—like the gravity on this floor was different, thicker. Like stepping into that suite had pulled something loose from the past, and it hadn't settled yet.
She glanced down at the folder still in her hands. His name was on every page. His signature stamped on every corner of her new life. He didn't just walk in with money and power.
He walked in with intention.
And she didn't know what terrified her more: the coldness in his eyes, or the fact that a part of her—some naive, long-buried part—was still searching those eyes for answers.
Not closure.
Not revenge.
Just the truth.
Because if she didn't get it now, it would haunt her forever.
Aria stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor. The doors slid shut, cutting off the hallway, the memories, and the man whose presence threatened to unravel five years of carefully built distance.
Her phone buzzed again.
A message from Tanya this time:
"Hey boss, heads up. Mr. Laurent's meeting request just went out to all dept heads. Looks like he's kicking off changes fast. You okay?"
Aria stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. Then she typed:
"I'm ready."
She wasn't sure if that was a lie.
But it was the only choice left.
Because ready or not—the game had already started.
And she refused to play it on her knees.