"Mia, what is the meaning of this?" Vale's voice cut through the silence of his office, sharp with disbelief as he stared at the document she had just handed him. His brows drew together, his tone teetering between disappointment and shock.
"I can't believe this," he muttered, shaking his head.
Mia straightened in her chair, though her hands twisted in her lap beneath the desk. "Mr. Vale, I know how it looks," she began carefully. "But I believe it's better for the firm—and for me—if I withdraw from the Alcaraz account."
Vale's eyes snapped up, steel-gray and piercing. "Better for the firm? You do realize this is the biggest client we've landed in years. The kind of case that shapes careers, Mia. The kind people remember you for."
"I know," Mia admitted softly, her chest tightening as the words sank into her. "And maybe that's exactly why I shouldn't be the one handling it. There are others who want the chance—Lisbeth, for example. She's been eyeing this case since the moment you announced it. Let her take it. She'll thrive on the attention, and it will silence her complaints that you always favor me."
Vale's lips pressed into a thin line. "This isn't about Lisbeth's petty jealousy. You've earned this, Mia. And you know it."
She forced herself not to flinch, not to let the storm inside her show. "With all due respect, sir, you don't understand. Lisbeth has been accusing me of things since the day I walked into this office. She's convinced everyone I flirt my way into your good graces, when all I've ever done is work twice as hard to prove myself. I've ignored the rumors because I know who I am. But this... this is different. This isn't just another client." She paused, steadying her voice. "It's Alcaraz Global. And if I take it, I risk undoing everything I've built here."
Vale leaned back in his chair, studying her with unnerving silence.
Mia's throat tightened. She wanted to bury every trace of her past, every truth about Liam, and she had to choose her words with precision. "I can't take this case without losing something I've fought too hard to protect. Not because I can't win it, but because winning it might cost me more than I'm willing to pay. I can't..." Her voice faltered, then firmed. "I won't take that risk. Not even for the promise of recognition."
A quiet weight settled over the room, as though her decision had stolen even the air from it. Vale's face softened, but the disbelief didn't fade from his voice. "This isn't just another client, Mia. This is the chance lawyers wait their whole lives for. Do you realize what you're about to give up?"
"I do," she whispered. "And that's why I know this is the right choice. For my peace of mind... and for the firm. Give it to Lisbeth, or to anyone else who wants it. As for me—" she drew in a steadying breath "—I'll wait for another battlefield. Anything but this one."
"Alright," Vale said at last, his tone measured though surprise still lingered in his eyes. "If that's truly what you want, I won't press you for the reason. I'll respect your decision. But, Mia..." he paused, leaning back slightly, "I only hope you don't come to regret it."
"Thank you, sir," she replied softly, rising from her seat. Relief washed over her as she stepped out of his office, the heavy air lifting from her shoulders the moment the door closed behind her.
The scent of garlic and rosemary curled through Mia's small but stylish condominium, weaving into every corner like a promise of comfort. The stovetop ventilation purred softly overhead, a steady counterpoint to the gentle sizzle of chicken browning in the pan.
Cooking had become her sanctuary—her refuge after the relentless pace of corporate law. Here, there were no sharp suits, no intimidating conference rooms, no contracts laced with hidden traps.
No opponents waiting for her to falter. In this space, she didn't have to measure her words or steel her spine. It was just her, the rhythmic scrape of a wooden spoon against steel, the clink of utensils, and the earthy perfume of herbs seeping into warm oil.
But tonight, it wasn't comfort she was chasing. It was distraction.
She needed to forget Liam's face. The one that had branded itself into her memory all those years ago—and had come roaring back the moment she saw him again. Older.
She hated herself for noticing how much hotter he had become, how power had carved him into something dangerously magnetic. Seeing him again had been like reopening an old wound that never truly healed.
So she cooked. She poured every restless thought into chopping, searing, stirring—into anything that might silence the echo of his name in her mind.
Her lips moved with the faintest hum, a melody she barely recognized, as she dipped her spoon into the simmering sauce. She closed her eyes, tasting it at the tip of her tongue, willing the flavors to anchor her in something ordinary, something safe.
But the lie unraveled as quickly as it came. Even here, wrapped in garlic and rosemary, surrounded by the warmth of her kitchen, she couldn't shake him. The sanctuary she had built had betrayed her.
She pressed her palms against the counter, shutting her eyes as the truth settled heavy in her bones. She had only been fooling herself. Pretending she could cook him out of her thoughts, pretending she could drown his memory in rosemary and oil.
But she couldn't. Because even in the one place she thought she was safe, Liam still owned her silence. Liam still lived in the shadows of her mind.
"Smells like heaven in here."
Mia nearly jumped, her hand tightening around the wooden spoon. She turned to see Josh leaning casually against the doorway, his usual smug grin making him look far too pleased with himself.
"God, Josh," she exhaled, placing a hand over her chest. "One day, you're going to give me a heart attack."
He strolled into the kitchen like he owned it. "You gave me the code to your biometric lock. What did you expect? You know I can't resist barging in."
"I gave you that code in case of emergencies," she reminded him, turning back to the stove.
"This was an emergency," he replied without missing a beat, snatching a slice of bread from the counter. "I was starving."
Mia shook her head, fighting a smile. "You're impossible."
A few minutes later, they were at her small dining table, plates steaming between them as the city lights glimmered beyond the wide glass windows. Josh twirled his fork through his food before shooting her a look that cut straight past her polished composure.
"You're quiet tonight."
Josh's voice cut through the soft clink of silverware, his gaze sharpening as he studied her across the table. "Not your usual self." He leaned forward, his tone teasing at first, but laced with genuine concern. "What's wrong? Work drama?"
Mia blinked, forcing her lips into something that resembled a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She stabbed at the food on her plate, buying herself time. "Work is... fine."
Josh tilted his head, unconvinced. "That's not the Mia Villaruiz I know. Usually when Vale throws you a new case, you can't shut up about it." His eyes narrowed, a spark of worry replacing his earlier playfulness. "Talk to me. What happened?"
Her fork slipped from her hand, clattering against porcelain, the sound too loud in the small dining nook of her condo. She swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes. "It was supposed to be the biggest account of my career, Josh. The one I've been waiting for."
He straightened, brows knitting. "Wait—you mean the corporate account? The one Vale's been chasing for years?"
She nodded, her throat tight. "He landed it. I was assigned to lead negotiations. Yesterday, I walked into the boardroom ready to make history."
Josh leaned forward, anticipation in his eyes. "And?"
Her laugh came brittle, broken. "And it was him."
The room went still.
Josh froze. "Mia..."
She shook her head, her chest aching as she forced the words out. "Liam. He's the CEO. The owner of the company Vale has been dying to get. The man I was supposed to work with." She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would erase the memory of seeing him again—older, sharper, more untouchable than ever. "Eight years later, and the universe throws me into his office like it's some kind of cruel joke."
Josh's expression darkened, his fork forgotten. "What did you do?"
Mia let out a trembling breath. "I sat through the meeting. I didn't let him see me flinch. I smiled, shook hands, took notes—like nothing was wrong. But the whole time, my chest was caving in. I could feel him watching me. And today..." Her voice cracked, and she gripped her napkin tighter. "...today I gave Vale a letter. I told him I couldn't take the account. I walked into his office and handed it to him myself."
Josh stared at her, stunned. "You turned it down?"
Her chest heaved as she tried to steady herself, but her voice shook. "It was supposed to be my future. My biggest break. And I gave it up in a single page. Because sitting across from Liam..." She swallowed hard, her throat closing around the words. "It ripped me apart, Josh. It was like being eighteen again—watching him choose someone else, watching everything I thought I knew collapse."
Josh reached across the table, his hand covering hers. "You mattered, Mia. You still do. Don't let him make you believe otherwise."
Her lips trembled. She wanted to believe him, to draw strength from his certainty, but the ghost of Liam's eyes—the way they had flicked up to meet hers in that boardroom, sharp and unreadable—still haunted her.
Josh squeezed her hand tighter. "You've built a life without him. You're stronger than he'll ever be."
Her throat tightened with unshed tears. "Then why does it still hurt this much?"
Josh's features softened, his voice gentler now. "Because first loves don't just vanish. They leave scars. But scars don't mean you're broken, Mia. They mean you survived."
She let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. "And lost the biggest case of my career in the process."
Josh shook his head firmly. "No. You chose yourself over him. That's not losing—that's winning."
But as she sat there, hand in Josh's, the truth gnawed at her. Yesterday, she had seen Liam Alcaraz again, alive in the flesh, a man carved by power and time. Today, she had walked away from the account that could have made her name.
And yet it wasn't relief she felt—it was devastation. Because one look, one single moment in his presence, had been enough to unravel eight years of carefully built armor.