CHAPTER FOUR

NATHAN

The slap bites as her hand falls to her side, her chest heaving with each breath.

Her eyes glisten with restrained emotion, and the air between us crackles.

“I won’t let you do this to me again.” Her voice trembles as she stares me down. “I won’t let you break me.”

She spins on her heel, the black silk of her dress swirling at her legs as she strides toward the door. I stand frozen, the burn of the blow still fresh on my cheek.

Break her ? What the hell does that even mean?

The accusation—or whatever it was—doesn’t align with what I thought I understood about our past.

The door slams behind her, and the sound reverberates. I inhale. The flowers in the too-small room are overwhelming. The walls are closing in.

I shut my eyes, willing calm, but all I see is her face—pain etched into every line, anger blazing in her eyes. I can still feel her touch, the heat of her skin against mine, the taste of her lips as familiar as if no time had passed.

With deliberate effort, I push those thoughts aside. I have a speech to deliver, a room full of investors and potential clients waiting, and I can’t let personal matters bleed into business.

Fixing my tie, I take a deep breath, the cool silk brushing against my fingertips. The shift into Nathan Grant, CEO, is automatic. It’s a well-honed persona, a polished facade that conceals the turmoil beneath the surface.

I square my shoulders and make my move.

As I rejoin the crowd, the hallway hums with the muted sounds of the party. Servers glide by with silver trays, offering champagne and hors d’oeuvres to mingling guests.

Sharon spots me and makes a beeline in my direction, tablet in hand. “Mr. Grant, there you are. It’s time for your speech.”

I nod and scan the room, searching for a glimpse of black silk or chestnut curls. Then I spot her. She’s standing with the redhead—likely her business partner. Her posture is rigid, and she deliberately avoids meeting my eyes.

Seeing her again is unsettling.

I refocus on the task at hand and face the platform.

I’m ready .

The stage lights warm my skin as I climb the steps and rest my hands on the cool wood of the podium. I center myself and lean into the microphone. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate the grand reopening of this incredible building and the start of a new chapter for our company.”

The words roll out, each one crafted. I speak of vision, potential, and the exciting opportunities ahead. I paint a picture of a bright future filled with success and innovation.

Through it all, Amelia lingers in my mind—her anger, the passion we shared, the pull she still has on me. I can feel her presence in the room, like a gravitational force tugging at the edges of my mind.

I field questions from the audience, offering measured, confident answers, though something deeper churns beneath the surface. As the applause fades and guests disperse, I step down from the stage, my focus already elsewhere.

Sharon steps beside me. “Excellent speech, Mr. Grant. The investors seemed very impressed.”

“Thank you, Sharon.” My attention is wandering. “There’s been a change of plans. I’ll be staying in Dallas for a while longer.”

Her brow furrows, but she remains composed. “Any idea how long?”

“A week or more. I want you to return to Boston tomorrow as planned. I’ll handle things here.”

She nods, her expression neutral. “Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.”

I nod and dismiss her, scanning the room again—Amelia’s nowhere to be seen. I’m disappointed, but I push past it and go outside.

The car is already waiting, the driver holding the door open for me. I slide into the back seat, the leather cool against my skin as I sink into it.

The driver gets in and looks in the rearview.

“Take me back to the hotel.”

“Yes, sir.”

My mind drifts to the past as the car navigates through traffic. I remember the days after Amelia left, the unanswered calls, the evasive friends, and the hostility from her parents. She had erased herself from my life, taking with her the future we had dreamed of.

Then Brad comes to mind––back in college. His constant disparagement of Amelia still rings in my ears. “You’re lucky you didn’t get tied down with her,” he’d say, his tone thick with derision. But even then, I never saw it that way.

Despite his apparent dislike for Amelia, I never understood his animosity toward her. Was it jealousy? Resentment over the time I spent with her? Or was it disdain for her more modest background—so different from the privileged world we grew up in?

I think of Brad’s wife, Racheal, and her veiled flirtations, her endless attempts to set me up with various women. Their world seems so foreign to me now, empty compared to what I had with Amelia.

The car pulls up to the curb and stops in front of a sleek glass tower that rises into the night sky. I make my way up to my suite, the key card heavy in my hand.

Inside, the room is luxurious, the fabrics rich, but it feels impersonal, sterile—a far cry from the warmth of the home Amelia and I once dreamed of building together.

I stand at the window and stare out at the glittering city below. The Amelia I saw this evening, filled with pain and anger, is at odds with the woman I knew—the woman who vanished without a word. There’s more to this story, more I don’t understand. And I’m determined to get to the bottom of it.

Because one thing became crystal clear tonight: Amelia still has a hold on me—a pull I can’t ignore or deny. And I’m not ready to let go—not until I know why she left, why she looks at me with such anguish in her eyes.

I pour myself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. The burn of the alcohol offers a momentary distraction, but the questions remain, gnawing at me.

Setting the glass down, my resolve hardens. Tomorrow, I’ll dig. I’ll find the answers I need and won’t stop until I understand what went wrong and whether there’s any chance of setting things right.

Because this time, I refuse to let her slip away.