Giana — POV
"Do I know you? And how do you know me?" I asked.
"Can we talk?" the woman replied from inside the car without stepping out.
I hesitated. Then the driver's door opened, a man in a dark suit stepped out, walked around, and opened the back door for her.
When she emerged, I instantly understood power could be worn like clothing.
Her dress was short, sleek, impossibly elegant. Diamonds rested lightly at her neck and wrists, each piece quiet but expensive enough to scream wealth. Her red heels were tall, sharp, deliberate, the kind that made everyone else feel smaller without her saying a word.
I felt smaller.
"I'm Jane," she said with a polite smile. "Can we talk in my car? I mean no harm, I promise. I hesitated. Or…" she gestured toward a nearby cafe "…we could talk there."
I chose the cafe.
Inside, the familiar smell of coffee which was something that normally calmed me, now made my stomach churn instead. She sat across from me, silently scanning me from head to toe like she was assessing damage.
"How do you know me?" I finally asked.
"I had someone watch you," she said calmly.
"What?"
"Well, not exactly stalking." She waved a hand lightly. "You just… shouldn't have been involved. You were on your way to see him, weren't you?"
My stomach tightened.
"Alex ," she continued softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stalk you." Moisture appeared in her eyes, but the tears looked strangely rehearsed. "I heard rumors he's been flirting with women here, but I didn't believe them."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice thinner than I intended.
She held my gaze. "Alex Hale is my fiance. We'll be getting married soon."
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
The pain that slammed into my chest felt worse than standing at my ex's wedding. My lungs struggled for air, but nothing seemed to reach them.
Jane signaled the man behind her. He stepped forward and handed her an expensive handbag. From it, she pulled an envelope and slid photographs across the table.
"I know you may not believe me," she said gently. "Take a look."
My hands trembled as I picked them up.
Jane and Alex. Smiling. Standing close. Different places, different dates. Too many to dismiss as coincidence.
"I love him so much," she continued, dabbing the corner of her eye, though the tears never really fell. "I keep forgiving him whenever he makes mistakes. Because at the end of the day, he always comes back to me."
"I… I didn't know," I whispered, fighting desperately not to cry. I pressed my nails into my palm, using the sting to hold myself together.
Suddenly, her hand wrapped around mine. Her long nails pressed into my skin just enough to hurt.
"I'll advise you to stay away from Alex," she said softly, leaning closer. Her perfume was overwhelming, dizzying. "I don't repeat requests. You wouldn't want to be involved in our business."
Her grip tightened slightly before she released me.
"Oh, sorry," she said, smiling faintly. "Did that hurt?"
There was no apology in her eyes.
"I'm sure you didn't know," she said kindly. "But now that you do… I trust you'll make the right decision. I'd like to believe you're not the kind of woman who would willingly become the second… third… or fifth distraction of a man who's about to get married."
She stood, smoothed her dress, and walked out without another glance.
I sat there, frozen.
The moment the door closed behind her, the strength I had been forcing into my spine collapsed, and the tears I had been holding back finally spilled.
Alex - POV
I had never cooked like this before.
The kitchen smelled unfamiliar, garlic sizzling in oil, herbs warming in the pan, something sweet baking in the oven. Sleeves rolled up, wooden spoon in hand, I checked my phone again.
Giana.
A small smile slipped onto my face before I could stop it.
I moved between the stove and the counter, humming quietly. If anyone had told me weeks ago that I'd be cooking dinner for a woman I had known for barely two days, I would have laughed. Yet here I was.
The table was already set, wine chilled, flowers arranged a little awkwardly but sincerely. For the first time in a long while, I felt anticipation instead of control.
Growing up, warmth had never lasted long in my home. My father was always working, always distant. My mother tried to fill the silence with soft humming and late dinners, even when illness weakened her. She kept trying until she couldn't anymore. I was sixteen when she died, and my father returned to work the next morning.
I packed my bags that same week.
That was when I learned not to depend on anything that could disappear.
Since then, I had built my life carefully, success first, emotions second, never letting anyone close enough to leave damage behind. And yet tonight, I had cooked. Set flowers on the table. Waited.
The doorbell rang.
My heart jumped. "She's here," I murmured, walking quickly to the door, a grin already forming.
I opened it.
And froze.
Jane stood there.
Not Giana.
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
Her perfume reached me first. Familiar, heavy, unwelcome. My hand was still on the door as the smile disappeared from my face.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, irritation sharpening my voice.
Jane tilted her head, lips curving as if she had expected this reaction. Then she stepped inside without waiting for permission, her gaze moving over the set table, the flowers, the food.
Something dark flickered across her expression.
"You haven't been picking my calls," she said lightly, though her grip tightened around her phone. "Dad is worried."
I ran a hand through my hair, tension settling in my chest.
Years ago, after my mother died and my father barely paused long enough to notice, Jane's family had been the ones who stepped in. Her father invested in me when no one else would. Or at least I thought so. Jane stood beside me through the early days, through sleepless nights and small victories. Loving her had once felt… logical. Like gratitude slowly disguising itself as affection.
But love built on obligation doesn't last. The night I learned she had cheated, something in me shut down. No shouting. No drama. Just the quiet realization that even the safest thing could still betray you.
Jane left, but her father never really did. His influence still hovered over my company, over decisions he believed he still had the right to shape. And Jane knew it. She had always known it.
That was why she stood in my living room now uninvited, calm, certain she still had a place here.
Jane's smile crawled across her lips.
"Looks like you're expecting someone… a woman?"
"Leave," I said flatly.
"Relax, babe..."
I caught her wrist before she could touch me and pushed her hand away. "We're done, Jane. I told you not to come here."
She laughed softly, unfazed. "You know that's not possible."
My patience snapped. "Jane. Leave. Now."
Her gaze slid toward the decorated table, the candles, the food. Something sharp flashed in her eyes. She walked closer, touching the plates.
I moved instantly, gripping her arm and pulling her toward the door. "Out!"
She straightened, fixing her dress with a calm smile. "Is my dad aware that while you ignore his calls, you're busy cooking for someone else? He'll be very interested."
I stepped closer, fury burning in my chest. She read it clearly and finally stepped back.
"I'll go," she said lightly. "I hope whatever this is works out for you."
Then she left.
The moment the door shut, I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to calm down.
I couldn't let Giana see me like that.
Hours passed, and I couldn't stop glancing at the door, waiting for the familiar chime. The food had gone cold, candles melted into crooked shapes. I called her once, twice, again. No answer. Unease twisted in my chest. Giana didn't just vanish.
By the time the rain fell, I was racing to her hotel, drenched, frantic. "Giana," I begged the receptionist. "She's here, please."
"She checked out this evening," she replied.
My stomach sank at the thought of a taxi to the airport. I bolted into the rain, waving at every passing car, shouting the destination like it could change fate. One stopped. I slammed the door, heart racing, hope flaring and dying all at once. But it was too late. Her flight had already gone. I froze on the roadside, drenched, every muscle tense, chest tight with a weight I hadn't felt in years. Powerless. Helpless. Surrounded by strangers, with nothing but the echo of her absence pressing down on me.
Giana - POV
I tried to forget him. Told myself it would be easy. Men like Alex didn't exist outside fleeting moments and beautiful lies.
But forgetting didn't pay bills.
I went from one job hunt to the other, eyes swollen, confidence borrowed, savings gone, wardrobe thinning, pride eroding. Some nights I lay awake, replaying his door, Jane's voice "fiancee." The word cut straight through my chest.
Two years passed slowly, painfully.
I finally got a call for an interview. I dressed carefully, smoothed my skirt, straightened my blazer, and stared up at the towering glass building. Cold. Unforgiving. My first real chance in two years. Heart racing, palms damp, I stepped inside. Different names were called up, each closed door tightening my nerves.
Then...
"Giana Rivera."
My legs moved before my courage caught up.
The room was large. Polished. Intimidating.
Several faces looked up as I entered. Men, women, power seated neatly behind a long table.
And seated at the center of the panel was a face I knew too well.
Alex.
My breath left my lungs.
I had imagined this moment a thousand times. In every version, he needed help. I had control.
Karma was supposed to be kinder than this. But fate had a huge sense of humor.
Because there he was, composed, unreadable, impossibly familiar.
And here I was, standing before him, hoping for mercy from the one man I had never wanted to see again.
Is this karma, I thought bitterly.
"Why is it me standing here, needing you?"