Elena’s POV

After the pregnancy test, I couldn’t sleep. Not even the shallow, restless kind where you dream in static and wake up feeling worse.

I sat on the floor of my apartment all night, knees pulled tight to my chest, the two plastic sticks perched like grim trophies on the edge of the sink. Positive. Both of them.

The radiator hissed and ticked in the corner. Dawn painted the cracked walls in tired gold. I sat there, hollow, feeling the weight of everything that hadn’t happened yet.

I told myself I’d deal with it tomorrow, make a plan, call a doctor, figure out what came next.

But when the first thin light broke over the river, I dragged myself up, pulled my laptop onto my knees, and started applying for jobs.

It was mechanical at first. Click. Submit. Next. Cover letters that blurred into each other. Listings for admin assistants, clerks, temp gigs that would barely cover groceries.

Most were long shots. Some felt pathetic.

But then one caught my eye.

Executive Assistant to the CEO. The company name was just two initials: W&S.

High profile. Confidentiality required. Competitive salary, which usually meant at least enough to survive.

My stomach tightened. I knew the name. Daniel worked there, still did, as far as I knew. I’d heard him brag enough times about that empire, about the closed-door meetings he sat through, how he was indispensable even if he wasn’t quite on the top floor.

Common sense told me to close the tab.

Self-preservation screamed not to wander into a building that might still echo with his footsteps, with his ghost.

But self-preservation didn’t pay rent.

I hesitated for a long moment, fingers hovering over the trackpad. I thought about the heartbeat I couldn’t feel yet, the life I hadn’t planned for. I thought about the ache in my joints, the fear settling in my spine like rot.

And I submitted the application.

I wasn’t proud of it. I was just out of options.

***

Two days later, they called. A crisp woman with a voice like a blade invited me to an in-person interview.

Top floor. W&S Tower.

The kind of place that chewed people up and sent them back down the elevator before lunch.

I said yes before I could think better of it.

When I arrived there, the lobby gleamed, cold and white and endless. Marble floors stretched in all directions, the kind of clean that dared you to smudge it.

I clutched my cheap portfolio tighter to my chest, smoothing the front of my blouse with my free hand as I crossed the expanse toward the elevators.

Every step echoed too loudly.

I reminded myself that this was just a meeting. One of probably dozens they were doing. The odds of running into Daniel were slim. The odds of anyone caring who I was, even slimmer.

Still, my heart beat a frantic stutter against my ribs as the elevator climbed higher and higher, the numbers lighting up one by one like a countdown.

Forty-nine. Top floor.

The doors opened with a quiet chime.

A receptionist barely looked up as she waved me toward a hallway lined with glass walls and dark wood doors.

“End of the corridor,” she said. “Mr. Wolfe is expecting you.”

Mr. Wolfe…

The surname hit harder than I wanted it to. Where did I hear that name again?

I moved down the hall, heels tapping too loudly, throat dry.

When I reached the end of the corridor, I found a huge office with the door already open. I stepped through, my portfolio clutched tightly like armor, and froze.

The man behind the desk looked up from the file he was reading, his eyes meeting mine with an easy, measured glance.

Nicholas Wolfe.

The man from that reckless night. The man whose hands had traced my body like he’d known it before I did. The man I had left before sunrise because staying would have meant admitting something I wasn’t ready to feel.

If he recognized me, he buried it deep.

“Ms. Vargas,” he said, smooth and professional, like my name was just another item on his schedule. “Please have a seat.”

My legs moved automatically, carrying me to the chair across from him.

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.