The bus ride to Elvis's school was quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just me. I had my earbuds in, but the music was low, more background than anything else. The world outside the window blurred into streaks of motion and light. A part of me was still standing in that boardroom, with Dylan Harper's gaze locked on mine.

You remind me of someone.

I shook the thought off before it could linger too long.

By the time I made it to Elvis's school, the afternoon sun had shifted. It cast long shadows across the pavement, and the final stragglers of parents were either rushing in or rushing out. I tightened my scarf as I stepped through the gates.

"Elena," one of the staff greeted me with a nod. "He's just inside, finishing up some drawings."

"Thanks," I said, walking through the hallway.

There he was. Sitting at the little round table by the window, his crayon gripped tightly as he worked on something full of blue and orange scribbles. He looked up as soon as I came in.

"Mama!" Elvis grinned, eyes lighting up like they always did when he saw me.

"Hey, baby," I smiled, crouching down beside him. "Ready to go?"

"Uh-huh. Look what I made!" He held up the paper like it was a prize.

It was a fire-breathing dragon surrounded by stars. A little chaotic, but full of heart.

"That's amazing. You'll have to tell me all about it on the way home."

He slid his backpack on without needing to be asked. As we stepped outside, he slipped his small hand into mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Did you have a good day?" I asked.

"Yes! We had pizza for lunch, and I helped Lila clean up after art. And Miss Georgia said I was the fastest at math."

"Fastest at math? That's my boy."

He beamed up at me, pride glowing in his eyes.

We took the usual route home, passing by the corner store where the man in the window always waved at Elvis. We didn't stop today. I just wanted to get home, peel off my heels, and breathe.

At home, I kicked off my heels near the door and helped Elvis with his jacket. He ran off to his room, already talking to himself about dinosaurs or knights or something in between.

I headed straight to the bathroom. The apartment was warm, but my skin felt tight and itchy from the city's grime and the nerves of the day. I turned on the shower, steam rising almost instantly.

The moment the hot water hit my shoulders, I nearly groaned. My muscles ached in places I didn't even know were tense. I leaned my forehead against the cool tiles, letting everything swirl down the drain–coffee incidents, intense stares, big pitches, bigger questions.

Fifteen minutes later, I stepped out wrapped in my robe, skin pink from the heat. I tied my hair up, threw on a big shirt and went into the kitchen, already calculating what I could throw together quickly.

There were eggs. Cheese. Bread. A tomato that hadn't gone bad.

Omelettes it was.

I cracked eggs into a bowl, added salt, chopped the tomato, grated the cheese. Elvis popped his head into the kitchen just as I flipped one of the omelettes.

"Is Enid home yet?"

"Not yet, baby. Soon."

"I wanna show her my dragon."

"She's going to love it," I promised.

By the time the food was ready, I set the plates down, one for me, one for Elvis and one for Enid. I poured a glass of water for each of us and turned on the soft jazz Enid liked to unwind to. The living room clock read 5:44.

At 5:47, the front door clicked open.

"Smells good in here," Enid called out, dropping her bag by the door.

I smiled. "Perfect timing. Dinner's hot."

She stepped into the kitchen, already loosening her scrubs. Her braids were a little frizzy around the edges, and her face held that familiar tiredness I'd seen every evening since she started med school.

"Elvis!" she called. "Where's my boy?"

"In here!" he yelled back from the dining table. "I made a dragon!"

"Well, of course you did. You're the coolest kid I know." She gave him a kiss on the forehead, then turned to me. "You look like you've been hit by a small truck."

"Thanks. I feel like it too."

She laughed, disappeared into the bathroom, and came out ten minutes later in an oversized t-shirt and leggings.

We all sat down to eat. Elvis talked non-stop about his day, including what each of his classmates did wrong during gym class and how he wanted to be a vet and a superhero and maybe a YouTuber.

"You can be all three," Enid said between bites. "Just don't put the lizards in capes unless they consent."

Elvis giggled so hard he nearly snorted milk out of his nose.

It felt good. It felt like home.

After dinner, Elvis brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas without too much fuss. By 9:02, he was asleep in his bed, mouth slightly open, one arm thrown over his pillow like it was holding him in place.

The apartment quieted. The buzz of the city outside softened to a hum. I brought two mugs of chamomile tea into the living room and handed one to Enid, who was curled up on the couch with a blanket and her legs tucked beneath her.

"Alright," she said, blowing on her tea. "Spill. You didn't even text me today."

I took a long sip. "It was... a day."

"Work?"

I nodded. "The presentation was for Dylan Harper himself."

Enid's eyebrows shot up. "As in Dylan Harper?"

"Yes. And I accidentally spilled my coffee on him before the meeting."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

"Walked right into him. Coffee exploded like it had something to prove. Right down his expensive, judgmental shirt."

Enid laughed so hard she had to put her tea down.

"I'm serious," I said, smiling despite myself. "I thought I'd be escorted out."

"But?"

"He didn't throw me out. He asked questions. Hard ones. But I held my ground."

Enid grinned, proud. "That's my girl."

"I think we might actually get the pilot campaign."

She let out a slow whistle. "Damn. That's huge, Lenny."

"I know."

We were quiet for a moment. I picked at a thread on my blanket, staring at the TV screen that wasn't even on.

"Was he... intense?" Enid asked finally.

I looked up. "Yeah. That's the word."

She raised an eyebrow. "Tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable?"

I chuckled. "I don't know about the unavailable part. But he definitely looked at me like... like I was a puzzle. Or maybe a mistake."

Enid sipped her tea. "He said you looked familiar?"

"Yeah. But hopefully he doesn't recognize me quickly or it would get really awkward.

I mean, my heart did a flip when he was like "you look familiar" .

She leaned her head back against the couch. "Sounds like the man left an impression."

"I don't know what kind of impression. But yeah."

The silence stretched. Comfortably.

"I'm proud of you, Lenny," she said, softer this time. "You've been pushing so hard. Raising Elvis, running your firm, barely sleeping."

"I'm just trying to get it right."

"You are."

I felt something knot in my chest. Gratitude, maybe. Or exhaustion finally catching up to me.

"I just... sometimes I wonder if I'm moving too fast. Like, what if I blow this? What if Harper Corp is too big?"

"Then you pivot. Like you said in your pitch. Own the mistake and keep going."

I smiled faintly. "You make it sound easy."

"It's not. But you're not alone."

I leaned my head on her shoulder, and she rested hers lightly on mine.

The clock ticked past 10. Outside, the city never stopped, but in our little apartment, the world felt paused.

I didn't mention the flicker in Dylan's eyes. The strange sense that something wasn't quite surface-level with him. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was the beginning of something I hadn't yet named.

Either way, the night stretched ahead, calm but uncertain.

And I couldn't shake the feeling that today had shifted something. Even if I didn't know what.

Dylan's POV

The elevator opened with a soft chime, but the silence that met me on the 48th floor of The Marlowe was absolute. My penthouse always welcomed me like this: pristine, modern, and empty. Too empty.

I dropped my briefcase on the polished console table by the door, loosened my tie, and rolled my shoulders as if I could shrug the day off. But the echo of it followed me in-a boardroom charged with tension, a bold pitch, a spilled coffee, and Elena Reyes standing tall even after she'd stained my shirt and made my pulse stutter.

There was something in her eyes-familiar, but not. Not in a way I could name.

I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid catching the recessed lighting. The view from the glass wall looked out over Manhattan like a throne surveying its kingdom. But even with the city sprawled beneath me, it didn't feel like enough tonight.

A door clicked open behind me.

"You really should consider hiring a housekeeper," a familiar voice called. Smooth. Sharp. Displeased.

Veronica Lancaster.

I turned slowly. There she was, framed in the doorway in heels that didn't belong in a home and a white dress that was too polished for someone just dropping by. She walked like the floor owed her something, all grace and calculation.

"This place always smells like concrete and ambition," she said with a wrinkle of her nose, glancing around. "No food, no music. Just you, your silence, and overpriced whiskey."

"Did you come here to insult me or just to remind me I don't live in a Pottery Barn catalog?" I asked dryly.

She smirked. "Touché."

I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her as she dropped her coat over the back of a bar stool.

"You weren't invited."

"Since when has that mattered between us?"

I said nothing. Her presence scratched at my patience, and yet I tolerated her. Not because I wanted to. Because the merger between Harper Corp and Lancaster Holdings was still very much on the table. And she was still very much her father's favorite pawn.

"I saw the pitch notes from this afternoon," she said, idly opening the fridge, unimpressed. "Elena Reyes. Reyes & Bloom. She's ambitious."

I watched her closely. "You reading pitch decks now?"

"Just keeping tabs on what might become mine one day," she said, flashing that cold smile.

"This isn't a marriage, Veronica. It's business."

She closed the fridge, eyes sharp. "You think I don't know that?"

"Then act like it. Don't drop in unannounced. Don't snoop. And stop pretending this-whatever this is-has anything to do with us."

There was a moment, sharp and still.

Then she smiled faintly. "Touchy tonight."

"I had a long day."

"So did I. Just thought I'd unwind."

"Not here."

That landed.

Veronica studied me, then gathered her coat with a dramatic flip of her hair. "Fine. But don't keep me waiting too long for that dinner you promised my father."

"I never promised him anything."

"Same difference," she said with a wink, and she was gone.

The door clicked shut. Her perfume lingered longer than she did. I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck.

A shower didn't fix the weight between my shoulders, but it helped. The water beat down, hot and unforgiving, dragging my thoughts back to Elena-the way she'd stood her ground, even with wet coffee down her blouse. I hadn't meant to look again. But I did.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, I opened my laptop and tended to what couldn't wait. Internal memos. Overseas calls. A breakdown from legal. And one stubborn pitch replaying in my head.

The next morning, I was already in the office before 8 a.m. Lucas, my assistant, hovered near the espresso machine.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Black. Double shot. And pull Elena Reyes' file. I want a background check. Keep it discreet."

Lucas blinked. "Personal or professional?"

"Both. Just cover your bases."

He nodded slowly. "Noted."

I barely glanced at him as I took the coffee and walked into the first of three back-to-back meetings.

Throughout the morning, I kept half an eye out. I told myself it was just strategy. If Reyes & Bloom was our newest partner, I had to know who I was dealing with. But part of me just wanted to see if she'd show up. If she'd find a reason to cross paths with me again.

She didn't.

By noon, my schedule had thinned, and I retreated to my office. Lucas appeared five minutes later with a manila folder in hand and a slight hesitation in his step.

"This is... everything," he said, placing it on my desk. "There are a few things you might want to see."

He left, and I opened the folder.

There she was. A scanned copy of her driver's license. A list of previous addresses. One in New Orleans. Educational records. Public interviews. Business filings.

And then-a photo.

Not a headshot. Not professional.

It was grainy, like it had been pulled from a neighborhood newsletter. Elena in jeans and a faded shirt. Laughing.

Holding hands with a little boy.

My chest tightened.

The boy was maybe four, maybe five. Hair dark. Eyes striking. Something about the way he tilted his head...

I stared.

The next page: a news feature. "Local Entrepreneur Makes Waves in New York Market."

Below it, a quote from Elena: "Everything I do is for him."

Him.

I reread the line twice.

My pulse kicked up.

I closed the file slowly.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't know if the next move was mine-

Or hers.

Elena

A Week and a Few Days Later

It had been nine days since the pitch at Harper Corp.

Not that I was counting. But I can't help it.

In the time since, there had been no emails, no phone calls, not even a polite rejection from Dylan Harper's people. Nothing.

I told myself silence was normal. These things took time. Big companies didn't operate on the same rhythm as small ones like mine. And still, every time my phone buzzed, my stomach twisted like it was being wrung out.

But life had its own rhythm, and I didn't have the luxury of waiting.

The office-if you could call the modest two-room suite above a bookstore in Midtown an office-was finally functional. Faye had her desk set up, and I had my little corner with a good lamp and a coffee machine that only sometimes made alarming noises.

It was something. It was ours.

That morning, Elvis had been particularly clingy during drop-off. "Do you have to go to work today?" he asked, his big brown eyes shining.

"Just for a little," I'd promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "We'll read two bedtime stories tonight, okay?"

"Three," he'd countered, already smiling.

"Deal."

Now, hours later, I sat behind my laptop, the glow from the screen making my eyes ache. My inbox was a mix of lukewarm leads and auto-responses.

Faye peeked in from the other room, holding up her phone. "I'm ordering food. You want anything?"

I glanced at the time. "Actually... I think I'll take a walk. I need air."

She nodded. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just restless."

I threw on my coat and grabbed my bag. Outside, the city felt different. The wind had softened, the sky a low hum of clouds, and the streets not too loud. I headed down the block, unsure of where I was going until I found myself near that café-neutral, quiet, and familiar.

I stepped inside, ordered an oat milk latte, and waited near the window. The bell above the door jingled. I turned instinctively-and froze.

Dylan Harper.

Of all the cafés in Midtown.

He didn't see me at first. He was in a dark coat, sharp as ever, though his tie was slightly loosened. He stepped to the counter, ordered something black and merciless, then finally turned. His gaze caught mine.

For a moment, it was just that-eye contact.

Then a nod.

Then something softer.

"Ms. Reyes," he said as he approached.

"Mr. Harper," I replied, lifting my cup slightly. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"I could say the same."

He gestured to the seat across from me. "Mind if I...?"

I shook my head. "Please."

He sat, set his cup down, then looked at me-not just at me, but into me. It was that same analytical gaze he'd worn during the pitch, like he was trying to solve a riddle no one else saw.

"How's business?" he asked.

"Good," I lied. "Busy."

He gave a small smile. "Let me guess. You're still waiting to hear from us."

I blinked. "Something like that."

"I've been meaning to follow up. The board's reviewing everything. It's not a no."

"That's comforting. I think."

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't awkward. Just thoughtful. There was a stillness about Dylan, like he was always three steps ahead of whatever he was saying out loud.

"And your son?" he asked casually.

The question caught me. I sipped my drink to buy a second. "He's doing well. Adjusting."

He nodded. "New York's a lot for a kid."

"He's tougher than he looks."

"I'm sure he is."

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it quickly, frowning slightly before setting it face down.

"I shouldn't keep you," I said.

"I'm in no rush."

Another pause. Then:

"You strike me as someone who's used to managing things on her own," he said.

I shrugged. "I guess I've had practice."

"I meant that as a compliment."

"I'll take it that way, then."

His eyes didn't leave mine. "I find it... refreshing."

That pulled a smile from me, small but real. "You don't meet a lot of people who say what they mean, do you?"

"Not in my circles."

A beat passed. Then he stood. "I should get back. But I'll be in touch."

I stood too. "Thanks for the coffee chat."

"Anytime."

He left with a quiet nod. I stood there a while longer, sipping the last of my latte, unsure of what that conversation had meant-but knowing it would stay with me longer than I wanted to admit.

Back at the office, Faye looked up from her desk. "You spent twenty seven minutes

Seems like you had a meeting with a man"

"What do you mean Faye?" I asked with a slight chuckle.

"You ran into him, didn't you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you...?"

"You've got your 'I just saw a ghost in Armani' face."

I laughed. "It wasn't that dramatic."

She grinned. "So? Did he say anything?"

"We talked. Nothing official."

She tilted her head. "But something... unofficial?"

I didn't answer. Not directly.

Before she could press further, my phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number. I answered.

"Elena Reyes?" a crisp voice asked.

"Yes, speaking."

"This is Julian Ward. I'm the founder of Indigo & West. I was hoping we could schedule a meeting to discuss a potential collaboration."

Indigo & West. A rising agency. Not quite Harper Corp, but well-known.

"Oh. I wasn't expecting this," I said honestly.

"I got your name from a mutual connection who said you were the one to watch."

"Is that so?"

"I'd love to talk through some campaign possibilities. My schedule's flexible this week. Let me know what works for you."

I scribbled down the details, exchanged polite goodbyes, and hung up.

Faye raised an eyebrow. "Business call?"

I nodded slowly. "Julian Ward. He wants to meet."

Her eyes widened. "That's huge."

"I know, right?"

I sat down at my desk, heart thudding just slightly faster. Something was shifting. Something I hadn't planned for.

And deep down, I couldn't help but wonder if Dylan Harper's silence wasn't the only thing about to change.