Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Christine
“Ma’am.”
I barely look up at first.
I’m still gathering my things, sliding papers back into my folder, mentally running through what just happened with Celine, what still needs to be adjusted, and what I need to fix before the end of the day.
My head is full. Busy.
“Ma’am.”
This time, it pierces through.
I look up.
One of the staff members stands beside me. He doesn't look like the waiters or the coordinators. He's different. His posture gives him away before anything else does that he's part of the security in the place.
“Yes?” I ask, already frowning slightly.
“The boss would like to see you.”
“The boss?” I repeat, slower.
“Yes, ma’am.”
My first instinct is to refuse. I don’t know who that is. I don’t know why I’m being called. And I don’t like things that don’t come with context.
“I’m in the middle of…”
“It won’t take long,” he cuts in, polite, but not asking.
There’s a small moment where I consider pushing back.
But Celine is distracted again, her attention already drifting elsewhere, her fiancé finally here, pulling her into something that no longer includes me.
This meeting is done.
And I’m grateful for it. Because it gives me space. It gives me a second to breathe.
A second to feel what I wasn’t ready to feel when I first looked up and saw him.
I look at him now, really look, and all I feel is a kind of repulsion. Like something I once held too close has gone stale in my hands.
I see him laughing, leaning into Celine, and for the first time, it doesn’t matter.
Not in the way it used to.
There’s no urge to question him. No need to confront, to demand, to understand. Whatever he did, whoever he was to me, whatever we had… It's not mine anymore.
He’s not mine anymore.
And more importantly, I’m not his.
I nod once.
“Fine.” I pick up my bag, slide my folder under my arm, and step away from the table.
The walk feels longer than it should and it's not because of distance. It's the silence.
He doesn’t speak or explain. He just leads.
Through the main space, past staff who barely look up, through a corridor I didn’t notice earlier, entering the kind of space that doesn’t belong to guests.
My heels sound louder here, each step too clear.
“Who exactly is the boss?” I ask after a moment, glancing at him.
“You’ll see,” he replies simply.
“I will see what?” I don’t like that answer. Not even a little.
He doesn’t respond.
And something in me flips.
“Excuse me…” I try again, my steps quickening slightly to keep up with him. “I have another client I need to get back to. This shouldn’t take long, right?”
No answer.
My grip fastens around my bag, a flicker of irritation rising to my throat as something else starts to creep in.
“Is this about the wedding?” I press, trying to pull logic into it, something that makes sense. “If there’s an issue, you could’ve just said that. I don’t need to be…”
Still nothing but the continuous sound of our footsteps.
Now my mind starts moving faster than I want it to. Because this doesn’t feel like work anymore.
This feels… Wrong.
My pulse kicks as unease seeps downward to my stomach, spreading outward, coiling everything in its path.
I swallow.
“Look,” I continue, my voice shifting now. “I really don’t have time for… whatever this is. I need to get back to…”
Blue.
“I have somewhere I need to be,” I add quickly, the words coming faster now. “So if this is going to take long, I’d rather…”
He stops so abruptly that I almost walk into him.
I catch myself just in time, my breath hitching slightly as I step back, the corridor suddenly feeling narrower than it did before.
He turns. And for the first time since this started, I actually see his face clearly.
Deep brown skin, even-toned, almost matte under the hallway light. His hair is cut close to the scalp, his face is angular with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a firm mouth that doesn’t give much away.
His dark brown eyes, almost black at a glance, hold just long enough to register you, then pull back like they’ve already taken what they need.
And my chest drops as fear of the unknown takes over.
This wasn’t random. This wasn’t accidental. And I don’t like where that thought leads.
“I don’t like this,” I clip, more to myself than to him, but it comes out anyway.
Because suddenly, I’m not thinking about the meeting anymore. Or Celine. Or even Daniel.
I’m thinking about the fact that I followed a stranger down a hallway without asking enough questions.
I’m thinking about how easy that was.
How careless. And I don’t get to be careless anymore, not when I have a child who's waiting for me at home. Not with a life that depends on me getting things right.
“If this isn’t work-related, I’m leaving,” I enunciate, firmer now, reclaiming some control, even if it’s just in my voice. “I don’t have time for anything else.”
He must see the fear in my eyes no matter how I try to conceal it, because his expression softens.
“You’re safe, ma’am.” His tone is soft. “The boss just wants to talk.”
Safe?
I swallow, not realizing I needed to hear it until he said it.
My breath leaves me slowly, the grip around my heart unclenching.
“Okay.” I nod.
He holds my gaze for a second longer, like he’s making sure I’m not about to bolt, then steps slightly to the side.
“We’re here.”
I follow the direction of his hand to a plain door. Nothing that explains why this one feels different from all the others we passed.
He reaches forward and presses the button beside it.
There’s a soft click, then the door unlocks, gliding open.
“Sir.” He steps aside.
And I walk in.
It takes one second.
One second for my eyes to adjust.
One second for my brain to catch up.
One second for everything to halt.
Robert.
The recognition is immediate.
My breath catches, my body going still in a way that feels instinctive, like I’ve just stepped into something I wasn’t prepared for.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just stare. Like I’ve seen something impossible. Like the past just stood up and decided to face me.
And then everything attached to him comes crashing through.
The dreamy octave of his voice when he said my name that night in Las Vegas as he came inside of me for the last time before sleep took over.
My stomach flips, my fingers curling against my side.
Because I remember. Too much. Too clearly.
And I hate that my body recognizes him in a way that feels like a relapse.
I take a step back instinctively, the door still behind me, my hand brushing against it like I need to confirm it’s still there.
That I can leave.
That this isn’t… Real.
But it is. Because he’s still sitting there, looking at me like he expected this. Like I was always going to walk into this room.
“I'll be outside.” The security guard bows briskly, then steps away, brushing past me.
The door clicks softly behind me.
I don’t turn to watch him leave, but I feel the shift with the space sealing.
Robert pushes away from where he’s been sitting, unhurried, like time bends around him instead of the other way around.
His gaze never leaves me, not once, not even as he crosses the space between us just enough to make his presence felt without closing it completely.
And then, he smiles, his lips curving enough to say he’s exactly where he wants to be.
Something in my chest stutters. Because I know that smile. I remember what it does.
And I hate that my body remembers it too.
My breath comes in unevenly for a second before I stabilize it, forcing my shoulders back, forcing poise back on as emotions sprint through my mind.
Shock hits first, lingering longer than it should. Because he looks the same. He hasn't been touched by time in any way that feels fair.
And for a second, it disorients me.
Because I changed. Everything about me did.
But him, he's exactly as I left him.
Disbelief follows. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.
Not when I’ve spent years making sure there was distance. Making sure there was no way back. No overlap or chance of this kind of collision.
And yet, here he is.
Then anger rises before I can soften it, before I can package it into something easier to carry.
My hands move before I realize it, one dragging through my hair, the other falling to my side as I take a step forward, then another, then stop, pacing once like I need to burn it out of my system.
“What is this?” I snap, turning to face him fully now, my voice howling through the room. “What the hell is this?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn't move to interrupt or even lose that expression.
If anything, it deepens. That same calm. That same poise. That same… Smile.
And it makes it worse.
Because I’m here… Trying to process. Trying to make sense of something that shouldn’t exist. And he looks like this is exactly how it was supposed to go.
“How dare you?” I continue, my voice rising despite myself, my pacing picking up again, heels striking against the floor in harsh, erratic rhythm. “You can't just… What? Call for me? Like I’m still…”
I cut myself off.
Because I’m not finishing that sentence.
I refuse to give it shape.
My chest rises too fast, my breath jagged, my thoughts tripping over each other because there’s too much happening at once.
Seeing him. Being here. Feeling this.
Again!
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I fume, gesturing vaguely toward the door like it proves something, like it anchors me back into the life I actually belong to. “Why the hell do you think it was okay to do this?”
Still, he gives nothing. No reaction or attempt to match me. He just watches, letting me burn through it as if he knows this is necessary.
And that makes me angrier. Because I don’t know where to put this if he’s not pushing back.
“Answer me!” I snap, stopping abruptly, turning on him again, my hands slightly raised like I’m trying to hold onto something that keeps slipping.
He doesn’t, he just stands there looking at me. Smiling.
And it feels like I’m the only one in this room affected by what’s happening. Like I’m the only one who understands how impossible this is.