FOUR
Iris
PRESENT DAY
I need to stop shaking. It won’t be a good look if I randomly trip over my heels in front of Grace.
She’s put a lot of stock in me to lead this case.
If I land Astor Holdings and Wentworths as clients, I’ll finally have the leverage I need to launch my own research vertical at Miller-Moore—the one I’ve spent the last three years building from the ground up.
The Astor-Wentworth merger would secure the financial backing we need. It’s everything I’ve worked for.
And yet… I can’t stop this low hum of panic under my skin.
It’s not like I haven’t seen Levi over the years. He’s always in some business journal, occasionally in a gossip column. A few blurry photos of him with models and actresses. But that’s all. Just the curated glimpses the world is allowed to see.
But I had shut myself off from those a few years ago. Choosing to put the past where it belonged.
I still don’t know why I’ve kept up with his work life, though. Morbid curiosity, maybe. Or the kind of emotional muscle memory that never really fades. Which is probably why I wanted to spearhead this merger of Astor Holdings and Wentworth Group, when I learned about it.
It was the perfect career opportunity, even if it meant digging up something I’d managed to bury deeply enough.
And now, the possibility of seeing him in person—of actually being across the same table as him, speaking in numbers and valuations instead of affection and shared dreams—it’s wrecking my nervous system.
I take a breath and force my shoulders back.
This is business. It’s been ten years. He’s probably forgotten everything.
Grace and I step into the soft-lit hallway, following his executive assistant, Mr. Choi, down the corridor.
He’s the one I’ve been coordinating with for the past forty-eight hours, arranging this very impromptu sit-down.
Although he’s been faultlessly professional via emails, I couldn’t help but notice an undercurrent of apprehension in the way he spoke with me a few minutes ago.
I’m slightly unsettled as a thought drifts into my mind. He’s Levi’s EA—sure—but is he aware of the past? Does he know?
I swallow hard, my heels echo with every step.
One breath at a time, Iris.
Play it cool.
Play the bigger plane.
This has nothing to do with the corpse of your past dragging behind you.
We settle into the conference room, the leather chairs creaking softly as we sit. Grace chooses the seat closest to the window, where the dusky orange sunlight spills in, making everything feel a little too cinematic.
I set my tablet and notepad in front of me, hands still steadying as I click the pen once, then again. Nerves are a luxury I can’t afford right now.
Taewon excuses himself. “I’ll let Mr. Astor know you’ve arrived.”
Mr. Astor.
God.
As the door clicks shut behind him, my fists clench under the table. Coffees and snacks arrive, but I’m barely paying attention.
Grace leans toward me slightly, lowering her voice. “This merger could be the highlight of this quarter. Especially if we play it right.” She smiles, warm but sharp-edged—like the comment is both encouragement and a warning.
I nod once. “We’ve got this—I got this.”
Grace starts a light conversation about our earlier flight, something about the rain being oddly cathartic. I reply automatically, keeping my voice even, my smile restrained. My focus is elsewhere. Bracing. Because any second now—
The door opens again.
There he is.
Levi Astor walks in, flanked by warm gold light from the hallway behind him. His frame is tall, broad in all the ways I remember, but sharper now—more refined in posture, more deliberate in presence.
He carries himself every bit like the president he is. His suit fits like it was stitched directly onto him, not a single wrinkle in sight. And on his wrist, a gold watch that catches the sunset light.
He looks—fuck. He looks good.
His eyes sweep over the room as he steps in. And for the briefest second, I think I notice a flicker when his gaze snags on mine. Maybe shock. Definitely recognition.
But then visible restraint washes over. He smooths his expression so fast I almost question whether I imagined it.
“Ms. Miller,” Levi says, voice even and commanding, extending his hand to Grace first. “Apologies for the wait. Got stuck with a call earlier.”
Grace smiles. “We’ve been well taken care of. And we appreciate you making time on such short notice.”
He nods, then turns to me. “Ms. Desmond.”
I stand, extending my hand. “Mr. Astor.”
His handshake is firm. Polite yet detachedly clinical.
My stomach coils. This is the same man who once spent an entire Sunday baking—burning them, really—lemon squares because I mentioned offhand I liked them. Now he’s offering the same tone he probably gives to every person on his calendar.
I’m not sure whether it’s hurt or belated disbelief coursing through me.
We all sit, and Grace jumps into a brief summary of Miller-Moore’s experience with large-scale merger consultations. Levi listens, nodding occasionally, his fingers folded neatly on the table.
When Grace finishes, she turns to me with the faintest tilt of her head—a subtle, practiced signal.
Your turn.
I clear my throat and meet Levi’s unreadable eyes.
“Mr. Astor,” I begin, tapping my tablet awake, “we understand the complexity of this merger goes beyond just numbers. The Astor-Wentworth union isn’t just a portfolio combination, it’s legacy—” I catch a small, imperceptible frown on his face.
But despite the sudden spike of panic, I forge ahead.
“…branding, stakeholder alignment, and long-term asset strategy. That’s why I—Miller-Moore believes we’re uniquely positioned to help steer that process with you.
Here are the thirty high-profile mergers in the past six years, similar to this one, that we’ve—”
I continue, keeping my voice clear and professional. But inside? Inside, every word feels like a betrayal of something softer. Something we buried. Or at least I tried to.
But Levi just nods, eyes sharp, expression still unreadable save for that small frown that has since melted away.
So I keep pitching. He keeps asking questions, and I keep answering them—matching his cool, almost icy tone. We might as well be strangers.
You are a stranger, Iris.
Eventually, Grace wraps it up with a polished summary.
“I’m glad you were able to prepare this portfolio.
These mergers are much like ours, so that helps,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
“And just to let you know where we’re at—we’ve had confirmation from Wentworths after the risk audit.
They’re aligned, so we’ll be reviewing the proposals internally very soon.
How about I get back to you both within… say, a week?”
“Of course,” Grace says, standing first and extending her hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Astor.”
He shakes her hand firmly. “Appreciate you flying in.”
I rise a second later and shake his hand again.
Then, just as Grace and I are turning toward the door, Levi says, “Ms. Desmond, would you mind staying back a moment?”
Grace glances at him, surprised, then shoots me a look that’s half curiosity, half question. I give her the tiniest nod.
She raises a brow but relents. “I’ll meet you at the hotel bar at eight?”
“Sure.”
She disappears through the door, leaving me alone with Levi. At first, the silence stretches long.
But when he sits back down with a heavy, almost exasperated sigh, I cross my arms. “You wanted to talk?”
Levi clears his throat. “How’ve you been?”
I blink, sitting back down myself. “I’m… fine. You?”
He sniffs, blinking rapidly as he frowns at the table between us. “I’m confused, Iris. Really confused. You knew who this merger was between—and still chose to be a consultant for it?” There’s an edge to his tone I don’t appreciate.
I straighten my spine. “Listen. Yes, I chose this. Because I’m in line to lead a research vertical at Miller-Moore. This account would help secure it. So, yes. I did choose this.”
He sighs again. This time it’s quieter. Maybe even guiltier. “Sorry, I—you just… I didn’t know you were on their team. It threw me.”
I smile. “It’s been ten years, Levi. It should be fine.”
He gives a soft, almost genuine smile, nodding—just as his phone lights up. A woman’s face fills the screen. Beautiful. Gorgeous pixie cut.
My stomach knots, involuntarily. And I hate that it does.
He picks up. “Hey, baby … sorry, yeah, just wrapping up a meeting … an hour? … yeah, I’ll be there. Hey—are you okay? … Alright, see you in a bit.” He hangs up and stares at the phone, frowning slightly. Like the conversation didn’t go as expected.
“Girlfriend?”
His head snaps up like he forgot I was here. “Oh! Uh, no—fiancée, actually.”
I still, forcing a sincere smile on my face. “Congratulations.”
He smiles again, this time, fond. “Thanks. Yeah. It’s actually Cece—Celestine Wentworth.”
Of course. Suddenly, the merger makes perfect sense. Not just business. But marriage. A public alliance.
“Oh. I haven’t met her. I’m sure I will, if you end up choosing us.”
He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
There’s a brief silence before I break it with what I hope brings back the professional air back into the room. “What timeline are you looking at? I heard you’d been on this for at least eight months.”
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose like I’ve seen him do at the onset of a headache. “The timeline is what I can’t answer yet. But we need this expedited. I doubt it’ll take more than two years, but with the clause, I think we need to start the process—like yesterday.”
I nod. But then his words fully register. My head jerks up and I speak without thinking. “Clause? What clause?”
He blinks. His face flickers with shock as if realizing he’s said too much. “Oh. It’s just… a clause for me to keep the presidency past the five-year probation.”
“Does that affect the merger? Will we need to adjust our pitch?”
His breathing picks up, and I find myself confused more than ever about his near-panicked reaction.
He shakes his head. “No. It’s a personal clause. A marital one.”
A marital clause?
I freeze. Wait—is he saying that he’s marrying this Celestine Wentworth to fulfill a clause? To maintain his presidency?
He sees something shift on my face and quickly clarifies. “The merger and the clause are separate. Miller-Moore won’t need to interfere.”
I shouldn’t ask. But I do. “The clause, what does it say?” I have a sneaky suspicion it might be the reason I was forced out of his life by his parents.
He clears his throat. “Uh. It’s a clause that puts a few conditions on the type of marital partner I can choose before the five-year probation ends. Like… their net worth must be over five million, their social standing—among other factors.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs.
What the actual hell?
“W-What?” I can barely get the words out. “Then why did you even date me? Why would you—”
Levi’s face shifts, frowning at my hardened tone.
I immediately flush with embarrassment.
“I didn’t know about the clause,” he says firmly. “I only learned about it three years ago when I started my presidency.”
And then, the real blow. “Plus, you made yourself a non-issue, Iris.”
Non-issue.
The word slams into me like a slap.
I feel my throat tighten. Technically, he’s not wrong.
My net worth wouldn’t even touch a million. I never had a trust fund. No generational wealth. I was always the wrong kind of girl for the Astors. I’d made peace with that, but to hear it like this? It stings.
He sees the shift in my eyes. I know he does because I see the tiniest wince flash on his face. But he doesn’t take it back.