47 - Fractures in Gold
The morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Blackwood Enterprises like molten gold, casting sharp, elegant shadows across the polished Italian marble.
Each ray fractured into golden shards on the gleaming surfaces, spotlighting the symphony of power and precision that defined the executive suite.
The scent of rich mahogany mingled with the faint hint of espresso, and the hushed murmur of a city below filtered in like distant applause.
At the heart of it all sat Ethan Blackwood.
Composed in a tailored navy-blue Brioni suit, he was the embodiment of control.
From the sharp press of his lapel to the measured cadence of his breath, everything about him exuded authority.
The city skyline sprawled behind him, reflected in the glass wall like a conquered kingdom.
He sat still, but his fingers tapped lightly against the desk, betraying a rhythm only he could hear.
Tension pulsed beneath the surface—subtle, yet unmistakable.
John entered quietly, a folder in hand.
"Sir, the representative from the Italian fashion house is already here."
Ethan didn't look up. "Are all the documents ready?"
"Yes, sir. Everything is on your desk."
"Perfect."
A knock echoed against the heavy oak door, firm and final. Before Ethan could respond, it opened.
And she walked in.
Catherine.
The name struck like a chord Ethan hadn't heard in years. His breath stilled, just for a moment. Then he blinked, and the years closed in around him again like a steel cage.
She was exactly as he remembered—and entirely different.
Silhouetted in the morning light, she moved with the same devastating grace.
Her chestnut hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and the tailored charcoal pencil dress with crimson accents hugged her frame with quiet authority.
She looked like a vision sculpted from memory, both real and unreal.
Ethan rose slowly, spine straight, eyes unreadable. "Hello, Catherine. Welcome to Blackwood Enterprises," he said, his voice flat. Measured. A fortress.
Her smile flickered, half playful, half wistful. She crossed the room with deliberate poise, fingers grazing the edge of his desk as if reclaiming lost territory.
"Aren't you surprised to see me?" she asked, her voice a melodic whisper with an edge of curiosity.
"Saw your name on the partnership contract," Ethan said, stepping back, his tone clipped. "Figured it might be you."
A spark lit her eyes. "So you expected me. I knew you couldn't forget me that easily."
His eyes flicked to his wedding ring, catching the sunlight and glinting like a blade.
"I don't have room for personal feelings anymore," he said, cool and final. "Let's keep this professional."
Her laugh was soft, laced with sadness, like a perfume he used to crave. Jasmine. Vanilla. "Still all business. I should've known. But you can't pretend this means nothing. I've missed you, Ethan."
His jaw tightened. Once, those words would've torn down walls. Now they only echoed off them.
"Catherine—"
She stepped closer, vulnerability bleeding into her posture. "I left to chase a dream, not to destroy us. I thought I was doing the right thing. For both of us."
He stared at her, silent.
Then, coldly: "You made your choice. So did I."
Her fingers brushed his wrist, barely a touch.
"Do you feel nothing?" she asked, voice trembling.
He pulled away. Gently. Firmly.
There were feelings. But not the ones she wanted.
"I was so happy when I saw your name on the contract," she said again, softer now. "That's why I came personally. I wanted to see you."
The door opened.
sit in the presence of our Group".
The door opened again.
John: "Sir, the design team is ready in the conference room."
Ethan turned to Catherine. "Shall we?"
She followed. Her heels clicked against marble, matching his pace. When they reached the room, she took the seat beside him—a little too close.
Scarlett entered with the team, poised and luminous in a cream pantsuit. Her auburn hair framed a face sculpted by quiet strength. Her emerald eyes scanned the room and paused—landing on Catherine.
The air shifted.
Scarlett's gaze lingered, sharp with questions. Catherine smiled, just enough to make it feel like a provocation.
Ethan launched into his presentation, commanding and precise. Scarlett tried to focus, but something was wrong. Catherine's posture. The familiarity. The way her fingers skimmed Ethan's desk earlier. Scarlett saw it all. She felt it.
Ethan returned to his seat. Catherine leaned in, whispering just beneath audible range.
"Remember Milan? That rainy night at the opera? You looked at me like I was your world."
He didn't look at her. "That was a long time ago."
"Not to me," she whispered.
Scarlett stilled. Her hand paused mid-note. Her face didn't flinch, but her heart stuttered. The words were private. Too private. Her pulse roared behind her composed expression.
Ethan's tone stayed neutral, responses curt. But the damage was done.
The meeting ended. People filtered out. Scarlett lingered, tidying notes with more focus than needed. Catherine lingered too, eyes fixed on Ethan.
"Ethan," she said, low. "Can we talk?"
Scarlett didn't move.
Ethan stood. "There's nothing to talk about."
Catherine stepped behind him, touched his wrist. Too fast. Too familiar.
Scarlett stood. Her notepad hit the table.
She couldn't stay.
Catherine's voice cracked. "I never stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I've regretted it every day. I know you feel it too."
Ethan gently peeled her hands away. His face was unreadable.
"You're wrong."
"Ethan, please—"
"I'm married."
Three words. Solid. Unmoving.
Catherine reeled. "No... you're lying."
He walked out, catching Scarlett just beyond the door. He took her hand. Hold it like the truth.
"This is my wife."
Catherine stopped in her tracks. Her mask cracked. Her breath caught.
Scarlett met her gaze, steady. Strong. She didn't flinch.
"You're lying, Ethan," Catherine whispered.
He lifted Scarlett's hand, their wedding rings gleaming in the light.
Catherine turned. Her heels clicked like thunder fading. The door shut behind her.
Silence.
Ethan released Scarlett's hand. His shoulders dropped, the weight creeping back.
Scarlett looked at him, voice soft. "You never mentioned her."
He exhaled. "It was over. Long before."
But in her chest, doubt bloomed like frost.
Catherine stood at her hotel window, the city rising with ruthless elegance beneath her.
Her pain is no longer raw. It had hardened. Sharp. Intentional.
She pulled out her phone. Scarlett's name appeared in the company directory.
Her voice was a whisper. "So that's who you are. Let's see how strong your marriage really is."
Three days later. A glass-walled conference room. Sunlight, cold and clinical.
Scarlett sat across from Catherine. Their smiles were polite. Their war was invisible.
Catherine set the proposal aside, her fingers laced thoughtfully. "I must say, working with Blackwood Enterprises has been... interesting."
Scarlett kept her tone even. "Likewise. Your team brings a strong creative direction."
Catherine's gaze didn't waver. "It must be... intense. Working alongside your husband. Does the professional ever blur with the personal?"
Scarlett smiled, as if amused by the subtle bait. "We balance it well. Ethan and I make a good team—at work and at home."
Catherine tilted her head slightly, her voice honeyed. "He always preferred to keep things... compartmentalized. Is he still like that with you?"
Scarlett's eyes gleamed, sharp behind the civility. "Not with me. We talk about everything. It's part of why we work."
Catherine let out a small laugh, wistful. "That's lovely. I suppose marriage changes a man."
Scarlett leaned forward slightly. "Or maybe it reveals the right version of him. The one who feels safe enough to be seen."
That landed. Catherine blinked, just once, her practiced smile tightening.
"I imagine he needs that. He used to carry a lot... privately."
Scarlett nodded, voice soft but sure. "He still does. But he doesn't carry it alone anymore."
Catherine straightened, a flicker of something unspoken passing through her expression. Jealousy. Regret. A challenge, buried under diplomacy.
"Of course," she said, sliding the proposal back across the table. "Business first."
Scarlett took the folder, her tone like velvet over steel. "Always."
That afternoon, the executive lounge was quiet. Ethan sat alone, unwinding tension he couldn't place.
Catherine entered, her presence as deliberate as her heels were silent.
"No assistant?" she asked lightly, settling into the seat opposite him.
"I prefer quiet."
She smiled. "Still the same. Always needing silence to think."
He didn't respond, eyes fixed on the skyline
"I spoke with your wife today," she said, sitting across from him.
"Catherine—"
"She's impressive. But does she really know you?"
"She seems... steady. Polished." A pause. "But not your usual type."
His jaw tensed. "You don't know my type anymore."
Catherine laughed softly. "You've built walls again, Ethan. Like after your father died. Playing roles. Dutiful husband. CEO. But who are you under all that?"
He met her eyes, sharp. "You lost the right to ask."
She reached for his hand.
He didn't move.
"Every success feels empty without you," she said.
He looked down at their almost-touching hands.
Then pulled away.
"It doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?"
His silence spoke volumes.
He stood. "Whatever we had, it's gone. I've moved on. You should too."
Catherine's lips parted, but no words came. For a second, something faltered in her expression. Then she recovered. "I just wonder if you're happy. Truly. Or if you're simply... settled."
Ethan met her gaze now, eyes steady. " I don't owe it explanations."
Catherine leaned back, fingers drumming against her
"That's not a long answer."
"I don't need one."
She studied him for a moment, something sharper creeping into her tone. "And what about us? Do you ever think about it—about me?"
Ethan stood abruptly, collecting his folder. "Not the way you want me to."
Catherine rose too, slower. "You used to say I was unforgettable."
"And you used to say you'd never leave."
That hit. She inhaled, quietly. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
"I've heard that before."
Her voice dropped. "Do you feel anything? Even after many years?".
He didn't flinch. But before Ethan responds the door opens suddenly.