I spent forever stressin’ over whether he recognized me.
Five years of zero contact. And our whole thing only lasted six months to begin with.
Back then, I was desperate to cut ties with my real life. So I started goin’ by the fake name Ariella from day one.
Even the RV wasn’t in my name. The rental guy offered me his employee discount if I paid him directly and put the rental under his name. I said yes ’cause it was easy.
Then two years ago, I fell down the stairs, broke my nose, and needed a little reconstructive surgery. After that, even my old classmates barely knew who I was.
Basically, between my looks, my personality, my identity, and my name? I was a totally different person from the woman he’d known five years ago.
He almost definitely had no idea it was me.
And those few weird, vague things he’d said lately? If I thought about it logically, they made total sense in a strictly work context.
I was just overthinkin’ it.
And I was right.
For a while after that, everything was business as usual.
I handed Vincent my regular financial reports. He’d call me into his office to assign tasks or grill me on budget details.
Our dynamic stayed strictly between a Chairman and his Head of Finance.
All business-polite, professional, no extra stuff.
I finally got used to the new normal.
In meetings, I could push back on his data without things gettin’ weird. I had no problem laughin’ along when someone told a joke.
I thought I had it all figured out.
That short, intense trip we took? It was just a blip in reality-a hot, passionate spark that burned out fast. No trace left on either of us.
Today, I walked into my office and found a young woman waitin’ for me.
She was stunning-young, with long straight hair and a white dress.
She introduced herself politely. “Hi, Ms. Perrott. I’m Lilian Sanders. I’m gonna be interning here for a bit, so I wanted to say hi.”
I gave her a polite nod.
She smiled shyly and left.
Right away, two of my team members scrambled over to spill the tea.
“Katrina, you definitely don’t wanna get on her bad side,” one whispered. “We asked who referred her, and she said Mr. Hamden. Turns out, she’s an orphan his family adopted. She literally grew up in his house.”
“That makes sense why Mr. Hamden transferred to the Chicago office when he’s got all those companies in San Francisco,” the other piped up. “He obviously came here to pave the way for his little sister.”
“I’m so here for the adopted-siblings-fallin’-in-love vibe. Plus, they look so good together.”
“Right? I low-key want them to end up together…”
Their voices faded off.
I frowned down at my new jacket.
Somehow, I’d gotten a smudge of red dirt on the elbow.
I hesitated for a second, then pulled out my brushed-cotton sleeve protectors and slipped ’em on.
