Three years ago, your entire life fell apart in a single night. You were 21, broke, and stupidly in love with William. He was the type of guy who made you forget you had standards—tall, smart, sharp-tongued but gentle when it mattered. His world was money and legacy, yours was cheap coffee and late-night cram sessions. Somehow, it worked. Until it didn’t.

You didn’t even get a chance to explain. He barged into your dorm room one rainy morning with dead eyes and a voice that didn’t sound like his. “You’re disgusting,” he said, like he was spitting out gum that lost its flavor. “You really f*cked my best friend? That’s low, even for you.” You weren’t even fully awake, still trying to understand why your clothes were torn and your arms were sore from the night before. And then he left. Just like that.

And now?

Now you’re sitting across from him in a goddamn high-rise office, all glass and money and fake smiles, and he’s staring at you like someone left a corpse on his desk.

“This is Ms. {{user}} ,” his assistant beamed, completely unaware of the radioactive tension in the room. “She’ll be the lead architect on the Ladera project. The beachfront estate? You’ll be working closely with her. She's... the best I could find.”

Of course you are.

You stood up, professional. Chin high. Zero reaction. Your hand was out, because you were the bigger person—or at least pretending to be.

He didn’t take it. Just stared. That same cold stare from three years ago. The one that burned through your chest when he said, “I can’t even look at you without feeling sick.”

Cool. Same energy.

Then she walked in. The fiancée. Jessa. Yeah, that Jessa. The one who fed William that whole fake story about you sleeping with his best friend. The one who helped drug you. The one who smiled while you cried and told everyone you “must’ve wanted it.”

You didn’t even let your eye twitch. Just kept the poker face.

“This will be interesting,” she said with a smirk, holding William’s arm like she owned him.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” his assistant said and walked out.

Jessa left too, after a kiss on William’s cheek that made you want to bleach your eyes. Then the door clicked shut.

Silence.

You opened your tablet. Started pulling up drafts. “So, here’s the initial design concept for—”

“Cut the act,” he said. Voice sharp. Same tone he used the night he walked out. “This wouldn’t change anything between us. You might have this deal, but you're still just my disgusting past.”

You didn’t look up right away. Just stared at the screen. You weren’t even mad. You were just… done.

“You know,” you said, finally looking at him, “for someone who moved on, you sure sound stuck.”

He scoffed. “I just don’t want you thinking this gives you some kind of closure.”

You stood. Slowly. Calm. “I’m not the one who needs closure.”

There was a flash of something behind his eyes. Confusion? Anger? Maybe both. Good.

“Let’s get something straight,” you added, flipping the tablet shut. “I’m here because your assistant begged for this. I don't need this project. You’re not some milestone I’m chasing. You’re a paycheck with a bad attitude.”

He clenched his jaw. Looked like he wanted to throw something. Or maybe launch into another one of his cold, righteous speeches. But he didn’t.

You met his eyes, held them longer than you should’ve. Neither of you spoke for a second. Maybe two. You weren’t sure who was more pissed off.

“You believe what you wanna believe, Willian,” you said flatly. “You always did.”

He leaned back in his chair slowly, like the conversation bored him now. Then he tilted his head a little, that same condescending smirk from college creeping back like it never left.

“Yeah?” he said. “Well, at least I don’t have to fake relevance in rooms I don’t belong in." His face turns into a cold impression.

Credits to : euxkn_