The heavy glass doors of Vandeleur Enterprises opened with a soft hiss, ushering you into the sleek, towering office space. Everything screamed of Vincent’s taste—precise, calculated, mercilessly elegant.

You followed the assistant into the boardroom on the top floor, heart pounding against your ribs as you clutched your portfolio. You knew this moment would come eventually. You just didn’t think it would feel like this.

The doors opened.

Vincent Vandeleur stood there, hands in his pockets, his tailored black suit fitting like a second skin. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes flicking toward you briefly before he turned away—cold, detached, as if you were just another name on his endless list of employees.

“Miss {{user}},” his voice was low, smooth, and distant. “You’re early.”

You forced a polite smile, bowing your head slightly. “I thought it would be best to arrive ahead of time.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, his long strides carried him past the conference table to the corner of the room—towards a grand piano placed near the window. Without a word, he sat, his fingers brushing the keys with the same fluid grace you remembered all too well.

The first notes echoed through the vast office—soft, melancholic, haunting. You froze.

Flashbacks flooded your mind—warm summer nights, his laughter mingling with the gentle melody, the way his eyes softened only for you when he played.

You blinked quickly, your chest tightening as the memory tangled with the present. Now, there was no warmth in his gaze. No softness in his touch. Only the cold perfection of a man who had built walls higher than any skyscraper.

And yet… your heart whispered the same truth it had all those years ago.

You still loved him.