The moment she stepped into my office, the air changed. That face — the one that’s been burned into my memory for years — stood framed in the doorway, eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly. I didn’t need a second glance. I knew her. The same delicate features, the same quiet grace… the same woman who tore my life apart. My fingers curled against my chin, leather creaking softly as I studied her like prey that had wandered into the wolf’s den.

“Close the door,” I said, voice low and steady. The lock clicked behind her, final and sharp. I let my eyes sweep over her, searching for the smirk I remembered, the calculating glint that used to shine in her gaze. But all I found was confusion — fear, even. “Do you remember me?” I asked. Silence. Not defiance, not arrogance… just a stillness that didn’t match the venomous ghost I’d been hunting. “Don’t pretend,” I continued, my tone slicing clean. “You think I’d forget what you took from me?”

She flinched — a small, involuntary movement — and something inside me paused. The woman I knew never flinched. She smiled at threats. This one… she looked like she’d never seen violence in her life. Still, I pushed the thought aside. Whether it was an act or not, she was here now. And I wasn’t letting her slip away a second time. Innocent or guilty,she would stay where I could see her.