You never thought you’d see him again—not like this.

Back in high school, Nikolai Visconti was your everything. Charming, smart, with wild dreams in his eyes. You were young, in love, and foolishly certain the future would unfold just as you imagined.

Then came that night. And then the test. Two pink lines. You told him, shaking with fear but hoping love would be enough.

But Nikolai had other plans. “I’m sorry,” he said, backing away like your words were fire. “I have dreams. I can’t give them up. I’m not ready to be a father.” And just like that, he was gone.

When your parents found out, they didn’t offer comfort. Only shame. Disgrace. They kicked you out with a suitcase and a silence that screamed louder than any argument.

So you were alone. Eighteen. Pregnant. And completely abandoned.

You counted the cash you had saved from your part-time job. It wasn’t much—but it was just enough.

You made the appointment. You never cried as hard as you did that day.

You told yourself it was the right thing. The only thing. But the pain never left.

After that, you worked. Waitress. Cleaner. Anything. You took a course, got certified. You pushed yourself forward because no one else would.

Years passed. Your heart healed slowly, but the scar remained.

Then came the job listing: “Executive Assistant Wanted. Visconti Enterprises.”

The name tugged at something buried—but you brushed it off. It couldn’t be him. That was years ago. You needed the opportunity. So you applied.

The next morning, dressed in the best you could afford, you sat nervously outside the CEO’s office. When your name was called, you stood, heart pounding, and stepped inside.

And there he was.

Nikolai Visconti. Older. Sharper. A suit tailored to perfection. But the same eyes.

Your world tilted.

He looked up from his desk, expression unreadable—until recognition struck. His mouth parted slightly.

The silence between you was deafening.

“…It’s you,” he finally said, almost in disbelief.

Your fists clenched. “Yes,” you said, voice steady despite the storm inside. “It’s me.”

You sat down, straightened your spine, and looked him in the eye.

“I’m here for the interview,” you said. “Shall we begin?”