Chapter 3

The boardroom felt like a pressure cooker as I arranged my presentation materials on the glossy table. Two weeks had passed since discovering Ethan was my boss, and we'd maintained a frigid professionalism that fooled everyone but ourselves. Every meeting was a battlefield of unspoken history, every email exchange a minefield of formal language that felt foreign between us.

Today's presentation to the board would determine the direction of NovaTech's entire marketing strategy for the next fiscal year. I'd spent countless nights perfecting it, not just for my career, but to prove something I shouldn't need to prove—that I deserved to be here, regardless of our past.

"Ms. Chen will present our proposed rebranding initiative," Ethan announced, his voice carrying that practiced CEO tone that revealed nothing of the man who once whispered promises against my skin in the darkness.

I rose, smoothing my pencil skirt with steady hands. "Thank you, Mr. Morrison."

The formality between us was another wall, another protection. I launched into my presentation, my voice growing stronger with each slide. This was my territory, the realm where Isabella Chen excelled. I outlined the market research, the demographic shifts, the potential for growth in untapped sectors. Numbers and strategies flowed from me with natural confidence.

"The data suggests a 27% increase in market penetration if we implement this approach by Q3," I explained, gesturing to the projection behind me. "Our competitors are still focused on traditional channels, giving us a six-month advantage window."

I caught Ethan watching me with an intensity that momentarily threw me off rhythm. Not the cool assessment of a CEO evaluating an employee, but something deeper—a flash of the way he used to look at me when I spoke passionately about something. Pride. Admiration. Perhaps even longing.

The moment passed as quickly as it had appeared. I continued, addressing questions from board members with precise, thoughtful responses. When I concluded, the room filled with approving murmurs.

"Impressive work, Ms. Chen," said the CFO, nodding appreciatively.

I glanced at Ethan, seeking his reaction. He reached for his water glass, and that's when I saw it—a slight tremor in his hand as he lifted the glass to his lips. The trembling was subtle, almost imperceptible, but my eyes caught it immediately. His fingers tightened around the glass as if trying to still the movement through sheer will.

Something cold and uneasy settled in my stomach. I'd never known Ethan to have shaky hands. He'd always been steady, whether sketching designs for our dream house or holding my face between his palms.

His eyes met mine over the rim of the glass, and I saw a flash of something I couldn't name—vulnerability, perhaps, or fear—before his mask slipped back into place.

"Thank you, Ms. Chen," he said, his voice betraying nothing of the momentary weakness I'd witnessed. "The board will consider your recommendations."

The meeting adjourned, and I gathered my materials, my mind replaying that tremor. Was it stress? Too much caffeine? Or something else entirely?

Later that afternoon, I was heading back to my office with a fresh coffee when I heard Ethan's voice from around the corner. I slowed my pace instinctively, not intending to eavesdrop but unable to make my presence known.

"Yes, Victoria, I understand the dinner is important," he was saying, his voice tight with controlled frustration. "But you need to stop questioning my business decisions. Isabella Chen is brilliant at what she does. Her presentation today proved exactly why I approved her hire."

My breath caught. He was defending me? To Victoria?

"Her past relationship with me is irrelevant," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "She's a professional, and she's exactly what this company needs right now."

I should have walked away. Instead, I remained frozen, heart pounding as I absorbed his words.

"I'll see you tonight," he finished, his tone softening slightly. "Yes, I remembered your father's—"

He rounded the corner and stopped abruptly when he saw me. Our eyes locked, and I knew he realized I'd heard everything. In that suspended moment, something raw and unguarded passed between us.

Then, like a switch being flipped, his expression hardened into the cool, detached CEO I'd come to know these past weeks.

"Ms. Chen," he nodded curtly. "Good work today."

"Thank you, Mr. Morrison," I replied, matching his formality.

He walked past me, his shoulder nearly brushing mine, leaving me with the lingering echo of his words to Victoria and the memory of his trembling hand—two puzzle pieces that didn't fit into the picture of Ethan I thought I knew.