Chapter 3

Three years passed.

Three years can change everything.

SURA had grown from a tiny, unknown studio into a nationally recognized name in original design.

We now had a flagship store in a prime downtown location, and my design team had expanded from three to over thirty members.

My net worth made that initial three million look like pocket change.

Meanwhile, by all accounts, HopeWell Tech was floundering.

Holden had ridden the VR wave, burning through capital with little to show for it but a trail of unfinished projects.

It was being kept afloat solely by constant cash infusions from his mother.

I caught fragments of this news in business journals and overheard whispers at industry mixers.

We lived in separate worlds, our paths never crossing.

I assumed it would stay that way.

Then, the call came.

A man identifying himself as the vice president of HopeWell Tech was on the line. He proposed a collaboration with SURA.

I was reviewing sketches for the new collection when I heard the name "HopeWell Tech" over the phone. My pen stilled on the paper.

"I'm sorry," I said, keeping my voice professionally neutral. "SURA isn't pursuing any crossover collaborations at this time."

"Ms. Rayner, before you give your final answer, please just hear me out," he said, his tone direct and earnest.

"We know SURA's unique positioning with young women. We are proposing a VR fashion experience around the kind of distinctive aesthetic SURA is known for. It would be an innovative venture. We would appreciate a meeting to show you how serious we are."

A VR fashion experience?

I had to admit, the concept had merit.

But the thought of dealing with Holden Wellesley again sent a strong wave of rejection through me.

"My schedule is completely booked for the foreseeable future," I said, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

He paused for a moment. I could almost sense his frustrated sigh through the phone line. "Ms. Rayner, to be perfectly candid, this partnership is critical for HopeWell Tech. Our CEO, Mr. Wellesley, is very eager to meet with you."

I tightened my grip on the phone and let out a short, dry laugh.

So that was the heart of it.

Holden Wellesley.

He wanted a meeting.

Of course, he had no idea it was me.

He probably envisioned witnessing my failure to fuel some fantasy of a triumphant return, or was prepared to flaunt his CEO title and demand to know if I regretted my choice.

How pathetically predictable.

"Since Mr. Wellesley is so insistent," I said, my voice carefully devoid of all emotion, "we can arrange a meeting."

I ended the call and gazed out at the city sprawling below my office windows. A cold smile touched my lips.

Three years, Holden.

You probably still pictured me as that greedy girl scrambling in the dirt.

Good. It was time for a reality check.

*****

I chose the venue: an exclusive private club upstairs from the SURA flagship store.

I had acquired the membership the previous year. The cost was significant.

I arrived early and ordered a pour-over coffee, waiting with an air of utter calm.

A full ten minutes past our agreed time, the door to the private room finally opened, and Holden stepped inside.

Three years had carved away the boyish softness from his face, leaving him leaner and sharper. The custom-tailored suit gave him the appearance of a successful executive, but it couldn't conceal the weariness in his eyes.

His step faltered as his eyes met mine.

His eyes held pure shock, then a searching, almost lost quality, and finally something that looked painfully like nostalgia.

I was wearing a sharp SURA ensemble, a silk blouse, and wide-leg trousers from the latest collection. My makeup was artfully applied and understated. The poised woman facing him was a stranger to the bare-faced girl he remembered.

"Susan?"

His voice was rough, the single word a tentative probe.

"Mr. Wellesley," I said, offering a polished, meaningless smile. "Please, have a seat."

The deliberate use of his formal title made his jaw tighten.

He dropped into the chair opposite me, his gaze boring into me as if he could strip away the years and see the woman he thought he knew.

"I had no idea... the founder of SURA was you," he said, his voice low, as if speaking to himself.

"It's a small world," I agreed neutrally, taking a slow sip of my coffee.

A heavy silence settled between us.

He seemed to be wrestling with a torrent of unspoken words.

I had zero interest in revisiting the past.

"Let's get down to business, Mr. Wellesley," I said, cutting through the silence.

I slid a prepared folder across the table. "This outlines SURA's brand metrics and our standard partnership terms. For the rights to use our designs in your project..." I raised five fingers. "...our licensing fee starts as a preliminary figure here."

His eyes dropped to the folder, then snapped back to mine, blazing with fresh, personal hurt.

"Susan, must it be like this?" The words burst from him, raw and strained. "Must everything come down to money with you? What about what we had?"

A cynical laugh almost escaped me.

Three years passed. He was still the same man.

"What did you expect, Mr. Wellesley?"

I settled back against the cushions, the picture of cool detachment. "We are two principals at a negotiation table. If we are not here to discuss terms, shall we reminisce about the past instead?"

"You sold the past for three million." He shot to his feet, his palms slamming down on the table as he leaned toward me. "Don't you dare reduce it to a line item in a deal!"

"My point exactly." I offered a slight, dismissive shrug. "No past. No feelings. Just business. So, Mr. Wellesley, are we negotiating, or shall I have my assistant see you out? My schedule is quite full."

My icy composure finally shattered his control.

"Susan!" he rasped, his eyes blazing.

"Do you have a heart? For three years, I've broken my back building that company. I did it to prove I didn't need my mother's money, to get to a place where I could win you back. But you're so cold. You're a complete stranger!"

I observed him, this man trapped in the tragic narrative he had constructed for himself.

I allowed the echo of his outburst to fade before I spoke. "You've built a fantasy, Holden. Let's be clear about reality.

"First, your startup wasn't funded by your business acumen. It was funded by your mother. You proved nothing.

"Second, I didn't leave you because you were poor. I left because you were an entitled man-child. I refused to build a future with someone who needed to ask his mother for an allowance.

"And the final, most important point, "I stood and walked around the table, looking down at him as he sat, utterly deflated.

"I have built a life of my own design. I am not a commodity to be reacquired. The more pressing question, Mr. Wellesley, is how long HopeWell Tech can survive without this deal."

Each word landed like a physical blow, striking directly at his insecurities.

The color drained from his face. He looked hollowed out, all the bluster and anger gone, leaving only a shell.

"How... how do you know..." he whispered, the unspoken confession clear in his shattered tone.

"There are no secrets in this industry," I said.

I returned to my seat, once again the composed executive. "Now, Mr. Wellesley. Shall we discuss the proposal?"