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No. It’s only my stupid imagination that I can never manage to control. There’s no way in hell it’s him.
That would be just tragic.
And cruel.
And every negative word in the dictionary.
Chasing that ominous thought away, I push the door open and freeze.
My heart drops to the base of my stomach and I cease breathing when my gaze meets those blue eyes that stole from the sun, sky, and the stars.
It is him.
The man who ruined my life as much as I ruined his.
Daniel Sterling.
2
NICOLE
This is a trick of my mind.
A cruel twist of my imagination.
A nightmare.
Yes. That’s all this could be about. A nightmare. If I wake up now, it’ll all be over.
If I wake up now, I’ll be drenched in sweat and have tears in my eyes, but it’ll be an illusion.
I’m not actually facing Daniel after eleven years of running away and trying to erase everything about him from my memory.
So I blink once, twice, but he’s still crystal clear in front of me. Like a hurricane that’s growing in intensity with the mere purpose of hitting me.
Breaking me to pieces.
Tearing me apart.
His presence is no different than being crushed over and left to perish. Not only is it imposing, but it also tugs on strings I thought I cut off a long time ago.
Strings that are currently vibrating inside me for the mere fact that I’m right in front of him again.
The last time I saw him, we were only eighteen, but he’s older now, more masculine. All man.
His jaw has squared and his hair that used to fall haphazardly all over his forehead is styled with subtle elegance. It’s become darker, too, as if he made it his mission to kill any light strands that streaked it.
The way he sits behind his desk is laced with nonchalance, but it’s not lazy—more like commanding. It’s like he’s a powerful king who expects everyone in the court to bend to his royal decree.
He leans over, places his elbows on the table, and interlinks his fingers at his chin. It’s a habit he used to do whenever he was deep in thought or angry. I’m not sure which feeling is more prominent right now, because his face is a blank slate.
His eyes, that I used to predict his mood through, are expressionless, muted, almost as if someone stole the stars from within them and blocked the sun. The only thing that remains is a bottomless blue, like a starless, moonless night.
And they’re zeroed in on me with a cool that chills me to my bones. Maybe cool isn’t the right word. There’s a coldness in there, an icy quality that’s meant to freeze me to death.
He used to have the type of beauty that brought me peace and calm. Now, it’s savage, unrestrained, and with every intention to hurt.
I’m not fooled by the way he looks. By how he wears his tailored gray suit like a supermodel or how he sits majestically like some lord. I’m not fooled by his unperturbed expression or seemingly calm façade. Because it’s just that.
