Raina
If someone had told me this morning I'd be stepping into a billionaire's penthouse and facing my ex-fiancé like we were total strangers, I'd have worn better mascara.
"Langston Tower?" the cab driver asked. He was side-eyeing me through the rearview like I didn't really belong in this part of Manhattan.
"That's the one." I said as I adjusted my blazer. Really trying not to sweat through it. "Top floor."
He gave a low whistle. "What, are you redecorating God's living room?"
"Close," I muttered. "His son's."
I swiped my card and stepped out. My heels clicking against polished stone. Langston Tower loomed above me like a monument to capitalism and unresolved trauma. Not that I expected to see him again. The odds of Elias Langston hiring me—me, out of every interior designer in the city—were laughable.
Except here I was. Called by name. Requested specifically. No client name on the job order. Just an NDA, a "come prepared," and a date. This date.
Something buzzed under my skin as I entered the building.
The kind of buzz that says: You're either about to land the job of your dreams or run straight into a memory you've spent years trying to bury.
The doorman barely looked up. I was already expected.
The elevator shot me to the top floor so fast. No music. No mirrors. Just steel and silence and thirty seconds to second-guess every life choice I'd ever made.
I stepped out into what could only be described as an architectural flex. Open-concept, all glass, and not a single fingerprint on any surface.
"Ms. Morgan?" a woman in all black asked. Her voice was crisp, robotic.
"Yes."
"This way, please."
We passed through a hallway lined with modern art and minimalist lighting. I knew this kind of wealth. Not new money. Not loud. This was legacy money. Money that didn't need to prove itself.
The assistant opened a door. "He'll be with you shortly."
I walked into the living room. Trust me, I almost choked on my breath.
There were floor-to-ceiling windows. And cream and charcoal palettes. Every piece of furniture custom-built to whisper power. And then—
Footsteps.
Low voices from the hall.
And then, him.
Elias.
My ex-fiancé walked in like he owned the oxygen in the room. Which, technically, he probably did.
And he didn't even flinch.
Not when he looked at me. Not when our eyes met.
Just a polite, blank smile as he extended his hand.
"Raina Morgan," he said. "Right on time. I'm Elias Langston."
I didn't move a muscle at all. And I was sure I wasn't breathing for like a second.
"I know." I said carefully as I slipped my hand into his.
He didn't even react. No flicker of recognition. No apology. No guilt.
Just business.
He gave a one-sided smile, "They say you're the best."
Uhmm..
"Well, it depends on who 'they' are." I returned his one-sided smile.
And then, he laughed. That made my heart clutch.
He gestured toward the open kitchen. "Would you like something? Coffee, tea, water?"
"Do you serve answers?" I said before I could even stop myself.
He paused with an eyebrow twitching. "Unfortunately not. But we do have sparkling."
I forced a tight smile. "Sparkling is fine."
He poured drinks like we were two strangers who hadn't spent three years planning a future.
"So." He handed me the glass. "I saw your portfolio. Clean lines, bold detail. You're not afraid of texture. I like that."
I stared at him.
"Have we met before?" I asked.
It came out before I had time to think about how much I wanted to ask it.
Elias tilted his head. "Not that I recall. Should I?"
A beat of silence stretched between us.
"No," I said lightly. "I just have one of those faces."
He smiled again. "Apparently, so do I. Happens more than you'd think."
He started walking me through the space. It was stunning. Raw stone walls, panoramic city views, a rooftop garden that hadn't even been touched yet.
"We want to gut the guest wing," he said, pointing. "Turn it into a media lounge, maybe a private bar. Something less formal. But keep the bones of the architecture."
I nodded. Took notes. Made sketches I didn't look at twice.
And all the while I just kept stealing glances at him.
His jawline was way sharper. Hair shorter. There was a faint scar along his temple I didn't remember.
And his eyes, still that deep storm-grey didn't hesitate on me for even a second.
He didn't remember me.
Not just pretending not to remember. No nervous fidgeting. No flinching when I mentioned a design choice we once argued over in our first apartment. No awkward "how have you been?"
Just...nothing.
"You're quiet." he said as we stepped onto the rooftop patio.
"I process in silence." I replied.
He studied me for a second. "That explains your reputation."
I raised a brow. "My silence?"
"No," he said. "Your precision."
I just let the silence hang this time and I let him feel the weight of his own words.
"You are not like the other designers that I've worked with." he added.
"Oh? In what way?"
"You don't try to sell me an identity."
"I don't think you need help being sold," I said. "The building practically bows to your ego."
That made him laugh. A real laugh, warm and low.
I hated how much I remembered that laugh. How much I used to chase it.
After the walkthrough, I gathered my things and tried not to bolt.
"I'll send you some concepts tomorrow." I said.
"Great. I look forward to seeing your vision."
I nodded, almost made it to the elevator.
But curiosity snapped like a whip inside me.
I turned.
"You said you don't remember meeting me." I said.
Elias looked up from his phone. "Right."
"Are you sure?"
He shrugged. "If we have actually met before then, I'm sorry. I've had a few years of my life… blurred."
Blurred?
My stomach dropped.
"Blurred how?"
His expression shifted slightly. Still calm, but guarded.
"I was in an accident," he said. "Car crash. Couple years ago. Some memory issues. But nothing serious."
Nothing serious.
I smiled tightly and stepped into the elevator before he could see the question forming behind my eyes.
The doors closed.
And the silence roared in.
He didn't remember me because he couldn't.
That scar. The way he'd glanced off every shared moment without flinching. The blank way he said my name like it belonged to someone else.
I wasn't just a ghost from his past.
I was erased.
It had started to rain outside. I walked to the curb noteven bothering to pull up my umbrella.
A cab rolled to a stop, but I waved it off.
I needed to walk.
Needed to breathe.
Needed to remember that I wasn't young and heartbroken anymore.
But my hands were already shaking.
He didn't know who I was.
He had no idea what we were.
And tomorrow, I'd send him a pitch deck like we were nothing but colleagues.
I almost laughed. Because of course. Of course the first man to make me believe in forever would forget me like a hotel room key.
I dug my phone from my bag and texted Camille.
You're not going to believe who today's client was.
She responded instantly.
If you say Elias Langston, I will scream.
I didn't reply her immediately.
Because I was not even sure what to say.
All I knew was this..
If he forgot me once...
I'd make damn sure he remembered me now.