Genevieve's POV

Three years had passed since the painful chapter of my life when everything fell apart. As the CEO of a successful company, I immersed myself in work, dedicating my time to sealing deals and managing the business. My secretary informed me of an upcoming meeting with a partner, which I scheduled for the next day, making it clear that I had no patience for arrogant individuals later in the day.

Melissa, my assistant, prepared to leave for the day, and I granted her permission with a nod. She flashed a grateful smile before exiting my office. Closing my laptop, I glanced at the clock and realized it was already 5 in the afternoon. Taking a moment to admire the breathtaking view of New York City from my window, I leaned against the glass, watching the twinkling lights of the city's nightlife. The bustling crowd below reminded me that I was not alone in striving for success, while the few taller buildings stood as a reminder of the heights I still aimed to reach.

Three years ago, I made the agonizing decision to walk away from the love of my life, enduring unimaginable pain. Wesley had sent the divorce papers to my late mother's house, severing our connection with venomous words and his signature—a cruel testament to my insignificance in his eyes. I had desperately tried to reach out, hoping to explain that I hadn't betrayed him, concocting plans to prove my innocence. Yet, my calls were redirected to his secretary or sent straight to voicemail. In one last attempt, I returned to our shared home, only to find an empty house stripped of any remnants of our life together—no cars, no photographs, and no memories. It was as if I had been completely erased from his existence. Nevertheless, when I signed and returned the divorce papers, I took back my name and erased any trace of my existence in his life.

They say, "It takes a strong heart to love, but an even stronger heart to continue loving after being hurt." But I disagree. It takes a strong heart to love, but an even stronger mind to persevere after being abandoned. Though Wesley left me with nothing, I held onto my education, using it as a foundation to rebuild my life. I found employment, burying myself at work, and once I had enough resources, I purchased my own house and started my own business, which flourished. Now, I stand as the CEO of one of America's leading companies.

With time, I began to move on from Wesley. I ceased searching for him in crowded rooms, I stopped reaching across the bed to find his warmth in the mornings, and I abandoned the habit of comparing other men to him. However, the pain still lingered. He had been the only man I had loved so deeply, and for that, I would forever hold a bitter resentment toward him. Despite my attempts to forgive him, I couldn't. We had spent three years together, sharing trust and vulnerability, only for him to accuse me of infidelity. That wound would never fully heal.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, willing myself to let go of the bitterness and erase those three years from my mind. When the rumble of thunder reached my ears, signaling an approaching storm, I sighed and grabbed my laptop, slipping it into my purse. It was time to leave the office. Malachi, my bodyguard, stood by the elevator, ready to accompany me home. Some might consider it excessive to have a bodyguard, but past experiences had taught me that jealousy could drive people to do unthinkable things, especially given the wealth I had accumulated. I had risen from a background of poverty. My parents have been homeless during a significant portion of my childhood. Through hard work and perseverance, I earned scholarships that propelled me toward success.

As Malachi and I stepped into the elevator, I reflected on the importance of working diligently for what one desires, emphasizing that cheating in life was not a viable option.

"How was your day, Malachi?" I asked, breaking the silence that enveloped us.

"Just the usual, Ms. Chadwick," he replied, glancing back at me.

"Malachi, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Natasha?" I said, with a light tone.

"Excuse me, Natasha," he responded in his deep, husky voice.

As my business career progressed, I knew that at some point, I would have to face Wesley. That's why I changed my name, making it harder for him to track me down. Additionally, by assuming a different identity, I hoped to ensure that any business interactions would be devoid of personal emotions. I just had to make sure I never encountered him in person.

"Mhm," I murmured, a slight grin playing on my lips as I continued to gaze at Malachi. Standing at around 6'3", he had neatly slicked back dark brown hair and honey-colored eyes that I often found myself envying. A light stubble adorned his jawline, accentuating his handsome features. Like every other day, he wore a sleek black suit that perfectly hugged his frame, paired with a crisp button-down shirt. His appearance was undeniably captivating.

Although it pained me to admit it, I found myself incredibly sexually frustrated, and Malachi seemed like a possible solution to that predicament. The attraction between us was evident, but given my lack of trust in anyone romantically, I could only see him as a friend with benefits. Since Wesley, it seemed impossible for me to view anyone through a romantic lens.

The elevator doors opened, and both of us stepped out, with Malachi slightly behind me. What caught me off guard was his hand gently resting on my back. A mischievous smile formed on my face, and I decided to play along. He guided me out of the building, opening the door to the sleek black SUV he always used to take me home.

Placing my hand on his shoulder, I let it trail down to his arm as I settled into the back seat. I noticed his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, a clear sign of his nervousness. Internally, I relished in the power of making a man like him feel that way.

"To the house, Ms. - Natasha," he said, clearing his throat.

"Yes, please," I replied, unlocking my phone, aware of his eyes lingering on me through the rearview mirror. We were engaged in a dangerous teasing game, both inching closer to one another until one of us would eventually give in to the mounting tension.

As the air thickened with anticipation during the drive, a sense of relief washed over me when the car finally came to a halt in front of my house. Gracefully, I emerged from the vehicle, eager to breathe in the freedom from the charged atmosphere inside.

I walked toward my private elevator, knowing that Malachi would not be far behind, as he usually accompanied me to the elevator each evening. I swiped my card to unlock it, and as the two metal doors slid open, he slipped his arm between them to prevent them from closing on me. A seductive smile played on my lips as I awaited his words.

But to my disappointment, he broke our gaze and cleared his throat. "I will see you tomorrow, Natasha," he said, his voice slightly faltering.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Malachi," I replied, offering him a small smile.

Wesley's POV

"Sir?" My secretary cautiously asked, peering into my office.

"What?" I grumbled, not in the mood to engage with another human being.

"You have to travel to New York today for the investors meeting. I've scheduled your flight for 8 tonight," she informed me.

"Fuck, fine," I muttered, dreading the thought of leaving LA.

"Just a heads up, the owner of—" She began, stepping into my office.

"I don't give a single fuck who it is. The deal will bring us more money. Now get the fuck out of my office," I snapped at her, my gaze still fixed on my laptop.

"Y-yes, sir," she stumbled over her words, retreating from my office.

Running my hand down my face in frustration, I grappled with the chaos that seemed to consume my life. When I had someone so perfect, I managed to ruin it. The only light and beauty I had been blessed with, I destroyed it.

When my former secretary, who had an unhealthy obsession with me, showed me pictures of Genevieve with another man, I believed her and divorced Genevieve. A year later, my old best friend Declan, who despised me for what I had said and done to Genevieve, investigated further and discovered that the pictures were fake—Genevieve never cheated. Even when I believed those pictures were real, I felt an emptiness without her. I delved into a promiscuous lifestyle, hoping to fill the gaping void in my chest, but nothing ever sufficed. Woman after woman, no matter how hard I tried to replace Genevieve, I failed. They were all pale imitations compared to her; our feelings for each other were genuine, while everything else felt counterfeit. Genevieve was real.

Upon learning the truth, I ceased my promiscuity and devoted all my time to searching for her. She was the only person who accepted me and helped me become a better person, and yet, I had pushed her away. I yearned to turn back time and erase everything I had said that night, but that was impossible. All I could do was find her and apologize.

Every aspect of her haunted me—the sensation of her blonde hair between my fingers, the memory of her captivating green eyes when I closed my own, her smile that could halt the world, and her breathtaking body. But more than the physical longing, it was the emotional connection I missed the most. She brought light and meaning to my life, even though I resisted admitting it. No one else could make me feel as genuinely happy as she did.

Every day, I hated myself for what I had done to her. "Wesley," someone called, entering my office.

"What?" I huffed, looking up from my laptop.

It was my private investigator, whom I had hired to find Genevieve, but he had no folder in his hands. 'Fuck,' I thought to myself.

"I don't have any information on her, sir," he said hesitantly.

"Get the fuck out. You're fired," I retorted, throwing my pens across the room in anger. The man hastily retreated, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

He had one fucking job—to find Genevieve—and he couldn't even accomplish that. Pathetic.

I grabbed the whiskey glass next to my laptop and hurled it across the room, watching as it shattered upon impact. My heart clenched with a mix of emotions and thoughts swirling in my head. It had been three long years, and I still hadn't found her, hadn't explained what had truly happened.

For three years, she believed that I despised her, that I meant every hurtful word I had said. I knew that with each passing day, she might start believing those awful things or worse, move on. Both possibilities made me sick to my stomach. Every day I'm not with her is another day she can use to forget about me.

She signed the divorce papers, returned the rings, and disappeared. She no longer carries my last name, my promises, or my love. She has nothing to remind her of me. Yet, every waking moment, my mind is consumed by her thoughts. I worry about her, regret everything I did, and know that she likely harbors nothing but hate for me.

So many people tell me that if I truly love something, I must let it go. But I am weak. I can not live without her, and these past three years have only intensified that realization. Life holds no joy for me; the word "home" has lost its meaning without her, and the phrase "I love you" has no purpose unless it is spoken to her.

"Sir?" My secretary timidly called from the doorway of my office.

"For heaven's sake, what?" I screamed in frustration, my anger misdirected.

"You have to leave for the airport now," she trembled.

"Fine, now leave me," I demanded, dismissing her. She nodded, hastily closing the door behind her.

I walked over to the window in my office, desperately scanning the city below, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, her golden locks bouncing as she walked. But alas, there was no sign of her. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, overcome with frustration.

Stepping away from the window, I grabbed my briefcase and made my way out of the office, glaring at my secretary, who appeared frightened beyond measure.

"Let's get this pointless shit over with," I muttered, rolling my eyes at her evident nervousness.

As I thought about the upcoming trip, I couldn't shake the feeling that it would be a futile endeavor. "This trip is going to be a waste of my time," I mused to myself, already resigned to the belief that finding her would be an impossible task.

Genevieve's POV

I woke up to the blaring sound of my alarm and the sun seeping through the curtains, casting its light upon my eyes. Groaning in frustration, I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed. Despite the strong temptation to stay and sleep, I had an important meeting with the investors today.

After a few more minutes of laying down, I finally mustered the willpower to get up and began preparing for the day. I turned on the shower, hoping that the cascading water would wash away my worries. Closing my eyes, I allowed the hot water to embrace my skin, but my mind involuntarily drifted back to a memory that was now tainted.

Flashback...

Someone had been aggressively knocking on the door for several seconds, and I called out, expecting it to be Wesley. I opened the door, only to feel my hands trembling and my eyes widening in horror. Standing before me was not Wesley, but the man I had feared my entire life—my step-father.

"Miss me, you little whore," he spat before forcefully entering my apartment.

Frozen in fear, I couldn't move, uncertain of his intentions. "W-what are you doing here?" I stammered, my voice trembling as I slowly turned to face him.

"I'm here for you, of course," he said, smirking as I shuddered in terror.

I watched as he approached me with purposeful strides, his hand beginning to rise. Instinctively, my hand went up to shield my face as I tightly closed my eyes. The sound of the slap reverberated through the room, and a few moments later, I felt the searing pain on my cheek where his hand had struck.

"P-please, stop," I begged, avoiding his gaze and focusing on the ground beneath me.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" He snarled, grabbing my hair with one hand and lifting my frail body off the ground, his other hand wrapped around my neck.

With all the strength I could muster, I shook my head, still gasping for air as his grip constricted. I struggled to breathe, my heart pounding in my ears, and my hands continued to tremble violently. Darkness began to cloud my vision, and just as I felt myself on the verge of losing consciousness, he released his grip, allowing me to fall to the ground, gasping for precious air.

Looking up at him in terror, all I saw was his smirk, his eyes intently observing my every move. "Don't ever think you can escape me. I will always follow you," he promised, leaning down over me before delivering a harsh kick to my stomach.

I cried out in pain as I watched him leave my apartment. Lying on the floor, I eventually mustered the strength to crawl to the bathroom and step into the shower. I turned on the water, attempting to wash away the memory of his touch, but all I felt was numbness, a detachment from everything.

As the water turned cold and my teeth began to chatter, I remained oblivious, lost in my own world. After a while, I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around me, and I looked up to meet the gaze of those magnificent grey eyes. My body relaxed under his touch as he carried me out of the shower and gently placed me on the bed.

End of Flashback...

That was the moment I let my walls come crashing down, and I came to the realization that I loved him. My mistake. I sighed and turned off the water, needing to clear his face and memories from my mind. Stepping out of the shower, I dried my body with the white towel hanging next to the shower door. Wrapping the small towel around my body, I walked over to the bathroom counter. I picked up my new hair dryer and began drying my hair. Once it was dry, I reached for a curling iron and created loose curls.

Applying some light makeup, including smokey eyeshadow, mascara, and a nude-reddish lipstick, I admired my handiwork with a smile. Stepping out of the bathroom, I entered my walk-in closet, greeted by my collection of clothes, purses, shoes, and jewelry. Being the CEO of a major company not only had its perks but also paid very well. While I usually refrained from boasting about my wealth, I could confidently say that I was a billionaire.