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.

Yet, despite my success, I couldn't help but scrunch my nose when reflecting on my journey. Even with my tremendous achievements, it took immense effort to get here, hindered by the pervasive sexism in society. I had lost many deals and clients simply because I was a woman running the company. They often claimed that a woman couldn't handle a man's job and that emotions disqualified me from running a business.

Over the years since my divorce from Wesley, I had toughened up. Having someone distrust you was different from facing disbelief and unequal opportunities simply because I lacked a certain anatomy. But I had persevered, and I was now successful and content... somewhat.

I chose a white blouse from one of the hangers, along with a black skirt and a belt. Changing out of my towel and into the outfit, I admired myself in the mirror. Wesley had always told me not to go to the gym because I was perfect the way I was, but in the past years, I had committed to daily workouts, and I was proud of my progress. Not only did I have a slightly toned stomach, but my posture had improved, and I had developed the ability to defend myself if needed.

Stepping away from the mirror, I grabbed my purse and made my way downstairs, where Malachi was waiting. "Hello, Ms. Car- I mean Natasha," he said, correcting himself.

"Hello, Malachi. I think today I'll be taking the Porsche, so you can just follow me," I replied, opening a cabinet where the keys to all my cars were kept. I grabbed the keys to my black matte Porsche 918.

"Whatever you need," he said, holding the elevator door open for me.

I gave him a smile as I walked into the elevator and descended down to my garage, where all five of my prized vehicles were kept. Unlocking the Porsche, I got in and turned the keys, listening to the engine purr to life. Music to my ears. Opening the garage door, I drove out onto the busy streets, with Malachi in his SUV not far behind me.

I drove to my building and parked right outside, taking a moment to admire the towering glass structure. I then walked into the white, modern reception area. Making my way to the private elevator reserved for my use, I noticed everyone walking within three feet of me respectfully stepping aside. I grinned, acknowledging the level of respect they had for me.

Stepping into the elevator with Malachi right next to me, we rode it all the way up to the top floor. The doors opened, and I stepped out, heading straight to my office. It was located at the end of the hallway, with my secretary's office on the left and conference rooms lining the right side.

"Boss, they are waiting for you in the conference room," she said, standing up.

I frowned, glancing at my watch—it was 9:47 AM. "Who is here?" I asked, curious as to who had arrived before the scheduled 10 AM meeting.

"One of the investors and his assistant," she replied, motioning towards Conference Room 1.

"Okay, thank you," I said, making my way into the conference room.

"I apologize for keeping you wa—" I began, but my words trailed off as I laid my eyes on the two individuals in the room, most importantly the person who had shattered my heart.

"Mr. Adamson."