The memory between us.

Eliza’s POV

The photograph haunted her.

That night, sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the boy in the frame, his face overlapping with the one she’d carried in her locket all her life.

Alexander

It couldn’t be him.

And yet, it was.

The memories came in flashes: a hand tugging hers through a storm, the smell of smoke, the blinding sound of metal twisting. Then nothing. Just darkness and pain.

She’d been in an accident, but she didn’t know about the details; they were blurry and buried somewhere too deep to reach. A stranger, a kind woman named Martha, prayed for a child, so she found Eliza, who had been called Lisha before, changed her name, and failed to report the missing girl. Martha is dead now, and there's no one to tell the truth. Martha had found her on the roadside and taken her in. Eliza had woken in a hospital bed, her head bandaged, her name forgotten. The police never found her.

All she had was that small silver locket with two children smiling at the camera. She’d kept it close all her life, a piece of a story she couldn’t remember.

Now she knew why that photograph in Alexander’s study had felt like a knife to the heart.

She pressed the locket into her chest, whispering to the empty room, “Who are you to me?”

Alexander’s POV

The following week, Alexander traveled to New York for the launch of a project. Usually, travel meant clarity, a reprieve from the routines that tethered him. But this time, he couldn’t focus.

Every meeting blurred. Every conversation felt hollow.

He missed her.

He missed the way her voice softened the air, the quiet strength she carried through the halls, the way she somehow made his home feel less like a museum and more like a place that breathed.

It irritated him to admit it. He’d built a life free from attachment, yet he found himself glancing at his phone during meetings, wondering if she’d changed the flowers in the hallway again. Wondering if she still hummed when she worked.

And at night, in the sterile comfort of his hotel room, he thought of her eyes when she smiled, the faint tremor in her voice when she said Thank you.

He tried to tell himself it was just a case of loneliness. But loneliness had never felt this alive.

By the third night, he couldn’t stand it. He booked an early flight back. His staff would call it impulsive. He didn’t care.

He just needed to see her.

Eliza’s POV

The morning he returned, the house was quiet. She’d spent the last few days avoiding his study, pretending not to see the photograph that had shattered everything inside her.

But she couldn’t avoid him forever.

When the car pulled into the driveway, her pulse raced. She heard the low murmur of his voice through the open window, deep and familiar in a way that made her heart ache.

He entered the foyer, suitcase in hand. Their eyes met.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

“You’re back early,” she managed, her voice softer than she intended.

He nodded, watching her closely. “The meetings ended sooner than expected.”

A lie. She knew it. And so did he.

There was something different in his gaze — the composure she’d grown used to was gone, replaced by something raw, almost restless.

“I trust everything ran smoothly while I was away?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stepped closer. “You look tired.”

She swallowed. “Just long days.”

Eliza’s heart drummed so hard she was sure he could hear it. Alexander stood only a few feet away, his suitcase still by the door, his gaze locked on her like he’d forgotten the reason he came home.

Something charged filled the air, too quiet, too heavy. The kind of silence that trembles right before it breaks.

He studied her as if trying to memorize every small detail: the curl of her hair that had come loose, the faint nervous tremor of her hands, the rise and fall of her breath.

“Did you miss me, Eliza?”

The question startled her. He had never asked her anything so personal before.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “It’s not my place to.”

“But you did,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Didn’t you?”

She tried to look away, but his tone held her still. “You shouldn’t ask me that.”

“Then answer it anyway.”

Her throat tightened. “Yes,” she breathed, “I missed you.”

Alexander’s iron discipline, which controlled every part of his life, fractured in that moment. His eyes darkened, and his hand lifted almost hesitantly, brushing against her jaw. Her breath caught as his fingers slid behind her neck, the warmth of his touch making her knees weak.

“Eliza…”

Her name in his voice felt like a confession.

He tilted her chin up, his thumb tracing the edge of her lip. She should have pulled away, reminded herself of the distance between them, but her body betrayed her, leaning into the heat of him.

He took a small step forward, closing the gap. “Tell me to stop.”

She couldn’t. Every reason to run dissolved under the weight of his gaze.

When he finally kissed her, it was slow at first, testing and searching, but quickly deepened into something hungry and desperate. A low sound escaped him, the kind he hadn’t made in years, and it sent a shiver through her.

Her fingers clutched at his shirt, feeling the tension beneath it, the restraint, the need. He tasted like whiskey and exhaustion and something dangerously close to longing.

He pulled her closer, his arm sliding around her waist, pressing her against him. The kiss grew rougher, all the frustration and loneliness between them igniting into something that neither of them had words for.

She gasped when his lips left hers to find the curve of her throat. “Alexander…”

“Repeat it,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough, breath unsteady.

Her hands trembled as she whispered, “Alexander.”

It broke him.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, the kind of kiss that made time blur. Everything about it was wrong. She worked for him, and he was supposed to know better, but at that moment, neither cared.

When he finally tore himself away, both were breathing hard, their foreheads pressed together.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” she said, her voice shaking.

“I know,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across her lower lip again. “But I don’t regret it.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, uncertain. “You should.”

“Maybe,” he said quietly, “but I can’t.”

He stepped back slowly, as if afraid that if he stayed one more second, he’d lose every bit of control he had left.

“Eliza,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. “I came back because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every city, every meeting, every hour, I wanted to be here. With you.”

Her pulse quickened, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. The words tangled in her throat, caught between fear and desire.

He reached for his suitcase, his jaw tight, his voice low again. “Rest. You look like you haven’t slept.”

She nodded faintly, watching him walk past her toward the stairs, every step echoing through the house.

When he disappeared from sight, she pressed her fingers to her lips, still trembling.

Her heart was racing not just from what had happened, but from what it meant.

Because that kiss had felt like the beginning of something she didn’t know how to stop.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the heat of it all, a voice whispered that the truth she’d been avoiding the photograph, the locket, the memory of a boy she once knew—was not finished with her yet.

Alexander Drake had always been a man of logic. A man who solved problems, dissected them, controlled them. But now, logic failed him entirely.

Ever since he’d returned from his trip, his thoughts refused to stay on the spreadsheets and reports that once defined his world. They drifted instead to her. To Eliza.

To the way her lips had trembled beneath his when he kissed her.

It had been reckless, out of line, utterly against every rule he’d ever set for himself. But the memory of it haunted him, the softness, the hesitation, the way she’d looked at him right after, like she was standing on the edge of something she didn’t understand.

And neither did he.

Days later, he tried to convince himself that it was a mistake. But each time he saw her, the truth was evident in his chest like a wound that wouldn’t close. He was in love with her.

Deeply.

Dangerously.

And that terrified him.

He began to notice small things: her laughter with the kitchen staff, the way her hands lingered over the roses she arranged in the hallway, the slight furrow of her brow when she was lost in thought. It all fascinated him, consumed him.

He had never cared about anyone like this. Never wanted to.

Little did he know that it was the bond they had as kids that always drew him to her to the point that it became romantic.

Something about her presence felt too familiar, as if she belonged to a part of his life that he had forgotten. He thought it was just love, but it was more than that.

He told himself it was paranoia. But curiosity soon took over reason.

So one night, in his study, with a glass of scotch in hand and his tie loosened around his throat, he made the call.

“Find out everything you can about her,” he said.

The voice on the other end belonged to Celine Rowe, a private investigator known for her discreet methods and unconventional charm, an ex-lover.

“Name?” she asked.

“Eliza.” He hesitated. “No last name. She doesn’t talk much about her past.”

“Interesting,” Celine purred. “And what exactly are we looking for?”

“Her background. Where she came from. Anything.”

Celine chuckled softly. “Consider it done, Mr. Drake. And… perhaps next time you call, you could do it over dinner instead of business?”

He ignored that, though her tone was suggestive enough to make him tighten his jaw. “Just do the job, Ms. Rowe.”

But when she arrived at his office the following afternoon under the guise of a progress report, he realized ignoring her would not be that easy.

Celine was striking—sleek red hair, a body sculpted to attract attention, and eyes that studied him like prey. She crossed one long leg over the other, her lips painted a deep shade of crimson.

“Mr. Drake,” she greeted, her voice dripping with honey. “I’ve started looking into your… mystery woman.”

He gestured toward the chair. “Sit.”

“Oh, I’d rather stand,” she said with a teasing smile, walking closer to his desk. “It gives me a better view.”

Alexander looked up from his laptop. “Of what?”

“You.”

He exhaled slowly. “Ms. Rowe, I hired you for information, not commentary.”

She smirked. “And yet, you called me personally. Most men in your position send an assistant. Makes me wonder what she’s done to you—this Eliza.”

He didn’t answer. His silence only encouraged her.

“You know,” she continued, leaning forward just enough for the neckline of her blouse to dip, “there are easier ways to forget a woman who’s gotten under your skin.”

He lifted his gaze, his tone cold. “I’m not trying to forget her.”

Celine froze for a second, then smiled faintly, almost impressed. “Well then, that makes things far more complicated, doesn’t it?”

Before he could respond, there was a knock on the office door.

“Come in,” he said sharply.

The door opened—and Eliza stepped in, holding a small folder of documents. Her gaze flickered between them, landing briefly on Celine’s hand resting against his desk. Something unreadable passed over her expression before she composed herself.

“I brought the updated schedule, sir,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” Alexander replied, his voice softer now.

Celine turned slightly, her smile sharp as glass. “You must be Eliza.”

Eliza hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Alexander has told me so much about you,” Celine said sweetly, drawing out his name as though she owned it.

Eliza blinked, a flicker of confusion—and something like hurt crossing her face. “I see.”

Before she could leave, Alexander spoke. “That will be all, Eliza.”

She nodded quickly and left, her steps too steady to be casual.

Celine turned back to him, amused. “Oh, she’s adorable. I almost feel bad.”

He stood abruptly. “You’ll stick to your assignment, Ms. Rowe.”

Her smirk widened. “Of course. But tell me—what happens if what I find changes everything you think you know about her?”

He said nothing.

“Careful, Mr. Drake,” she murmured, moving toward the door. “Sometimes the past has claws.”

That night, Eliza barely slept.

She told herself it didn’t matter who that woman was, that she had no reason to feel… whatever it was she was feeling.

But the image of her tall, confident, beautiful lingering so close to him made something twist painfully inside her.

It wasn’t jealousy, she tried to convince herself. It was fear. Fear that the one person who made her feel seen might slip away before she even understood what he meant to her.

Her thoughts drifted to the locket she kept hidden in her drawer, the only piece of her past she remembered.

The next morning, Alexander found her in the hallway, rearranging a few books on the shelf.

“Eliza,” he said, his tone low.

She turned, startled. “Good morning, sir.”

He hesitated, studying her face. “About yesterday, that woman you sawshe’s just handling a few business matters for me.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely believe him. “Of course.”

“Eliza.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his.

“I didn’t like how she spoke to you.”

A pause. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you,” he said quietly.

The words hung between them, undeniable, dangerous, real.

Her breath caught. “You shouldn’t.”

“Maybe not,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice deep and certain. “But I do.”

And before she could respond, his hand lifted to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin like he was tracing the memory of something he’d lost long ago.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, almost to himself. “Even when I’m away. Especially when I’m away.”

Her heart thudded. “Alexander…”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Tell me to stop.”

She couldn’t.

When their lips met again, it wasn’t the hesitant kiss of before; it was deep, certain, filled with every restrained emotion they had both been denying.

But even as she melted against him, a shadow crept into her thoughts: Celine’s words, her sharp smile, and that unsettling feeling that the past Alexander was searching for might not stay buried much longer.

Because somewhere in the depths of her forgotten memories, the truth was waiting.

And when it surfaced, it would change everything.

Eliza felt Celine’s presence before she even saw her.

Some people entered a room quietly. Celine Hart entered with the confidence of a woman who had never heard the word no in her life.

Her perfume,the sharp, expensive kind,drifted through the hallway long before her heels clicked across the marble floors. The air thickened around her, as if the mansion itself stiffened when she walked inside.

Eliza was arranging fresh linens in the hallway closet when she heard their voices.

Celine’s first.

Smooth. Sharp.

Almost smug.

“I’m back, darling. Miss me?”

Alexander’s reply was clipped. Controlled.

“You’re early.”

Eliza froze.

Something ugly twisted inside her chest.

She didn’t want to listen—but she couldn’t make herself walk away either.

She moved quietly to the corner, staying out of sight.

Celine laughed, low and sultry. “Can’t a woman surprise her favorite man?”

Alexander’s sigh was audible. “You’re here for work, Celine. Don’t make this difficult.”

“Oh, Alexander.”

Her voice dripped with false pity.

“You’ve changed. Since she arrived.”

Eliza stiffened.

She knew exactly who “she” meant.

Alexander stood behind his desk, jaw tight.

He’d been trying to avoid this exact confrontation, but Celine was relentless.

She shut the study door slowly, locking it behind her without breaking eye contact.

“Celine,” he said sharply, “unlock the door.”

She smiled as she leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You didn’t mind locked doors last time.”

“That was a mistake,” he replied coldly.

“You used to be fun. Dangerous. Untouchable. Now you’re… soft.” Said celine.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “What did you find on Eliza?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. We’ll get to the little maid later.”

“Her name is Eliza,” he snapped.

That made Celine pause.

Her lips curved slowly. “Oh. So it’s like that now.”

“It’s professional,” he lied.

Celine laughed—sharp, mocking. “Alexander Drake, undone by a pair of big, soft brown eyes and dish soap?”

His jaw clenched. “Watch your mouth.”

She sauntered closer, placing her hands on the edge of his desk.

Her blouse dipped low, her perfume overwhelming.

“I could remind you what a real woman feels like,” she whispered. “We could forget this little delusion you’re entertaining.”

He stepped back.

“No.”

Her eyes flickered with irritation. “You’re choosing her?”

“I’m choosing boundaries.”

“You mean you’re choosing a maid. A stray.”

Alexander’s expression iced over. “Celine.”

“A nobody,” she pressed. “A girl who scrubs floors and looks at you like you’re God. No education. No background. No family. You have no idea where she came from, what she’s hiding”

“Enough,” he said, voice dangerously low.

But Celine had tasted blood.

“She’s beneath you, Alexander. And you don’t even realize it because you’re blinded by whatever pathetic attachment you think you have. She’s a pretty distraction. That’s all.”

Alexander stepped forward so fast she flinched.

“Don’t speak about her like that,” he growled.

The room went still.

Celine blinked—and a slow smile returned.

“Oh, Alexander,” she breathed, delighted. “You’re in so much trouble.”

Outside the study, Eliza’s heart was beating painfully.

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to breathe.

A nobody.

A stray.

A maid who didn’t belong here.

Celine’s words sliced deeper than she wanted to admit.

She tried to walk away but her feet wouldn’t move.

She wanted to leave—yet she needed to hear how Alexander responded.

Please defend me, she thought desperately.

Please… care.

“I hired you to investigate,” Alexander said, voice strained. “Not to insult the woman who works in my home.”

“Works in your home?” Celine smirked. “Darling, she’s working her way into your bed.”

Eliza’s face flushed with humiliation.

Alexander’s voice dropped to a lethal quiet.

“That’s enough.”

Celine circled his desk, closing the distance between them.

“You know what? Let’s forget about her for a moment,” she whispered, placing a hand on his chest.

He grabbed her wrist—not gently—and pushed her hand away.

She gasped. “Alexander”

“You will not touch me again.”

Something dark flashed across Celine’s face.

“Wow,” she breathed. “She really has you whipped.”

Alexander’s hands tightened at his sides.

“Give me the case file,” he said. “And leave.”

Celine laughed softly.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will make sure you never work in this industry again.”

Her smile faltered.

“A maid?” she hissed. “You’d throw your connections away for a maid?”

Alexander’s voice softened in a way that terrified her.

“She’s not just a maid.”

Eliza pressed her hand over her mouth.

Tears filled her eyes, but they weren’t from pain this time,

they were from something far more dangerous.

Hope.

Celine Explodes.

“You want her,” Celine spat. “You want that little fragile thing. That pathetic, trembling”

Alexander slammed his hands on the desk, making her jump.

“Say one more word about her,” he said, voice shaking with fury, “and I swear you will regret it.”

Celine stared at him, stunned.

Then her expression twisted into something venomous.

“I knew it,” she said softly. “You’re in love with her.”

Alexander didn’t deny it.

He didn’t have to.

His silence was louder than any confession.

Celine’s face burned red with humiliation.

“You ungrateful bastard,” she whispered. “You think she’s better than me? You think she’s worthy of you?”

“She’s worth more than you’ll ever understand,” he replied.

And that…

that destroyed Celine completely.

She lunged toward him, but Alexander stepped aside.

“Get. Out.”

“You’re weak,” she hissed. “She’s ruining you”

“Get out of my house,” he roared.

The entire mansion seemed to tremble with his voice.

Celine finally realized she had lost.

She grabbed her purse, sneering.

“You’ll regret this decision, Alexander.”

“Not as much as I’d regret keeping you around.”

She stormed out, heels cracking against the floor like gunshots.

When she threw open the study door—There stood Eliza.

Celine froze.

For a moment, the hallway filled with a thick, poisonous silence.

“So,” Celine purred bitterly. “The little maid was listening.”

Eliza lowered her gaze, biting back tears.

“You disgust me,” Celine hissed. “You think he cares about you? You think you can compete with”

“Celine.”

Alexander’s voice from behind her was ice.

“Leave. Now.”

Celine shot Eliza one last hateful look, then stormed down the hall and out of the mansion.

The echo of the door slamming rang through the silence.

Alexander Faces Eliza

Eliza remained frozen, eyes on the floor.

She heard him step behind her.

“Eliza,” he said softly. “I didn’t know you were”

“I wasn’t listening intentionally,” she whispered.

Her voice shook.

“I was just… passing by.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you heard.”

She blinked, surprised.

“I don’t want you to ever doubt your worth,” Alexander said quietly. “Or your place here.”

“My place?” she whispered.

He moved closer.

“Eliza… you matter to me more than I should admit.”

Her breath caught.

“I fired her because of how she spoke about you,” he said. “And because she crossed a line that should never be crossed.”

Silence stretched between them,heavy, charged, warm.

Eliza finally looked up.

“I’m not used to being defended,” she whispered.

“And I don’t know what to do with it.”

He stepped close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin.

“Then let me show you,” he murmured.

Her pulse skipped.

She took a small step back, overwhelmed.

“Alexander,” she whispered, “you shouldn’t say that.”

“Then why does it feel true every time I do?”

Her cheeks grew warm. “Please don’t—”

“I can’t help it,” he admitted, voice low. “I can’t stop… feeling you.”

Her breath trembled.

“But we can’t—” she began.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly. “And I will.”

She didn’t say a word.

She couldn’t.

He reached up slowly—giving her time to pull away—and brushed his fingers gently along her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered.

“Eliza,” he whispered, “you deserve someone who sees you. I see you.”

Her throat tightened. “And that scares me.”

He smiled faintly. “Me too.”

They stood there in the quiet hallway, both breathing hard, both trembling with emotions neither dared to name yet.

Alexander stepped back first, giving her space.

“Get some rest,” he said gently. “Today was too much for you.”

“For both of us,” she corrected softly.

His eyes softened.

“You’re right.”

He turned toward his study, pausing once more to look at her.

“Goodnight, Eliza.”

“Goodnight, Alexander.”