Chapter 11 Masks and Memories

Chapter 11 Masks and Memories
Alexander's POV

The meeting dragged on for another hour.

I participated when required—answered questions about my research, discussed market trends, nodded at the right moments. But my focus kept fracturing, pulled toward the woman sitting against the wall.

Elena.

She took notes with complete concentration, her fingers moving across the tablet screen with practiced efficiency. Every few minutes, she'd glance up at whoever was speaking, then return to her work. Professional. Detached.

Never once did she look at me.

Was it deliberate? Was she avoiding eye contact, or did she genuinely not recognize me?

Three years. People changed in three years. I'd filled out, cut my hair shorter, probably looked more severe than I had that night. But my face was the same. My voice was the same.

If she remembered anything, she'd know.

Unless she'd been too drunk to form clear memories.

Or unless that night meant so little she'd simply forgotten.

The thought twisted something in my chest.

"Alexander?"

I looked up. My father was watching me, expression expectant.

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"Your thoughts on the European expansion timeline?"

I hadn't been listening. "I'd need to review the full projections before committing to an opinion."

Diplomatic. Safe. My father nodded, accepting the non-answer.

Victoria caught my eye across the table. She knew I hadn't been paying attention. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I could read the message: Focus.

I tried.

But Elena shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, and my attention shattered again.

Stop, I told myself. You're being ridiculous.

But I couldn't help it. I'd spent three years wondering what happened to her, and now she was here, real and solid and completely unaware of my existence.

It was driving me insane.

At noon, my father finally called an end to the meeting.

"Excellent work, everyone. Victoria, Alexander—a word."

The executives filed out, already on their phones, already moving to the next thing. Elena stood, gathering her tablet and bag.

I watched her walk to the door.

She didn't look back.

"Alexander."

I turned. My father and Victoria were waiting.

"Welcome home," my father said, though his tone suggested this wasn't a welcome so much as an expectation met. "We weren't expecting you for another two weeks."

"I finished early."

"So I heard. Your thesis advisor spoke very highly of your work."

Of course he had. My father would have called to verify.

"Victoria will get you up to speed on current projects," he continued. "We'll need you operational by next week. There's a lot of ground to cover."

"I just got off a plane."

"And you have the rest of today to recover. Tomorrow, we get to work." He clapped me on the shoulder—the gesture of a CEO, not a father. "It's good to have you back."

He left before I could respond.

Victoria stayed behind, studying me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"When did you last sleep?"

"Plane from London. So... thirty hours ago?"

She sighed. "Go home. Shower. Sleep. I'll brief you tomorrow morning."

"Victoria—"

"That wasn't a suggestion."

I knew better than to argue. "Fine."

I moved toward the door, then paused. "Who was the woman taking notes?"

Victoria's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. "Elena Moreno. My assistant. Why?"

"Just....curious. She's new?"

"Five weeks. Very competent." Victoria tilted her head slightly. "Why do you ask?"

Because I can't stop thinking about her. Because three years ago she looked at me like I mattered, and now she doesn't even see me.

"No reason. Just wondering."

Victoria didn't look convinced. "Alexander."

"What?"

"Whatever you're thinking, don't."

"I'm not thinking anything."

"You're a terrible liar." She picked up her briefcase. "Elena works for me. She's off-limits."

"What? I didn't—"

"You heard me and I mean it. She's good at her job, and I don't need you complicating things." Her voice was firm. "Go home."

She left before I could defend myself.

I stood in the empty conference room, frustrated.

Victoria was wrong. I wasn't planning anything. I just... wanted to know.

If Elena remember me?

And if she did, why was she pretending she didn't?

I found her at her desk outside Victoria's office.

She was typing rapidly, focused on her screen. I approached slowly, studying her profile.

Same features. Same dark hair, though it was pulled back severely now, all professionalism. The reckless girl from that night had been replaced by this composed, careful woman.

But it was her. I was certain.

I stopped a few feet away, close enough to speak without being overheard.

She looked up.

For one moment, our eyes met.

I waited. Watched for any flicker of recognition, any sign that she knew who I was.

Nothing.

Her expression was polite, professional. "Can I help you with something?"

My chest tightened.

She didn't recognize me. She genuinely didn't know.

"No," I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "Just getting oriented. I've been away for a while."

"Welcome back, then." She returned to her typing, dismissing me.

I stood there stupidly for another moment, then forced myself to walk away.

The elevator couldn't come fast enough.

My apartment was exactly as I'd left it—sterile, expensive, empty. The cleaning service had kept it maintained, but it didn't feel like home. Nothing in my life felt like home.

I dropped my bag, pulled off my jacket, and headed for the shower.

The hot water helped. I stood under the spray, trying to make sense of everything.

Elena Moreno. Victoria's assistant. Working at Thorne Empire.

Of all the companies in the city, she'd ended up at mine.

Coincidence? Or had she known?

No. The surprise in the conference room—or lack thereof—had been genuine. She hadn't known I'd be there.

Which meant she really didn't recognize me.

I turned off the water, dried off, pulled on clean clothes. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't stop.

I grabbed my laptop, sat on the couch, opened it intending to check emails.

Instead, I found myself searching her name.

Elena Moreno. Not much came up—a LinkedIn profile listing her current position at Thorne Empire, previous work in retail and cleaning services. A college degree in business administration from a state university.

No social media. No photos. Nothing personal.

She was careful about her digital footprint. Or maybe just private.

I closed the laptop, frustrated.

What was I doing? Stalking my sister's assistant online like some kind of creep?

But I couldn't stop thinking about her.

That night. Three years ago.

I'd been celebrating finishing undergrad, surrounded by friends I didn't particularly like, feeling the weight of expectations crushing me. My father wanted me to go straight into the business. My mother wanted me to pursue graduate school. Everyone had opinions about my life except me.

And then she'd appeared.

Standing at my table with a bottle of champagne and a challenge in her eyes.

You keep staring at me. Do you like me, or what?

Bold. Reckless. Real.

I'd been too afraid to approach her before that moment. I'd seen her around campus—always alone, always working, always seeming like she carried the weight of the world. I'd wanted to talk to her but never had the courage.

And then she'd approached me, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

We'd talked. About nothing important. But it had felt important. She'd laughed. Listened when I talked. Looked at me like I was just... Alexander. Not the Thorne heir, not the disappointment, not the project.

Just me.

And then we'd ended up at some hotel room—or was it my place? The details were fuzzy. We'd been drunk, reckless, both of us running from something.

The next morning, she was gone.

I'd tried to find her. Asked mutual friends—no one knew her well. Checked graduation records—there were three Elena Morenos, and none of them matched. She'd vanished like she'd never existed.

Eventually, I'd given up. Told myself it was one night, one mistake, nothing more.

Flew to London. Buried myself in research. Tried to forget.

But I never did.

And now she was here.

And she didn't remember.

Or was she pretending? I had no idea.

The thought wouldn't leave me alone. What if she did recognize me? What if she was avoiding eye contact deliberately? What if that professional mask was exactly that—a mask?

But why? If she remembered, why pretend she didn't?

Unless...

Unless she regretted it.

The thought hit like a punch.

Maybe that night meant nothing to her. Maybe she'd been drunk and desperate and he'd been convenient. Maybe she'd run because she was embarrassed.

Maybe seeing me again made her uncomfortable.

I ran a hand through my damp hair, frustrated.

I was spiraling. Making assumptions based on nothing.

The truth was simple: I didn't know what she remembered or how she felt. I didn't know anything about her except that she worked for my sister and apparently didn't recognize me.

I needed to stop obsessing.

But even as I thought it, I knew I wouldn't.

Because for three years, I'd wondered. And now she was here, real and close and completely out of reach.

I couldn't let it go.

Not until I knew the truth.

I needed to know.

But not today. Today, I was exhausted and jet-lagged and barely functional.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'd figure out how to get answers.

Without making Victoria murder me.

Without making Elena uncomfortable.

Without revealing just how much that one night had meant to me.

I closed my eyes, sinking into the couch.

Sleep wouldn't come. Just images of her—then and now. The reckless girl with the champagne bottle. The composed woman with the tablet.

The same person.

Completely different.

And I had no idea which version was real.

\---

Elena's POV

I made it through the rest of the day on autopilot.

The executive meeting had been endless, but I'd captured everything, organized the notes, sent them to Victoria within an hour of the meeting ending.

She'd nodded when she received them.

That was all.

But it was enough.

At six, she told me to go home. I didn't argue.

The bus was crowded with people escaping work, everyone looking as exhausted as I felt. I found a seat near the back and stared out the window.

The man at the meeting.

The one who'd arrived late. Dark hair, sharp features, expensive suit. He'd stared at me for a moment before taking his seat, and something about his gaze had made my skin prickle.

Then later, at my desk, he'd approached me. Asked if he could help with something—no, waited. I'd asked him.

And his voice...

Something about his voice had felt familiar. Like an echo I couldn't quite place.

But that was impossible. I didn't know any Thornes except Victoria. Didn't know anyone in that conference room except her.

I was just tired. Paranoid because of Felicia. Seeing connections that weren't there.

I pushed the thought away and focused on what mattered.

At Mrs. Chen's, Leo he ran to me immediately. "Mama! Guess what!"

"What, baby?"

"I didn't spill anything today!"

"Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little bit! Mrs. Chen says I'm getting so big."

I scooped him up, even though he was getting heavy. "You are getting big. Too big."

"Not too big for hugs."

"Never too big for hugs."

Mrs. Chen smiled from her kitchen. "He was very good today. We played at the park, and he shared his snacks with another little boy."

"Really?" I looked at Leo. "You shared?"

He nodded proudly. "He didn't have any snacks, so I gave him my crackers. Mrs. Chen says sharing is good."

My chest squeezed. "Sharing is very good. I'm proud of you."

"Can we go to the park tomorrow?"

Tomorrow was Wednesday. I'd be working late. "Maybe this weekend, okay?"

His face fell slightly but he nodded. "Okay."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. Another promise I might not be able to keep.

At home, Leo kicked off his shoes at the door, socks flying wherever they wanted. He shuffled after me down the hall, dragging his stuffed dinosaur by its tail.

“Bath time,” I called.

He groaned like I’d asked him to run a marathon, but he went along anyway.

The bathroom mirror fogged up while the tub filled. Leo sat on the closed toilet, legs swinging, tapping his fingers on the lid. I checked the water with my wrist, twisted the faucet a bit, and lifted him in.

“Too hot?”
“No.”
“Too cold?”
“It’s perfect.”

Bubbles spread across the water. He dunked his hands, splashing a wave over the edge. I sighed, hooked a towel with my foot, and wiped it up before it could hit the floor.

“Hey, easy,” I said.

He just grinned at me.

I started with his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut, chin up, trusting me. Shampoo foamed in my hands. When I rinsed him off, he shivered and burst out laughing, grabbing the edge of the tub.

“Alright, alright—done,” I said, wrapping him up before he could start complaining.

He leaned into me while I dried him, warm and squirmy and heavier than yesterday.

Time for pajamas. The blue ones, the ones with crooked moons. He insisted on doing the buttons himself, tongue sticking out, all focus and stubbornness. I waited. Let him struggle. Let him figure it out.

In his room, he climbed into bed on his own. I pulled the blanket up to his chin. He caught my sleeve with one finger.

“Tomorrow?” he whispered.

“We’ll see,” I told him.

He took that answer the way kids do—half believing, half just hoping. His eyes closed before the story finished. By page three, he was out cold, mouth open, dinosaur tucked tight.

I stayed until I was sure.

Then I turned off the light.

The living room was dark, quiet except for the fridge humming. I sat on the couch and let the silence settle around me, heavy and well-earned.

The day was over. Nothing broke. Nobody fell apart.

Tomorrow was waiting.

That guy from the meeting—his name, his face—should’ve faded by now. Just another executive. Another voice.

But he stuck around.

Uninvited. Familiar.

I pressed my palms together, trying to keep myself here.

Didn’t matter.

Tomorrow, I’d shove it aside.

I had to.

Distractions are a luxury I can’t afford.