Chapter 2 Echoes of the Past

The first snow of the season dusted Chicago like powdered sugar on a bitter cake. I watched it fall from the narrow balcony of my Wrigleyville apartment, one hand cradling the swell of my belly, the other wrapped around a mug of chamomile that had gone cold an hour ago. Ava and Noah were active tonight-little kicks like they were practicing soccer drills in there. Every thump reminded me why I'd walked away. Not just for me. For them.

Three months since the divorce papers dried. Three months since Ethan's signature-shaky, almost childish-had freed me. Or so I'd thought. Freedom tasted like takeout Chinese and freelance deadlines, not champagne and private jets. But it was honest. No more pretending I didn't smell another woman's perfume on his collar. No more smiling through gritted teeth while Serena texted him heart emojis right under my nose.

My phone buzzed on the wrought-iron railing. Unknown number. I almost ignored it, but curiosity-or maybe masochism-won.

"Elena." Ethan's voice, rough like he'd been drinking. "Don't hang up."

I didn't. Not yet. "What do you want, Ethan?"

"I saw the news. Langston Tech's new lead designer. You? With Victor fucking Langston?" A bitter laugh. "Of all people."

"He's a good boss. Pays on time. Doesn't cheat." The words slipped out sharper than I meant. I heard him suck in a breath.

"I deserve that. But listen-Serena's gone. I ended it. The whole thing was... I was stupid. Scared. The pressure, the board breathing down my neck-"

"Save it." I cut him off. "You weren't scared. You were bored. And I was the safe choice until I wasn't shiny anymore."

Silence stretched. Then, softer: "Are you really pregnant? With... mine?"

My free hand tightened on the mug. "Yes. Twins. But they're mine now. You signed away any claim when you walked out that door."

"I didn't know-"

"You didn't ask." I let the accusation hang. "You were too busy in Room 1502."

He cursed under his breath. "I want to see you. Talk. Please. I'm coming to Chicago next week for a merger meeting. Let me-"

"No." My voice cracked just a little. Damn hormones. "Stay in New York. Stay away."

I hung up before he could argue. The phone trembled in my hand. I set the mug down hard enough that tea sloshed over the edge, freezing instantly on the metal.

Inside, I sank onto the couch, pulling a throw blanket over my legs. The apartment smelled like fresh paint and baby powder-Mia had helped me set up the nursery last weekend. Two cribs side by side, tiny mobiles spinning with stars. It felt real now. Terrifyingly real.

Sleep wouldn't come. Instead, memories did. Our first date: Ethan in a tailored suit, nervous, ordering the wrong wine because he thought I'd like it fancy. The way he'd laughed when I corrected him, not offended, just charmed. "Teach me," he'd said. "I want to know everything about you."

Lies. All of it.

The next morning, snow had piled up overnight. I bundled into layers-coat straining over the bump-and trudged to the office. Langston Tech occupied a sleek glass tower downtown, all chrome and ambition. Victor's assistant waved me through without a word. He was waiting in his corner office, feet up on the desk, scrolling through his tablet.

"You're late," he grunted, not looking up.

"Traffic. And contractions practice runs." I dropped into the chair opposite. "What's the crisis?"

He slid a folder across. "Harrington's bleeding cash. SEC investigation widened. They're desperate. Word is they're shopping for a white knight-or a buyer."

My pulse kicked. "And?"

"And I want it. All of it. But I need leverage. You were married to the man for three years. You saw things. Heard things."

I opened the folder. Emails. Wire transfers. Names I recognized from late-night conversations Ethan thought I wasn't paying attention to. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. One transfer stood out-half a million to an account tied to Serena's "marketing consultancy."

"I have more," I said quietly. "On a drive. Proof he used company funds for... personal expenses."

Victor's eyes sharpened. "How much more?"

"Enough to bury him."

He leaned forward. "Then bury him. Anonymously, of course. I'll handle the acquisition after the stock tanks."

Revenge shouldn't taste sweet. But it did. Like the first sip of coffee after months of decaf.

That afternoon, I met with my lawyer again-Mark flew in from New York. We sat in a quiet coffee shop near Millennium Park, snow swirling outside the windows.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, stirring his latte. "Whistleblowing could drag you into depositions. Media circus."

"I'm already in the circus," I muttered. "Might as well be the ringmaster."

He nodded. "I'll route it through a third party. No trace back to you."

"Good."

As he left, my phone lit up again. Text this time. Ethan.

I know you're angry. But those babies are half me. I want to be there. Doctor appointments. Birth. Everything.

I stared at the words until they blurred. Part of me-the stupid, soft part-remembered how he'd held me after my parents' funeral, whispering promises. The rest of me remembered the red dress photo. The hotel key card. The way Serena had smiled at our wedding like she was already planning the sequel.

I typed back: You lost the right to "everything" the night you chose her.

Blocked. Again.

The weeks blurred after that. Work consumed me-pitching campaigns, landing clients who actually valued my brain. My bump grew impossible to hide under blazers. Colleagues started calling me "Mama Boss." I pretended it didn't make me tear up in the bathroom.

Then came the gala.

Victor insisted I attend. "Networking," he said. "Show the city you're not hiding."

I bought the dress on impulse-deep sapphire, off-the-shoulder, clinging in ways that screamed confidence instead of hiding the pregnancy. My hair in loose waves, minimal makeup. For once, I looked in the mirror and didn't see the broken wife. I saw Elena Voss. Survivor.

The venue was the Art Institute-crystal chandeliers, jazz floating over murmured deals. Victor introduced me to everyone worth knowing. I smiled, shook hands, ignored the whispers: "That's Harrington's ex." "Pregnant already?" "Bold move."

Then I saw him.

Ethan, across the room in black tie, looking thinner, eyes shadowed. Serena wasn't with him-she'd probably slunk away when the scandal hit. He spotted me instantly. His glass froze halfway to his mouth.

I turned away, accepting a flute of sparkling water from a waiter. Victor leaned in. "You good?"

"Perfect."

But Ethan crossed the floor like a man possessed. "Elena."

Heads turned. I kept my voice cool. "Mr. Harrington."

"Don't." He stepped closer, voice low. "I flew here for you. I need to explain-"

"Explain what? How you funded your affair with company money? How you called me distant while you were balls-deep in my best friend?"

His face crumpled. "I fucked up. Royally. But those kids-"

"Are mine." I placed a protective hand over my belly. "You don't get to swoop in now because the consequences finally landed."

"Please." His hand reached out, then dropped. "I love you. I never stopped."

The words hit like a slap. Once, they'd been everything. Now they were ash.

I met his eyes. "Love doesn't cheat. Love doesn't lie. Love doesn't sign divorce papers and then beg when the empire crumbles."

Victor appeared at my side, arm sliding around my waist in a casual, possessive claim. "Everything alright here?"

Ethan's gaze flicked to him, then back to me. Rage. Regret. Something darker.

"Stay away from her," Victor said mildly. "Or the next merger won't be the only thing I take from you."

Ethan backed off, jaw tight. But his eyes lingered on my stomach. On what he'd lost.

Later, on the balcony overlooking the snowy city, Victor handed me a coat. "You handled that like a queen."

"I felt like throwing up."

He chuckled. "That's the twins talking."

We stood in silence for a while. Snowflakes caught in my lashes.

"You know," he said quietly, "I hired you to piss Ethan off. But you're damn good at this. Better than good."

I glanced at him. Older, scarred from his own wars. Not handsome in the polished way Ethan was-rougher, realer.

"Thank you," I whispered. "For the chance."

"Don't thank me yet." He smirked. "We're just getting started."

Back inside, I danced with a few investors, laughed at their jokes, felt eyes on me-some admiring, some calculating. Ethan watched from the shadows, nursing a drink he probably didn't taste.

When the night ended, Victor drove me home. No pressure, no expectations. Just quiet.

At my door, he paused. "If he comes near you again-"

"I'll handle it." I smiled, small but genuine. "But thanks."

He nodded. "Get some rest, Mama Boss."

Inside, I kicked off my heels, rubbed my belly. The twins settled, as if sensing the storm had passed-for now.

But I knew better. Ethan wasn't done. And neither was I.

The past had echoes, alright. But I was rewriting the ending.

One furious, fabulous chapter at a time.