Chapter 5 The Man from the Past

The rooftop bar shimmered with warm string lights and the clink of cocktail glasses. It was the kind of place that curated its ambiance like a mood board-soft jazz, moody shadows, and the faint smell of orange zest hanging in the air.

Olivia hadn't meant to come. She'd declined the invitation three times before Layla-no, Lily-had forced her into a dress and an Uber, muttering something about how healing sometimes looked like heels and mocktails.

She leaned on the terrace rail, staring out at the skyline. The Empire State stood tall in the distance, reminding her that she was still just one person in a city full of dreamers-some climbing, some falling.

"Olivia Dalton," a voice said behind her-smooth, deep, threaded with a faint smirk. "I'd say it's been too long, but even that would be an understatement."

She turned. Slowly.

There he was.

Rick James.

Not the boy from her college design classes, sketching patterns on diner napkins and making her laugh so hard she cried.

This Rick wore a navy suit like it was his second skin. A few grays streaked the edges of his dark hair now, and his confidence had aged into something more dangerous-polished, deliberate. His smile was still crooked. And still deadly.

"Rick," she said, blinking like she was trying to confirm he wasn't just a ghost conjured by exhaustion and a lavender martini.

"You haven't changed a bit," he said.

"You clearly have," she replied, eyes trailing the sleek cut of his suit. "What are you doing here?"

"I own the rooftop," he said with a lazy shrug. "Well-my company does. I try to stop by when I can."

Of course he did.

"You always did aim big."

"And you always underestimated how high you could aim."

She looked away. The air between them thickened with the weight of memories-some golden, others sharp around the edges.

"You disappeared," she said quietly. "After graduation. No calls. No emails. Nothing."

Rick nodded. "I know. I made a mistake. But I've thought about you more than I'd like to admit."

She arched her brow. "Thought about me while you built your billion-dollar media house?"

He smirked. "Only every time I rejected a logo design."

A laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. Damn him.

Rick stepped closer, just enough to blur the boundary of polite distance.

"I heard about Reign Capital," he said. "You're still the iron woman behind the curtain."

"Was," she replied, her voice soft but edged with something new. "I'm leaving."

Rick tilted his head. "Really?"

She nodded.

"Then let me make you an offer," he said. "Come work with me. Start your fashion line. No red tape, no corporate chains. Just vision-and freedom."

Olivia's heart stuttered.

She stepped back. "Why now?"

Rick's smile dimmed just a little. "Because I should've backed you years ago. And I won't make the mistake of missing that chance again."

For a moment, the world went quiet. Just jazz and night wind.

And then her phone buzzed.

CLINTON REIGN.

Her stomach flipped.

She didn't answer.

Not yet.

-

Olivia stared at the glowing name on her screen until it dimmed into silence.

Rick's gaze followed the shift in her expression. "That was him?"

She nodded, slipping the phone into her clutch. "Clinton doesn't usually call. It's always meetings. Schedules. Orders."

"Then a call means he's rattled," Rick said, reading her far too well.

She didn't answer. The wind brushed her skin, lifting a strand of hair across her cheek.

Rick reached forward and tucked it behind her ear.

Olivia flinched-not because of the gesture, but because of the rush of warmth it stirred. Something she thought she'd locked away years ago.

"You've always been the strongest person I know, Liv," he said softly. "But strength doesn't mean you have to stand still while everything inside you breaks."

His words landed too close to the truth.

"I'm not making a decision tonight," she whispered.

"I'm not asking you to," he replied. "But I am asking you to let yourself want something again."

And then, as if the universe couldn't help itself, the terrace door swung open.

Clinton Reign.

Tall, sharp, unreadable. His tailored coat billowed slightly with the rooftop breeze. His gaze scanned the space-and stopped when he saw her.

Olivia's breath hitched. Her world, suddenly, divided itself into two men. One from her past. One from her present.

Neither belonged to her.

Clinton's eyes landed on Rick, narrowed. The recognition hit instantly.

"Rick James," he said coolly. "Didn't know the circus was in town."

Rick smirked, unbothered. "Always a pleasure, Reign. Still confusing control for charisma?"

Olivia stepped in, the tension crackling like a live wire. "Clinton, what are you doing here?"

"I called. You didn't answer." His eyes didn't leave Rick. "Then I tracked your location. Company phone."

"You tracked me?" she said, her voice dropping, wounded and furious at once.

Clinton blinked. Just once. "It's not what you think."

"No," Rick said, stepping slightly in front of her. "It's exactly what she thinks."

Olivia stepped between them. "Stop. Both of you."

Clinton finally looked at her, and for a moment, his mask cracked. Just a flicker. A flash of something raw.

"I didn't come here to fight," he said. "I came because... you weren't in the office. You're never not in the office. I-" he paused, as if emotion cost him. "I was concerned."

It sounded so wrong in his voice. So foreign.

Rick's hand brushed Olivia's wrist, and the contact grounded her, even as it sparked something else.

She exhaled. "I need air."

"You're on a rooftop," Clinton said.

She shook her head. "No. Real air. Away from both of you."

And without waiting for a reply, she walked to the elevator.

As the doors closed behind her, Olivia pressed her back to the wall and shut her eyes.

She felt everything.

The ghosts of her past.

The pressure of her present.

And for the first time in years, the pull of her future.