Chapter 2

The Harbor Hotel lobby always felt like a different season.

Outside, there was night wind and headlights. The moment the doors closed, the air turned warm and soft.

A sponsor wall stood in the center of the hall, camera flashes popping without pause.

I stepped into the check-in area. Staff in matching dark formalwear stood behind a long table—movements precise, smiles restrained.

The line wasn’t long, but no one hurried, as if standing there one extra minute meant being seen one extra minute.

Snatches of conversation drifted past: projects, acquisitions, funds, connections, prestige. Same vocabulary, different mouths.

I handed over my invitation. The staffer lowered her gaze to verify my name.

She paused for a beat when she read my last name, then looked up. Her smile deepened, and her tone shifted into something noticeably more respectful.

“Mr. Hart, welcome. Your seat is in Main Hall, Section A. Someone will guide you shortly. Would you like us to arrange a media-avoidance route for you?”

I shook my head. “No. Just follow the standard flow.”

She nodded at once and placed a thicker, premium entry card into my hand.

Beside her, another staff member murmured to a colleague, “Mr. Hart is here.” Not loud, but enough to make two or three people nearby glance over.

I ignored the looks, slipped the card into my inner pocket, and scanned the lounge corridor.

Beyond the glass wall was the harbor at night. Lights stretched across the water like a road that didn’t move.

A few familiar faces sat on the lounge sofas—someone speaking into a phone, someone lifting a champagne glass with a practiced smile.

Tonight’s rhythm was simple: small talk first, business cards next, then everyone leaving with a mental list of who they’d “connected” with.

I was about to head inside when a familiar perfume hit me first.

“Rowan?”

I turned and saw Mia stepping out of the crowd. She wore a sharply tailored black gown, makeup flawless.

She didn’t walk fast. Her smile was perfectly calibrated—friendly, not overeager.

“What a coincidence,” she said, stopping in front of me. Her eyes swept over me once, quick and assessing, like she was running numbers. “Long time no see. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

I said, “Guess the gym worked.”

“I thought… you wouldn’t come to places like this.”

I nodded. “I was invited.”

“Invited?” She rolled the word around, her smile growing slightly. “So how have you been? What have you been doing all these years?”

It sounded like concern, but I knew her method too well. She was trying to locate me on her internal map.

I didn’t dodge it or perform. I answered in the plainest tone. “Work. Life. I’m doing fine.”

“Fine.” She repeated it, as if the word was too clean to measure. She pushed once more. “After you left Jess, it must’ve been tough, right? I mean… back then you were always behind him. You know I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just—reality is brutal.”

When she said “reality,” her gaze was steady, as if she were granting herself moral clearance.

I could hear the sentence she’d been telling herself for years: I didn’t leave because I was wrong—I left because I was awake.

I looked at her, calm. “If you want to ask something, just ask.”

Her smile froze for half a second, then returned.

She really had learned how to hold a room. Even when she was called out, she didn’t panic.

She shifted her clutch to the other hand and sighed softly, like she was sharing a successful person’s minor inconvenience.

“I’m just… surprised.” She didn’t wait for me to respond. She continued, as if reciting lines she’d rehearsed. “I’ve been busy too. You’ve probably heard—I’m with Jess now.”

When she said his name, her eyes flicked to my face, searching for a reaction.

She wanted discomfort. Even a flash would do. I only nodded, like I’d heard a piece of news that didn’t involve me.

Not getting what she wanted, her smile tightened. “He’s overseas right now. I’m basically running the domestic side of the company, so I have to show up at dinners like this. Otherwise, nothing gets done.”

She put weight on “I’m running it,” as if to underline that she was sitting in the chair that used to belong to the lead character.

Then she steered the conversation into something more practical. “I’m building companies and projects too, and I have access to a lot more resources than before. If you’re still grinding on your own, you’ll probably take a lot of unnecessary detours.”

She paused and softened her smile. “Of course, I’m not looking down on you. I just think—we’ve known each other a long time. There’s no need to make life harder than it has to be.”

It sounded like she was offering me a step up. In reality, she was pushing me back into the story she preferred: she was onstage, and I was still in the seats.

She needed the contrast. She needed proof that leaving me had been the right call.

I didn’t bother tearing apart every hint, because it wouldn’t change anything.

Mia pulled a business card from her clutch, slow and deliberate, like she was presenting a title.

She held it between two fingers. The edges were perfectly clean, not a single crease—clearly not something she’d fished from a pocket at the last minute.

“This is mine.” She smiled and offered it to me. “If you need it, I can introduce you to a few people. No need to thank me. We’re just… old friends.”

When she said “old friends,” there was a trace of pity in her eyes—or rather, the certainty of someone who believed she was in control.

I didn’t reach for it.

The card hovered between us. A thin, awkward silence appeared in the air. Her fingers tightened, her knuckles paling for an instant, but she quickly tucked the slip back under her composure.

I looked at the card and kept my tone even. “No need.”

A crack finally showed in her smile. “What?”

“We’re high school classmates and exes, remember?” I said. “I have your number. If you just want to show off your title, I don’t mind taking the card.”

Her gaze flickered—embarrassment, briefly. She pulled the card back quickly, too quickly, then forced that urgency into a harder edge.

“Don’t misunderstand,” she said with a smile that had turned stiff. “I’m just feeling nostalgic. Just saying hello.”

She angled her body slightly and made a small “after you” gesture, as if reclaiming control of the scene. “Come on. They’ve already started warming up inside. I can take you in.”

I didn’t refuse, and I didn’t play into her script by showing unease. I simply followed as she headed toward the main hall.

Photos of the charity projects lined both sides of the corridor. The music was soft. Servers moved through with trays, weaving in practiced silence.

Mia walked half a step ahead of me, deliberately keeping the distance of someone “leading the way.”