Chapter 1 - The Ghosts of ChicagoThe heavy oak doors of the inn had always been my sanctuary, but today, they felt like the gates of a prison waiting to lock me inside. The Cayuga Lake winter was in full swing, blanketing the upstate New York landscape in a blinding, unforgiving white. Normally, I loved the quiet isolation of the snow, but as a fleet of sleek, black SUVs crawled up the winding driveway toward the main entrance, my chest tightened so violently I could barely draw a breath.
Aunt Margaret was bustling around the lobby, arranging vases of winter berries and adjusting the roaring fireplace. She had no idea that the CEO of Cole Meridian Hospitality Group—the man who was about to pay for our entire winter operating budget in a single weekend—was the same man I had run from four years ago. I had spent the morning trying to figure out a way to hide. I considered claiming the flu, locking myself in the manager’s office, or even taking Noah and Eli into town for a sudden "vacation." But I was the general manager of this inn. Running the front desk during a major corporate buyout was my job, and running away again felt like letting him win.
I smoothed down my uniform—a simple black sweater and tailored slacks that felt worlds away from the designer dresses I used to wear in Chicago—and took my place behind the polished mahogany reception desk.
The front doors opened, letting in a swirl of icy wind and a dozen people wearing sharp suits and carrying leather portfolios. They were the typical corporate elite, laughing loudly and shaking off the snow. And then, he walked in.
Nathan Cole had not aged a single day, yet he looked entirely different. He still wore a custom-tailored charcoal overcoat that probably cost more than my car, and his dark hair was perfectly styled, but the arrogant, easy smile I remembered was gone. His face looked harder, carved from stone, his blue-gray eyes sharp and exhausted as he surveyed the rustic lobby. He was speaking to his director of operations, his voice that familiar, deep baritone that sent a sudden, agonizing jolt straight to my heart.
"Make sure the conference room is wired for the international call by three," Nathan was saying, pulling off his leather gloves. "And get my room key. I need to review the quarterly—"
He stopped.
He had turned toward the reception desk, and his eyes locked onto mine. For a second, the entire bustling lobby seemed to lose its sound. The crackling fire, the chatter of his executives, the howling wind outside—it all vanished. Nathan stood frozen in the center of the Persian rug, his leather gloves slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him looking like a man who had just seen a ghost.
"Emily?" he whispered. The word barely left his lips, but in the silence that had fallen between us, it sounded like a shout.
My hands gripped the edge of the mahogany desk so hard my knuckles turned white. I did not blink. I did not smile. I looked at the man who had shattered my world on our fifth anniversary and forced my voice to remain as cold as the ice outside. "Welcome to the Cayuga Lake Inn, Mr. Cole. Your executive suite is ready."
He closed the distance between us in three massive strides, ignoring the confused stares of his staff. He slammed his hands down on the desk, leaning in so close I could smell his cologne—cedarwood and rain, a scent that made my throat close up. "Emily. My God. Is it really you? I’ve spent four years looking for you. I hired private investigators. I tore Chicago apart. You vanished."
"I didn’t vanish, Nathan. I left," I said quietly, handing him his keycard. "There is a difference. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to check in."
"I don't care about the other guests," he demanded, his voice breaking. The powerful billionaire CEO was trembling. "We need to talk. Right now."
May you like
"We have nothing to talk about. Your company booked a retreat. I am the manager. That is the extent of our relationship." I turned away from him, staring at my computer monitor, praying he wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill. But as he stood there, refusing to take the room key, a terrible sound echoed from the hallway behind the desk.
It was the sound of rapid, tiny footsteps.
Related Stories
