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I tap my feet on the floor, unable to stop my nervous fidgeting.

Not nervous, Lexy. You’re excited.

Reframe that shit just like what you did with those painful memories.

In the past few weeks, whenever I had a splitting headache followed by brief flashes of memories, instead of focusing on the pain, I’d tell myself this was good because this was progress.

The medical trial must be working.

Blowing out a breath, I eye Ethan’s spacious apartment inside the sprawling metropolis that’s The Orchid.

A few of us are gathered here today for the interview segment of Project Dreamer after Ethan approved the budget three weeks ago.

The team thought an informal interview at his place would make the CFO more approachable.

I come from money, but even I can’t help but be impressed with the dark marble floors, the high ceilings, the modern crystal chandeliers and sleek leather furnishings.

Ethan has good taste.

Needing to keep myself busy, I pull out my phone and read Polaris’s latest message.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Missing Pieces

What does your heart tell you ?

I’m sure people in your life have tried to give you advice— forget your past, focus on your future.

Maybe you have a voice inside, urging you to fill that hole in your heart because you’ve lost too much already.

I wish I could give you an answer.

But in the end, what I want doesn’t matter.

Only you matter.

My breath catches and my heart skips a beat.

He means it—only I matter.

Somewhere along the way, Polaris has become more than a friend.

Sometimes, I feel like we share a soul and he pulls my thoughts right out of me.

I’m sure there are beautiful memories in your past—moments you probably want to remember.

Maybe you’re right, and somewhere in those missing years, there’s someone who loves you.

But if that person truly loves you, he’d want you to follow your heart.

To do what makes you happy.

To chase whatever brings you peace, whether that’s the past, the future, or something entirely new.

If he loves you, wherever he is, he’ll wait .

You shared a secret with me once.

I think it’s only fair I share a few of my own.

Someone once told me she believed in serendipity, fate, and magic.

That no matter where life led her, fate would take her to the right path, the right person, the right treasure.

I laughed at her. I was pragmatic.

Logical.

But it was beautiful—watching her live as if something wonderful could happen at any moment.

Because of her, I started believing in fate.

Making wishes. Dreaming.

And against all logic, some of those unrealistic dreams came true .

Whoever this woman was, Polaris must have loved her so much.

A knot twists inside me, offset by an inexplicable yearning.

Am I jealous of her?

Am I also grieving for him?

So here’s what I want to tell you.

That empty space in your heart?

The right person will fill it.

Because fate.

Whatever you choose, I support you.

Because more than anything, I want you to be happy.

Always,

Polaris

P.S.

One last secret—Our pen pal correspondence was supposed to end long ago.

You’ve reintegrated in to society.

You’re thriving.

But I didn’t.

Because I don’t want it to end.

And so, my next question is this…

Do you?

Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

A warmth rises inside me, and I open a new email to answer him.

The same unsettling déjà vu cloaks me—maybe I’ve had a similar moment in those four lost years of memories.

But I know this—I don’t want whatever we have to end.

“Miss, would you like any refreshments while you wait?” A middle-aged man in a black suit materializes out of nowhere.

John, the butler.

I click shut my phone—I’ll have to answer Polaris later.

“I’m good, thank you. I’m nervous though.”

He chuckles.

“You’ll do great, Ms. Vaughn. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from Mr. Ethan. ”

“He’s talked about me?”

John’s smile slips from his face.

“It’s the only time he smiles.” He shifts on his feet.

“It’s not my place to say anything, but I’ve worked for Mr. Ethan for over ten years in various capacities. He’s a man of a few words, but if you stick around, I promise you, his words will be the most meaningful.”

With that cryptic message, John tips his head and stalks off.

“We’re ready for you, Lexy. You’ll do great!” Sandra winks as she points to the interview set up by the two lounge chairs next to the windows, which let in some of the cold November daylight.

Rex beckons me over from the hallway.

“Break a leg. It might seem strange, having you conduct the interview, but the entire point of this revamp is to draw in the younger generation. And what screams younger than the intern, right?” He winks.

Despite how he resembles his brothers, they can’t be more different.

Rex, with his friendly smiles and casually tousled hair, looks like a man you can joke with.

Someone who makes you instantly at ease.

The opposite of the closed book Ethan.

“Right. I got this.” I snap the rubber band around my wrist, the flicker of pain grounding me.

“You have my permission to give him hell.” At his joking tone, I glance at him, finding his head cocked to the side.

“Although I think nothing you do will be hell for him. I’ve had my suspicions…so did Lana, but damn, was I slow.”

“What do you mean?” Why does it feel like I’m the punchline to a joke everyone already knows?

His gaze softens into something akin to sympathy.

“It’s not my place to tell, Lexy. But…keep your mind and your heart open, okay?”

“I don’t—”

“We ready?” The familiar scent of amber and leather reaches my nose before his body heat grazes my back .

Ethan places his hand lightly on my lower back, the gentle touch searing me through my dress.

I shiver and glance down, hoping my bra is thick enough to hide the hard nipples, no doubt saluting him.

Calm down, hormones.

I thought puberty was over.

How is it possible I feel something for both Ethan and Polaris?

Seriously, Lexy.

Ethan frowns at us.

“Did I miss anything?”

“No. Just idle chitchat. Let’s do this.”

I stride over to the windows and take a seat, Ethan following suit.

Blowing out a breath, I wipe my palms on my dress.

The lighting guy adjusts a spotlight, and the cameraman gets into position.

I got this. It’s all about mindset.

I’m smart and capable.

I’m an asset to any team.

If I believe it, I can do it, because—

“Remember, if you believe it, who’s to say it isn’t true?” Ethan murmurs.

I gasp, swiveling my head toward him, finding his eyes glittering with intensity—like the secrets of the universe are hidden among those light striations and dark depths.

He smiles and places his hand on mine, and I jolt from the explosion of tingles spreading through my body.

When he withdraws his touch, I’m bereft.

I want it back.

“Ready, and action!”

Forcing a smile on my face, I turn to Ethan and begin the questions the team put together.

“Mr. Anderson, can you tell us a little about your role at Fleur?”

Intros.

I can do this.

Ethan leans back in his seat and smiles.

“Ethan, please. Mr. Anderson is my dad.”

My heart skips a beat at the teasing expression on his face.

It’s like coming across a rainbow during a storm or finding a four-leaf clover in Central Park .

“I’m the chief financial officer, which is a fancy title for the man who heads up the numbers—dollars and cents, approving budgets, reviewing financial results. My team makes sure we’re headed in the right direction with revenues and profits for the company and our investors.”

We spend the next ten minutes chatting about the usual things one expects to be in a marketing or PR campaign to demystify the C-suite management for the younger generation—his hobbies (reading and swimming), where he likes to stay when he travels (boutique hotels or bed and breakfasts), how he got to his position at a young age (hard work and grit—even though there was a fiasco of him spilling coffee on his shirt during an important presentation).

Ethan is easygoing in our interview, reminding me a bit of Rex, but from where I sit, I can see a muscle twitching on his temple, his smile a little too broad, and his fingers continuously tugging his cuff links.

He’s faking it.

I wonder if Delaney faked it when he worked his way up.

Something about the thought niggles at me, and my breath stalls, but I don’t have time to mull over it, because I have the rest of the interview to finish.

“What do you want The Strata to represent for young people entering the real world after college?”

He wets his lips and my eyes snare at the action.

I snap my rubber band again and his brow twitches as if he wants to call me out on being distracted.

“I want them to see it as a place where anything is possible. A place where they can belong, even if they don’t know their place in the world yet.” There’s a wistfulness in his voice that holds my attention.

“What’s the feeling you hope people take away from their stay at The Strata?”

“That even in the busiest city in the world, there’s a place for them. A home away from home. When they walk through those doors, they don’t have to be lost anymore.” He leans forward, trapping me in the magnetic draw of his voice .

“If you have to sum up this project in one word, what would it be?”

I hold my breath, every atom inside me clamoring for his answer.

I don’t know why, but it seems important.

I just know the next word out of his mouth will be meaningful.

Ethan holds my gaze, his voice dropping into a quiet rasp, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

“Haven.”

I gasp. My heart slams itself against my rib cage.

A haven.

The same word Polaris mentioned in his email a while back.

The same warmth rushes up my spine—curling around me like the biggest hug.

The same feeling—but ten times stronger.

This is silly, Lexy.

It’s a common word, everyone uses it.

But the words don’t click.

I barely notice myself leaning forward and him doing the same, like we’re opposite sides of a magnet, finally in proximity to each other.

I whisper the last question, “Any final thoughts on what The Strata means to you?”

Ethan pauses, his hand reaching up toward me—the same halted motion I’ve seen from him before, and the same withdraw, his fingers curling into his palm before he places his fist back on his lap.

His reply is soft. A gentle caress ladened with heaviness.

Whoever thought the icy king of numbers is cold has never been more wrong.

“Some places stay with you. Forever. Even when you forget them.”

My eyes burn and a sharp ache spears my chest.

An image of a hummingbird with a red chest floats to my mind.

The stained glass window at Ravenswood.

My laugh. My lucky earrings.

My vision refocuses, and I find his gray eyes clouded in a sheen of moisture, and the pain sharpens in my heart. What’s going on?