Chapter 1: Return to the Past

There’s something surreal about looking down on a city from thousands of feet in the air. From up here, it’s easy to believe that everything is perfect. The lights below, twinkling like tiny diamonds against the darkening sky, create an illusion of order, beauty, and control.

 

But I know better. That shimmering tapestry of ambition, greed, and power is nothing more than a battlefield—a place where the powerful prey on the weak, and every smile hides a knife. It’s a world I’ve fought in and bled for, and one I refuse to be crushed by.

 

The private jet I’m in begins its descent, the city growing larger as we approach. The wheels touch down with a smoothness I’ve come to expect, but I barely register it. My mind is miles away, lost in the past that clings to me like a shadow I can’t shake off.

 

I’m snapped back to the present by the soft, polished voice of the flight attendant. She appears beside me, her smile flawless, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—a hint of unease, perhaps. She knows who I am, or at least, she knows what the world says about me. “Ms. Grey, we’ve arrived. Your car is waiting.”

 

I offer her a brief nod, my voice cool, and controlled. “Thank you.”

 

I stand, smoothing the wrinkles from my navy sheath dress—a power dress, designed to intimidate and impress in equal measure. Each tailored inch clings to my curves, a silent reminder of the power I wield. To the world, I am Sophia Grey—unbreakable, unstoppable, a woman who can stand against anything. They have no idea how close they are to the truth.

 

As I step off the jet, the evening air greets me, crisp and tinged with familiar scents—concrete, exhaust, and something else, something elusive that tugs at memories I’ve tried to bury. A sleek black sedan waits for me, its engine purring with a low, almost feral growl. The driver, a man in his sixties with sharp eyes and a suit to match, opens the rear door with a respectful nod.

 

"Ms. Grey," he says, his tone formal, almost reverent.

 

“Thank you,” I reply, sliding into the backseat. The door closes with a quiet, final click, sealing me inside the cocoon of luxury. Black leather seats, the scent of cedarwood, tinted windows shielding me from prying eyes—it’s a stark contrast to the modest life I once knew. But I’ve earned this. I’ve fought for it. And I’ll fight again if I have to.

 

As the city’s chaos fades into the distance and the sprawling serenity of the suburbs takes over, my thoughts turn inward. These wide, tree-lined streets were once my home, back when the name Grey was synonymous with power and prestige. Before it was all ripped away, leaving nothing but ashes and a burning need for justice.

 

I still remember that morning too vividly—the morning that shattered my world. Fresh from university, brimming with plans and dreams, I walked into the kitchen to find my father, Thomas Grey, at the table. The newspaper was clenched in his trembling hands, his face ashen. He was a man who never flinched, never faltered, but that day, he looked as though he’d already lost everything.

 

“Dad?” I called out, a mix of confusion and worry in my voice. “What’s wrong?”

 

He didn’t answer immediately, just pushed the paper toward me, his eyes distant, haunted. The headline screamed at me: **”GREY INDUSTRIES SCANDAL: CEO ACCUSED OF EMBEZZLEMENT."**

 

My heart plummeted as I scanned the article. It had to be a mistake, a lie. “This can’t be true,” I said, my voice edged with anger. “We’ll fight this. We’ll prove them wrong.”

 

But he just shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s too late, Sophia. They’ve already judged me.”

 

What followed was a blur of nightmares. The media swarmed like vultures, our so-called friends turned their backs, and then the final blow—his arrest. I watched, helpless, as they took him away in handcuffs, his head bowed in shame. That was the last time I saw him alive.

 

The next morning, he was gone. A gunshot, a suicide note. The man who had raised me, my hero, reduced to a memory and a headline. He couldn’t live with the disgrace, even though he was innocent. And behind it all stood Victoria Blackwood, the woman who had orchestrated our downfall with cold precision. Her stepson, Ethan, had done nothing to stop it. Once, I admired him. Now, all I feel is a cold, simmering rage.

 

As we approach Blackwood Manor, the estate looms like a fortress, a monument to everything that was stolen from me. The car slows to a stop, and the driver opens the door.

 

The butler greets me with a slight bow. “Mr. Blackwood is inside. Shall I announce you?”

 

“No need,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I’ll go in myself.”

 

I push open the heavy doors and step into the dimly lit study. Dark wood, shelves of leather-bound books, a massive desk—symbols of the power that destroyed my family. Ethan stands by the window, his back to me, his silhouette outlined against the fading light. He holds a glass of whiskey, his posture rigid, as though he sensed my presence the moment I entered.

 

The silence is thick with unspoken words, the air humming with tension.

 

“Ms. Grey,” he says, his voice deep, measured, still facing the window. “It’s been a long time.”

 

A chill runs down my spine at the sound of his voice. It’s calm, controlled—just like mine—but there’s an underlying tension, a hint of something raw that he’s masking. I’ve spent years imagining this moment, but now that it’s here, I’m caught off guard by the reality of it.

 

“Mr. Blackwood,” I reply, my tone equally cool as I step further into the room. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

 

He turns then, and as our eyes meet, my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are the same piercing blue I remember, but they’re darker now, more guarded. For a moment, I see a flicker of recognition, a brief flash of something that might be regret or guilt, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

 

“Of course, I remember you,” he says, setting his glass down on the desk. “How could I forget?”

 

There’s a slight edge to his words, a hint of something deeper that makes my blood run faster. I can’t tell if it’s anger, resentment, or something else entirely, but I know one thing for certain—this man is not the same Ethan Blackwood I knew all those years ago.

 

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the merger,” I say, keeping my tone businesslike, even though my heart is pounding in my chest. “I’m here to ensure it goes smoothly.”

 

Ethan studies me for a long moment, his gaze intense, as if he’s trying to see beneath the polished exterior I present to the world. “The merger,” he repeats, his voice low. “Is that really why you’re here?”

 

I meet his gaze without flinching, refusing to let him see how much his words affect me. “It’s the reason I’m here today,” I say evenly. “But we both know there’s more to it than that.”

 

A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—passes across his face, but he quickly masks it, his expression once again unreadable. “I see,” he says slowly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to take a hands-on approach. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

 

His words are polite, but there’s an undercurrent of tension that sends a shiver down my spine. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely welcoming me or if he’s playing a game, testing my resolve. Either way, I’m not about to back down.

 

“I believe it’s important to be involved in these matters personally,” I reply, matching his tone. “Especially when the stakes are so high.”

 

Ethan’s lips curl into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Indeed. And the stakes have never been higher, have they?”

 

Did he know? Could he possibly have guessed the true reason I orchestrated this merger? As I look into Ethan’s eyes, I can’t shake the feeling that he sees right through me.

 

I force myself to remain calm, to keep my composure. “No, they haven’t,” I agree, my voice steady. “Which is why I’m here. I want to make sure everything goes according to plan.”

 

Ethan nods slowly as if he’s considering my words. “Of course. And I assure you, Ms. Grey, that I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that it does.”

 

There’s something in the way he says my name that makes my pulse quicken. It’s the first time he’s addressed me directly, and there’s an almost intimate quality to it, as if we’re the only two people in the world who matter.

 

“Good,” I say, my voice firm. “Because I won’t tolerate anything less than perfection.”

 

Ethan’s smile widens, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

 

I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then turn and head for the door. As I reach for the handle, I feel his eyes on my back, watching me, weighing me. I pause, my hand hovering over the doorknob, and glance back at him.

 

“This is just the beginning,” I say, my voice low, almost a whisper.

 

Ethan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in his eyes—something dark and dangerous—that makes my heart skip a beat. “Yes,” he replies, his voice barely audible. “It is.”

 

I nod once, then turn and walk out of the study, my mind racing. The moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment I’ve been planning for, is finally here. But as I leave Ethan Blackwood behind, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just stepped into a game far more dangerous than I ever imagined.

 

And the stakes? They’ve never been higher.