Luis Ray's POV
She hasn't changed.
That was my first mistake.
Thinking she had.
Mia sat across from me, calm as if she hadn't just predicted the collapse of a multi-million dollar island investment.
"I'll investigate first," I told her evenly. "If your information is true… we'll talk again."
She didn't flinch.
"I'll wait."
No desperation. No panic.
That bothered me more than her warning.
When I extended my hand slightly, it was deliberate.
"Your number."
She paused, barely noticeable.
Then she recited it.
Digit by digit.
Like I didn't already know it.
Like I hadn't kept it saved for years.
Corporate contact list. Alumni directory. Old emergency file.
Excuses.
Truth?
I never deleted it.
Even when she started attending banquets with Kevin on her arm.
Even when I told myself it wasn't my business.
I typed her number again anyway.
A new contact.
A new excuse.
"I'll call next week," I said. "Can you wait?"
Her lips curved faintly. "I've waited through worse."
For a moment, something in my chest tightened.
Pablo approached us. "Sir, the board is waiting."
Of course they were.
They always are.
I stood. "I'll contact you."
She nodded and walked away without looking back.
Pablo lowered his voice once she was gone. "Sir… Miss Norton's number was already in your phone."
I slipped the device into my pocket.
"Professional courtesy."
But when the screen lit up briefly.
Mia A.
Still there.
Still untouched.
And now,
Saved twice.
Mia's POV
The moment I stepped outside, my phone vibrated.
Kevin.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Just came from a café. I bought fruit tea."
A pause.
"Chelsea saw you talking to another man."
Of course she did.
"Yes. It was business."
Silence.
He wasn't jealous because he loved me.
He was jealous because Luis Ray was powerful.
And Kevin hates losing leverage.
"I'll pick you up."
"I brought my car," I said gently. "I'm going home early."
Another pause.
"Take care."
In the background, Chelsea laughed.
How bold.
I ended the call.
Let them keep playing their secret games.
I have bigger ones to prepare.
---
At home, I changed into comfortable clothes and tied my hair back.
Tonight, I wasn't a strategist.
I was a daughter.
I cooked beef stew, Dad's favorite. Vegetable salad. Fresh rice.
Wealth doesn't mean helplessness.
My parents made sure of that.
At exactly six in the evening, the door opened.
Dad stepped in, loosening his tie. Mom followed gracefully.
They both froze when they smelled the food.
"You cooked?" Dad asked carefully.
Mom narrowed her eyes. "Are you about to confess something?"
I laughed. "Is cooking automatically suspicious?"
Dad inhaled dramatically. "Beef stew?"
"Yes."
We sat together.
The dining table felt warm.
Normal.
Too normal.
Two and a half months.
Maybe less.
I looked at them carefully.
Memorizing their expressions.
Because tonight,
I'm going to ask them to believe that the world is about to end.