Our third chance

POV: AMBER

The glass wall of the conference room reflects my image back at me as I walk down the corridor, and for a moment I barely recognize the woman staring back.

Dark hair pulled into a sleek knot. Blue eyes steady and sharp.

Calm. Composed. Professional.

At least that’s what I’m aiming for.

Inside, the entire executive team of Sterling Development is already gathered around the massive oak table. Voices murmur behind the glass, low and animated, the hum of a room buzzing with anticipation.

This project is the biggest investment the company has made in years.

Maybe ever.

I pause with my hand on the door handle and take a slow breath.

Helipad. Private marina. Luxury residences overlooking the ocean. Direct access from sea, sky, and land. A development designed to attract international buyers and people with money that makes numbers like “millions” feel small.

And somehow I’m the one leading the legal side of it.

Mr. Sterling himself asked for me.

Not just because I’m head of legal on half his major developments already.

But because this one is different.

The marina project is being built in the town where I grew up.

Apparently that makes me the perfect person to handle the legal side — someone who understands both the company and the place it’s about to transform.

The thought still sends a warm, disbelieving flicker through my chest.

I push the door open.

Conversations quiet slightly as I step inside. A few colleagues nod in greeting. I slide into the seat beside my assistant and open my tablet just as Mr. Sterling, standing at the head of the table, claps his hands once.

“All right, everyone,” he says, the excitement in his voice impossible to hide. “Let’s begin.”

His silver hair catches the light from the windows overlooking the city skyline, and his eyes shine with the kind of enthusiasm I’ve only seen a handful of times in the four years I’ve worked for him.

“This project,” he continues, gesturing toward the massive screen behind him, “is the most ambitious development Sterling has attempted.”

The slide changes.

A sleek architectural rendering fills the screen.

Glass towers. A curved marina lined with yachts. Terraces stepping down toward the ocean.

“And it’s going to redefine coastal luxury,” he says proudly.

He begins walking us through the details again, though we’ve all seen them before.

Private marina slips.

A rooftop helipad.

High-end residences with panoramic ocean views.

Restaurants. Private beach access. Exclusive membership amenities.

The kind of place that will sell before construction even finishes.

“We’re not just building residences,” he says. “We’re building an experience.”

I jot down a few notes automatically, though most of my focus is on him.

He’s glowing with pride.

Which means one thing.

He’s already made decisions the rest of us are just catching up to.

“And to ensure this project launches the way it deserves,” he continues, pacing slowly around the table, “we’ve secured a marketing partner.”

Now the room shifts.

Everyone leans forward a little.

Marketing makes or breaks projects like this.

Mr. Sterling smiles like a man about to reveal a magic trick.

“I’m sure many of you saw that dog park commercial last year,” he says.

A few people laugh immediately.

Of course we did.

It had been everywhere.

A real estate company transforming a forgotten lot into a community dog park, filmed through the perspective of a stray dog finding a home. Emotional. Clever. Completely viral.

“It was brilliant,” someone across the table says.

Mr. Sterling nods.

“And the waterfront renewal campaign in Seattle. The rooftop garden initiative in Chicago.”

I feel a small spark of recognition.

I know those campaigns.

Everyone in development does.

“They were all created by the same agency,” Mr. Sterling says.

He pauses for effect.

“Fitz Creative.”

For some reason, the name sends a strange ripple through me.

A small, inexplicable chill that skims across the back of my neck.

I frown slightly and dismiss it just as quickly.

Coincidences happen all the time.

“They’re one of the most innovative marketing firms in the country right now,” Mr. Sterling continues. “And the man behind those campaigns insisted on personally overseeing this project.”

That draws even more attention.

The founder himself?

Mr. Sterling turns toward the glass door behind us.

“Everyone,” he says, clearly pleased with himself, “meet the genius behind the campaigns,”

The door opens.

I don’t look up right away.

I’m still typing a note into my tablet.

Footsteps enter the room.

Then a voice says calmly,

“Thank you for having me.”

The sound hits me like a physical blow.

My fingers freeze above the screen.

No.

My stomach twists violently as recognition floods through me, instinctive and immediate.

That voice.

It’s impossible.

Slowly, almost against my will, I lift my head.

And the world tilts.

He’s standing near the door.

Taller than I remember.

Broader shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored suit that somehow doesn’t hide the easy athletic confidence in the way he stands.

Sunlight from the windows catches in his blond hair.

Green eyes.

Those same devastating green eyes.

And somehow the years have only made him worse.

Broader. Sharper. More dangerous to my sanity than the last time I saw him.

Alexander Fitzgerald.

Xander.

My breath leaves my lungs in a silent rush.

He looks just as shocked.

His gaze locks onto mine like he’s just seen a ghost.

For a long second neither of us moves.

Neither of us speaks.

The room around us fades into a distant blur of movement and voices I can’t quite hear.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

My lips move around the words but no sound comes out.

Then Mr. Sterling’s cheerful voice slices straight through the moment.

“Scott,” he says warmly. “This is Mr. Fitzgerald, the founder of Fitz Creative.”

Every pair of eyes in the room turns toward me.

Of course they do.

I’m leading the project.

Which means I’m expected to greet our brilliant new partner.

My brain scrambles to catch up.

Professional.

Be professional.

I stand slowly, forcing my expression into something neutral.

Controlled.

Years of boardrooms and negotiations have taught me how to hide emotion well.

But right now it feels like trying to hold back an ocean with my bare hands.

I meet his gaze.

Up close the years have sharpened him.

There are faint lines at the corners of his eyes now. A deeper confidence in the way he carries himself.

But the man standing in front of me is still unmistakably the boy who once knew every secret I had.

“Hello,” I manage.

My voice sounds steady.

Almost too steady.

For a fraction of a second something flashes through his eyes.

Shock.

Recognition.

Something deeper.

“Amber,” he says quietly.

Not Ms. Scott.

Amber.

The sound of my name on his lips after all these years sends a dangerous ripple through my chest.

Mr. Sterling glances between us.

“Have you two met before?”

My heart slams against my ribs.

Think.

Fast.

“We grew up in the same town,” I say smoothly.

Technically the truth.

Emotionally catastrophic.

Mr. Sterling beams.

“Well, that’s perfect! Two hometown experts working together on the marina.”

The marina.

Of course.

The universe apparently has a sense of humor.

I sit back down slowly, gripping my pen a little tighter than necessary.

Across the table, Xander takes the seat directly opposite me.

As if the room itself conspired to place him there.

Mr. Sterling launches back into the presentation, explaining timelines and campaign ideas, but the words blur together.

Because I can feel it.

Xander’s gaze.

Resting on me.

Not casually.

Not professionally.

But like he’s trying to confirm I’m real.

I keep my eyes firmly on the screen.

Twelve years.

Twelve years since the last time I saw him.

Twelve years since the last time I heard his voice.

Twelve years since the message that ended everything.

And now I’m expected to work with him.

Lead a project with him.

Return to the hometown where every memory of us still lives.

I swallow hard and force myself to focus on the presentation.

But one thought keeps echoing louder than the rest.

Alexander Fitzgerald is back in my life.

And the last time I saw him…

he broke my heart with a single message.