LOUIS'S POV
I closed the door to my study and leaned against it. My heart was beating too fast. I could still see her face. The way she looked at me over breakfast. Scared. Guilty. Something else too.
I knew her.
Not just from a resume. Not just as a chef. I knew her from somewhere deeper. A place I could not reach with my mind but felt in my gut.
Last night in the kitchen. The way she froze when our hands touched. The way her breath caught. It was not just nerves. It was recognition.
And she had said my name in her sleep.
A whisper. A plea. It had pulled me from my bed at three in the morning. I stood outside her door like a ghost, listening to the silence, wondering what she was dreaming about. Wondering why it felt like a memory.
I walked to my desk and opened my laptop. I had work to do. Contracts to review. A company to run. But my fingers did not type. They opened a new browser window.
I typed her name.
Sierra Savalini.
The search came back with little. A social media profile with a few photos. A link to her bakery's page. A small article from a local paper about a new business opening. Nothing explained the tightness in my chest when I looked at her.
I closed the laptop and ran a hand over my face.
This was not like me. I did not obsess over employees. I did not stand outside their doors in the middle of the night. I did not cook them breakfast.
But from the moment she stepped out of that car yesterday, something had shifted. The air in the house felt different. Heavier. Charged.
My phone buzzed. Marcus.
*The meeting moved to 10. The Henderson deal is close. Need you sharp.*
I typed back a quick confirmation. I was not sharp. My mind was in the kitchen with a woman I barely knew.
I stood and walked to the window. The grounds stretched out, green and perfect. Everything in my life was perfect. Ordered. Under control.
Then she arrived.
And now I was digging through old security footage from five years ago.
I had not planned to do it. But after she said my name in her sleep, I could not stop myself. I had logged into the system and retrieved files from the club I used to attend. The Red Velvet. It was a lifetime ago. A different man.
I scrolled through grainy footage from that year. Faces blurred by time and low light. I did not know what I was looking for. A hint. A clue.
And then I saw her.
Younger. Softer. Dressed in a simple black dress. She was standing by the bar alone, looking lost. Looking beautiful.
My breath stopped.
The footage showed me walking over to her. My younger self was confident, already drunk on power and whiskey. I saw myself lean in. Say something. She smiled. Shy.
Then the footage cut. The next clip showed us leaving together. My hand on the small of her back.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
That was her. That was Sierra.
The night came back in pieces. A hotel room. The scent of her skin. The feel of her under me. The way she looked at me was like I was the only thing in the world.
I had forgotten her face. But my body remembered.
I sat down hard in my chair.
She was the one. The one I had spent one night with and never found again. I had looked. For months, I had looked. But she had vanished like smoke.
And now she was here. In my house. Working for me.
Why did she not say anything?
Why did she look at me like I was a stranger?
A knock on the door startled me. I quickly closed the footage.
"Come in."
Marcus walked in, his expression all business. "Louis. The car is ready. We need to leave at ten."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He paused, looking at me. "You alright? You look pale."
"Fine. Just tired."
"This deal is important. Do not let distractions get in the way." His eyes flickered toward the door, toward the kitchen. He had seen her this morning. He had seen the way I looked at her.
"There are no distractions," I said, my voice cold.
He did not believe me. But he nodded. "Good. I will meet you at the car."
He left, and I let out a long breath.
Distractions.
She was more than that. She was a question mark in the middle of my orderly life. A ghost from a night I could not forget.
And she was hiding something. I could feel it.
I stood and straightened my suit. I had a meeting to go to. A company to run.
But as I walked out of my study, my eyes went to the kitchen. She was at the counter, reading a recipe book, her brow furrowed in concentration. Sunlight caught the gold in her hair. She bit her lip softly.
My chest tightened.
I knew her.
And before this was over, I would know why she was really here.