Chapter 3: Paper Walls, Glass Hearts

By her third day at Torres & Co., Emma Rivers had memorized the rhythm of the place. It was like a well-oiled machine—quiet footsteps on polished floors, whispered hallway conversations, and the occasional echo of heels clicking against the tiles. Everyone knew where to be, what to say, and most importantly, how not to cross paths with the CEO unless absolutely necessary.

Except Emma. She had no choice but to see him every day.

Her desk sat just outside Jamie Torres’ glass-walled office. She could feel his presence even when the door was closed—like gravity pulling her in without warning.

He barely spoke unless it was work-related, but his eyes always lingered. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. Just long enough to make her chest ache with a memory she couldn’t afford to revisit.

At 11:42 AM, Jamie’s door creaked open. Emma looked up just as he stepped out, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. He handed her a USB and a folder.

“I’ll be working from home tonight. I want you to bring the hard copy portfolio from the 2018 campaigns. Originals. Not scanned,” he said.

She blinked, hesitating. “I can send it by courier—”

“I want you to bring it.”

Her eyes flicked to his. There was something in his expression that was unreadable—flat, but not empty.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, voice dipping just slightly.

Emma’s throat tightened. “No, sir.”

He didn’t thank her. Just nodded and disappeared behind the door again.

She stared at the closed glass pane for several seconds.

Claire appeared at her desk a moment later, leaning over the divider with a knowing look. “You okay? You’ve been somewhere else all day.”

Emma didn’t answer at first. Then: “He asked me to bring a file to his condo tonight.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s not exactly standard protocol.”

“I know,” Emma said, already regretting every second of it. “But I don’t think he’s going to stop unless I face him.”

Claire softened. “Then face him. But don’t lose yourself in the process, okay?”

Emma gave her a tight nod. She wasn’t sure she believed herself either.

---

At 6:12 PM, Emma stood outside Jamie’s condo door with the folder clutched to her chest like a shield.

The building was elegant—glass walls, private elevators, and a quiet luxury that made her feel underdressed even in her cream blouse and fitted trousers.

She exhaled, then knocked.

The door opened almost instantly.

Jamie stood in front of her barefoot, wearing gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. His entire presence was so at odds with the calculated CEO image that it made her freeze for a second.

“You came,” he said softly.

“I said I would,” she replied.

He stepped aside, letting her in without another word.

The condo was sleek and masculine—dark wood floors, minimalist furniture, cold lighting. It smelled faintly of cedarwood and mint, and a jazz record played quietly in the background, echoing through the open-plan space.

Emma stepped inside cautiously, not moving far from the entrance.

Jamie took the folder from her and placed it on the marble kitchen counter. “Drink?”

“No.”

“Hungry?”

“No.”

He turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying.”

Emma lifted her chin. “I’m cautious. There’s a difference.”

He studied her in the dim lighting, the shadows softening his usually sharp features. “Do you think I invited you here to seduce you?”

“I don’t know why you invited me here.”

He walked around the island slowly, pausing just a few steps in front of her. “You’ve been pretending, Emma. Every day, sitting outside my office, acting like we’re strangers.”

She swallowed hard. “We are strangers now.”

Jamie’s eyes searched hers. “I never forgot you.”

Emma’s chest tightened.

He continued. “After you moved away... I waited for a message, a call. Anything. But nothing came.”

Her voice was quiet. “Because I was fifteen and scared. You never answered my letter, Jamie. You disappeared.”

“I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know what I felt.”

“And now?” she asked.

Jamie didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he took another step toward her, now only inches apart.

“I think about you more than I should,” he admitted. “I think about what would’ve happened if I’d kissed you that day behind the school. I think about what I would’ve said if I had the guts to write you back.”

Emma’s voice trembled. “You don’t get to come back into my life and act like time didn’t happen.”

“I’m not pretending time didn’t pass. I’m asking if it changed what we were.”

She looked away, but he caught her chin gently, turning her back to him.

“Did it change how you feel when I look at you?”

She didn’t speak.

So he leaned down.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative.

It was years of silence breaking open.

It was youth reigniting in the most dangerous way.

Her hands rose without thinking, grabbing his shirt, clinging to something real. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly as he pushed her gently against the kitchen island. Folders spilled onto the floor, pages fluttering like falling leaves, forgotten.

Emma gasped against his lips. “Jamie—”

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, brushing his mouth along her neck, his breath shaky.

She didn’t.

Because she didn’t want him to.

The kiss deepened. They were fire and memory and aching skin. Her blouse slipped off one shoulder. His hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer until they weren’t two people anymore—but one storm, finally unleashed.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom.

The marble kitchen counter became a silent witness.

Afterward, Emma sat curled up on the edge of the leather couch, wearing one of his hoodies. The room was still except for the slow jazz, still playing softly in the background.

Jamie stood by the window, staring out at the city skyline. The lights reflected across his face, half-shadowed, half-illuminated.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did she.

But something had changed. Something had shifted between them that couldn’t be undone.

Finally, he turned around and asked, “Was that a mistake?”

Emma hesitated. Her heart screamed yes, but her body still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he’d looked at her like he’d been starving for years.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

He walked over and crouched in front of her. “I meant it, Emma. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

Her voice cracked. “Wanting someone doesn’t mean it’s right.”

He touched her hand. “But sometimes it means it’s real.”

She pulled away gently and stood, wrapping the hoodie around her tighter. “This can’t happen again.”

Jamie didn’t argue. He didn’t push.

He just watched her walk to the door.

But as she opened it, he said quietly, “You’re going to come back. Even if you don’t want to.”

Emma paused.

Then left without looking back.

Outside, the city buzzed with life, unaware of the chaos unraveling behind that penthouse door.

And inside her chest, Emma felt it: the slow, familiar ache of falling into something she wasn’t ready to survive.