Chapter 16: 15. We did lot of stuff

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Susan's P.O.V.

1 year later.

It has been a year since that disastrous evening. Someone once said that being cheated on is far worse than being the one who cheats—because the cheater already has their safety net in place, while the one who is betrayed is left with no choice but to fall, with nothing to catch them.

I fell. I crawled. I picked myself up, and I ran. That's how my breakup went.

That night, I booked the first flight home. I barely remembered how I got there, only that I rang the doorbell in the dead of night, feeling like a shattered version of myself. My dad took one look at me, and for the first time in years, he didn't scold me. Instead, he let my mom pull me into a hug, and when she finally let go, he wrapped his arms around me too. His voice was calm, warm, and almost teasing as he said, "Finally, my daughter is back."

Even now, I laugh at how he threw an 'I told you so' in my face while comforting me. Classic Dad.

We never discussed the details, but my family knows something went horribly wrong between Adrian and me—enough to end everything. I never confirmed their assumptions, never spoke the words aloud. But the truth remained: he cheated on me.

My dad gave me exactly four days to grieve. On the fifth, he marched me to the library, placed a steaming cup of tea in front of me, and said, "That's enough. Time to get your life back on track." He wasn't unkind—just firm, determined to see me rise instead of wallow. "If you're back, then be back. Take responsibility. Learn from this. And move forward."

And so, I did.

And I did just that—I immediately joined him at his headquarters in Baltimore. From day one, he made it clear to everyone that I was his successor. "You've struggled enough by staying away from the life that was always meant for you," he told me. "I refuse to put you through the same grind other families do, making their heirs crawl from junior positions to executive roles. That's not your path."

Not that I needed it anyway—I had already put in the work at Williams Corporation, gaining experience as a junior associate and assistant manager. But this was different. Here, I wasn't just another employee. I was being prepared for something much bigger, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I threw myself into work with everything I had. Whenever I set my mind to something, I strive to be the best, and this time, it was my career. I had never worked 12-13 hours a day before, but now it became my routine. To everyone else, it looked like I maintained a normal 8-9 hour workday, but the moment I got home, I would bury myself in reports, proposals, and strategies for another 3-4 hours.

I didn't just work alongside my father—I became his shadow, observing, learning, and implementing changes that streamlined operations and boosted productivity. Of course, he had the final say in everything, but I wanted to be the force driving those decisions, the one bringing logic and innovation to the table. Every success fueled me, every challenge pushed me harder. And as the months passed, I could see the impact of my efforts—higher efficiency, better results, and a company that was growing stronger under our leadership.

My dating life, on the other hand, was practically a comedy of errors. I didn't go on dates to find someone—I went on dates to remind myself why I shouldn't. Every encounter seemed to reinforce my resolve. There was the tech CEO who thought emotional depth was a software glitch, and the Hollywood director who was more in love with his idea of woman than actual woman in front of him. Each time, I found a new reason to walk away, another confirmation that I wasn't ready—or maybe just unwilling.

The idea of handing someone else the reins to my emotions was terrifying. The thought that someone could dictate my happiness, shake my confidence, or leave me vulnerable again? No, thank you. I wanted to be in control, to be the master of my own stability. Love, with all its unpredictability, felt like a luxury I couldn't afford.

Because of those dates I am getting the constant media attention which is exhausting. I have no desire to see my face splashed across every magazine or gossip site, so I made sure to hire the best bodyguards with one strict instruction—never let anyone take my picture without my consent. If someone tries, they step in immediately, shutting it down before it even begins. Thanks to that, unlike many other high-profile individuals, I can still slip into a crowd, blend in, and move through the world without the suffocating fear of being recognized. It's a small freedom, but one I fiercely protect.

Many people don't have the resources or means to turn their life around, but luckily, I did. Adrian may have had a safety net, but I wanted to build an entire fortress—one that no mere pair of scissors could cut through. A safety net can fail; a fortress requires an army to break.

I wanted him to realize, without a doubt, that he could never match what he lost. That he could never find another version of me.

He was a coward. If he cheated because he couldn't handle the pressure of being a better man, then he never deserved me in the first place. I don't want weak, half-hearted promises. I want commitment. Strength. A love that doesn't waver when tested.

So I built my own empire. And every success, every milestone, every moment of triumph was a message—to him, to myself, to the universe. I didn't just survive. I thrived.

He tried relentlessly to reach me. After being blocked from all my social media and my phone, he resorted to sending letters to my parents' house—letters that never saw the light of day. My father made sure of that, either burning them or tossing them out before anyone could read a single word. I never asked what they said. I never wanted to know.

But my nights are different. The roar of the engine drowns out everything else—the doubts, the regrets, the memories I refuse to dwell on. The world outside the track blurs into streaks of light and shadow as I push the car faster, gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping me grounded. My pulse races, not from fear but from the intoxicating rush of speed. The sharp turns, the screech of tires, the sheer force of acceleration—it's all-consuming, a momentary escape from everything I don't want to face.

This is how I cope. No one stops me. No one tells me to slow down. My bodyguards, the only ones who know, watch in silence. They don't interfere, maybe because they understand, or maybe because they know this track is mine—built by my maternal grandfather, a man who loved racing as much as I've come to. His passion for speed runs in my blood, and now, this track is more than just a family legacy. It's my sanctuary, my battlefield, the only place where I can outrun the past—even if just for a little while.

I shift gears, pushing the limits, chasing that fleeting moment where nothing else exists. Not the heartbreak. Not the memories. Not him.

But even as I cross the finish line, breathless and exhilarated, reality slams back into me the moment I step out of the car. The high fades, and the ache settles back in, heavier than before. Racing is a temporary fix, a momentary illusion of control. But nothing can truly erase the past.

I wipe sweat from my brow and glance at the time. I have to get back before my father starts asking questions. No one in my family knows about this. I grab my helmet and make my way to the exit, hoping that the rush will keep me numb just a little longer.

It's Sunday, and despite both my father's and my natural inclination to stay busy, my mother insists we spend the day at home—she values family time above all else. Today, we also have visitors—Mr. and Mrs. Williams and their son, Xavier. The very same Xavier who, not too long ago, was the reason my father called me into his office for a private lecture on professionalism.

In the midst of my heartbreak, I had completely forgotten to send my official resignation, which led to a messy handover and left my replacement struggling to adjust. Xavier, being the meticulous businessman he is, was livid and even considered taking legal action against me. A part of me believes it was yet another one of Adrian's failed attempts to rattle me. But the moment Xavier discovered who I actually was, all hostility vanished. Damage control was done swiftly, and while we never directly addressed the situation, his lighthearted apology managed to win over my mother's heart. Typical.

Dressed in a cozy sweater and jeans, I strolled through the garden, my phone pressed to my ear as I chuckled at something my latest suitor-- Ken has just said- he is renowned philanthropist from Japan we met during book launch event and immediately clicked and same day went to a date too. He is a charmer when he wish to be but mostly he occupied with work. I don't want to chase a man it too tiring.

The crisp air carried the scent of blooming flowers, and for a moment, I was lost in the easy conversation, indulging in the lighthearted flirtation. But as I glanced toward the patio, where my parents and their esteemed guests were gathered, I decided it was time to join them. With a sigh, I ended the call, smoothing my hair as I made my way toward them, unaware that a shocking encounter awaited me.

A jolt of shock and terror shoots through me. No. Freaking. Way. Standing before me is the last person I ever expected to see again. It's him—the guy from Aspen. What the hell is he doing here?

Wait. Didn't Dad say Mr. and Mrs. Williams were visiting today... with their son? Oh, no. No, no, no.

I stare at him. He stares right back. A chill prickles down my spine. My breath hitches. My pulse pounds in my ears. Slowly, I turn away, hoping—praying—I'm wrong.

Damn it.

The first word that flies out of my mouth is, "You?!"

To my utter disbelief, he blurts out the exact same thing. His eyes widen in shock before a slow, amused smirk tugs at his lips.

"You two have met before, Xavier?" Mrs. Williams asks, her curiosity piqued.

Xavier opens his mouth to respond, but I beat him to it.

"Oh, no! Absolutely not. I just thought he looked like someone I knew. What a funny coincidence!" I force a bright smile and extend my hand toward him. "Hello, Xavier. A pleasure to meet you." My voice is steady, but inside, I'm panicking. If my father finds out what happened in Aspen, I am so dead.

Xavier's eyes darken slightly, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his face. He hesitates, then takes my hand in a firm shake—controlled, but undeniably tense. His grip says everything his lips don't: We need to talk. Alone.

"Oh, it's fine, dear. It happens all the time. My memory isn't what it used to be, but I could never forget you! The last time I saw you, you were just a tiny doll in your father's arms," Mrs. Williams says with a warm smile.

She remembers?

"Aww, Auntie, how have you been? It's been ages! You never visit us anymore." I pout playfully. She's one of the few aunts I actually remember from childhood.

"Oh, I did visit, dear, but you were off in New York. Speaking of which—Xavier," she turns toward her son, her tone suddenly sharper. "Don't you think you owe Susan an apology? For what happened six months ago?"

Oh, no. Not this. That wasn't even a big deal!

"No, really, it's fine," I say quickly, waving it off. "It was just as much my fault. I probably would've reacted the same way in his position."

Xavier leans back, smirking like he's some kind of untouchable king.

"Nice to meet you too, Ro—" He catches himself mid-word, pausing for a beat before correcting, "I mean, Susan."

Thank God.

I avoid looking directly at him, but I can still feel his intense gaze on me. He's not helping. Not at all. Our parents are eyeing us curiously, making things even more uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Xavier sits there completely relaxed, as if oblivious to the scrutiny.

"Xavier, do you remember what you said the first time you saw Susan?" my dad interjects, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You were five years old, pointed at her, and declared, 'She has the softest cheeks ever!' Like it was the most important discovery of your life."

I will scrub my cheeks raw the moment I get to my bathroom.

Xavier lets out a low chuckle. "Sorry, Uncle, but I have no recollection of that. Though..." He pauses, eyes gleaming with mischief as he turns toward me. "Seems like she does."

My jaw drops. Oh, he did not just say that.

The room erupts into laughter. My father grins, my mother shakes her head fondly, and Mrs. Williams lets out an amused sigh. Meanwhile, I'm debating whether to throw my almond cookie at Xavier's smug face or bolt out of the room altogether.

I groan. Someone save me from this nightmare.

My face flames as our parents laugh. I need to get out of here. Now.

"I'm sorry, but I have an important call to make. I'll be right back," I blurt out, grabbing an almond cookie before making my escape to the porch.

As soon as I'm outside, I do the only thing that makes sense in a situation like this—call Liz.

"Liz! Emergency! Code red!"

"Jesus, Suzi. It's barely noon. What now?"

"I'm in deep, deep trouble."

"Did Adrian call? Did you burn down the kitchen? Are you finally being arrested for that questionable shopping spree?"

"Worse! It's him. Justin from Aspen."

""Which one? Babe, Aspen was a whole movie. You'll have to be a little more specific."

I lower my voice, glancing over my shoulder. "The one I kind of... might have slept with."

"Ooooh! You mean the Greek god? Susan, you're a walking disaster. That man was a sculpted masterpiece—his face, his body, that ridiculously perfect hair. Like, did the heavens personally carve him?""

"Shut up! Focus! He's here. At my house. With his parents! Liz, he's Xavier Williams. Xavier freaking Williams! How did you never realize? You work at Williams HQ!"

Liz lets out an exaggerated gasp. "Hold the hell up. How do you keep stumbling into these situations? Are you cursed? Wait—please tell me you're finally going to sleep with him. If not, hand him over. And for the record, I never saw him at work because only the elite—like your douchebag ex—deal with him. His office is on the 14th floor."

"Liz, help. He's mad at me. I didn't acknowledge him in front of our parents. I think he's plotting my demise as we speak."

"Relax. Go talk to him. Alone. Just explain yourself. If you want, keep me on the call. I'll stay quiet like your emotional support ghost."

That... actually doesn't sound like the worst idea.

"Okay, but what do I even say? 'Hey, sorry for vanishing after a drunken night, and now I'm pretending we don't know each other because I value my life'?"

"Babe, chill. Let him start. Or, I don't know, apologize for being a chaotic mess."

"But I don't even remember anything after we danced and got drunk. The next thing I recall is waking up in his clothes. I've been trying for months to remember that night. Nothing."

"Yeah, yeah. You'll never remember it," she sighs.

"I know! But at least I know nothing naughty happened. Right?"

"Oh, really, I'm pretty sure we did lot of stuff that night." A deep voice interrupts from behind me.

I jump in fright. Oh. My. God.

Xavier.

I slowly turn around, my heart pounding. My breath stutters as his smirk deepens, leaning against the railing.

"I'll call you back, Liz," I mumble, quickly ending the call.

A deep chuckle sends a shiver down my spine. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you, Rose?" His voice is smooth, but there's a sharp edge to it.

I force myself to stand tall, even as my heart pounds. "How long were you standing there?"

He takes another step closer, effortlessly closing the space between us. His presence is overwhelming, the scent of his cologne and the warmth radiating from him making it impossible to ignore.

"Long enough to know you definitely remember me," he murmurs, his voice smooth like velvet, yet edged with something deeper—something intense.

Before I can stop myself, I let out a nervous laugh. "Oh, please. I barely remember that night at all. Just a blur of bad decisions and way too much tequila."

Xavier arches a brow, clearly amused. "Bad decisions? Ouch, Rose. That hurts." But his smirk only deepens as he tilts his head slightly. "Then tell me—if you barely remember, why do you look so nervous right now?"

My stomach twists. Damn it. I hate that he's right.

"Look, I don't want you to tell anyone—and I mean anyone—that we met before, okay?" I hiss, my nerves fraying. I know I shouldn't be this blunt, but I can't help myself.

Xavier arches a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh? And why is that? Afraid Daddy dearest will throw a fit if he finds out his precious daughter spent the night in a stranger's arms? Imagine the headlines—'Heiress of Joseph Industries and CEO of Williams Corporation: One-Night Scandal Shocks Elite Society.' Our parents might not wait another second before putting their little plan into motion."

My stomach knots. "What plan?"

Xavier smirks, leaning in just enough to make my pulse spike. "Matchmaking, darling. That's exactly what's being plotted at the garden table as we speak."

I take a step back, but he follows, closing the distance until my back hits a pillar. My breath catches as his smirk deepens.

"Nothing happened," I state firmly, lifting my chin. "We just fell asleep. That's it."

Xavier chuckles, his voice rich with amusement. "If that's the story you want to stick with, sweetheart, be my guest. But let's not forget—you were very drunk. So drunk, in fact, that you don't even remember a thing." He leans in, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. "Tell me, Rose, do you think your clothes just magically changed themselves? Or do you want me to remind you how you ended up in mine?"

His breath is fresh, laced with mint and mischief, and his intense gaze pins me in place. My heart hammers. Oh God. He definitely heard everything I told Liz.

"That doesn't prove anything happened! And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you'll be in just as much trouble as me," I hiss, crossing my arms. I'm not an idiot—my uncle despises him dating or even being remotely linked to scandals.

Xavier chuckles, leaning in slightly, his smirk never wavering. "Relax, Rose. I wouldn't dream of it. You know me—I can keep a secret." His voice is velvety smooth, but that mischievous glint in his eyes tells me he's not done. "Although... I might need a little favor in return."

I narrow my eyes, folding my arms. "Fast forward, are we? Alright, Xavier, spill it. What exactly do you want?"

He leans in slightly, his smirk deepening. "Simple. I need a date for next week's business event in New York. And I want you."

I blink. Then blink again. "Excuse me? Have you completely lost your mind? Absolutely not! That means making headlines and—oh my God—becoming your next rumored conquest."

Xavier chuckles, clearly reveling in my horror. "Relax, Rose. You make it sound like I'm asking you to sign a marriage certificate."

"Are you serious? Why would I agree to this? I have no interest in fueling some tabloid circus!" I snap, my hands balling into fists.

Xavier sighs, rubbing his temple as if my resistance is exhausting him. "Because I need to get rid of my current girlfriend, Cassie. And before you ask, yes, she's a model. And before you roll your eyes, this arrangement benefits both of us."

I scoff. "Oh, really? And how exactly does this benefit me?"

His smirk turns knowing, smug even. "Your father is already planning to send you to that event. With or without me. Wouldn't it be better to go with me? At least that way, we control the story, not the media."

My stomach clenches. How the hell does he know that?

"We should go back before our parents start getting ideas," I mutter, spinning on my heel, eager to put some distance between us.

Before I can fully process it, Xavier closes the gap between us. His warmth, his scent—it's overwhelming. He leans in just enough that I feel his breath against my skin. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you, Rose?" His voice is low, filled with something I can't quite place—frustration, longing, maybe even regret.

I swallow hard. "You're mistaken. I'm not—"

Before I can pull away, his arms wrap around me, firm yet gentle. "I missed you," he murmurs, his grip tightening as if afraid I might disappear again. "I tried so hard to find you."

My heart pounds, my breath catching in my throat. I should push him away. I should run. But instead, I hesitate. Just for a moment. Because deep down, buried beneath all my fear, there's a whisper of something else.

Something dangerously close to wanting him to find me.

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