A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 42: CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

KYLE

The rhythmic clicking of a pen against my desk filled the silence of my office as I stared blankly at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I leaned back in my leather chair, eyes flicking to the half-empty glass of whiskey on my desk. Morning light filtered through the blinds, cutting sharp lines across the papers I hadn’t touched in hours.

Work was the last thing on my mind.

It's been two days. Forty-eight agonizing hours since Ashley had slipped out of my arms and vanished into the night like smoke through my fingers.

And I let her.

A sharp knock on the door cut through my brooding.

“Come in,” I called out, straightening in my chair as I forced the lingering thoughts of Ashley to the back of my mind.

The door swung open to reveal Mark, my assistant, with his usual composed demeanor, though the slight glint in his eyes betrayed his excitement. A tablet was tucked under his arm, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood” he greeted, stepping into the room. “I have news.”

I arched a brow, motioning for him to continue. “Good news, I hope?”

“Very good news,” Mark confirmed, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “The Valenti partnership is secured.”

My eyes snapped to his, the weight of those words immediately dissolving the haze in my mind.

“Secured?” I repeated, leaning forward. “As in... finalized?”

“Yes, sir. I just received confirmation this morning. Mr. Valenti and his team will be arriving in New York this Wednesday to meet with you personally and discuss the next steps.” Mark’s smile widened. “They were impressed with our proposal. Extremely impressed.”

I exhaled sharply, processing the magnitude of what he was saying. The Valenti deal had been a game-changer from the start—a multi-million-dollar partnership that could elevate Blackwood Enterprises into new international markets. It was supposed to be my priority.

Supposed to be.

Instead, I’d abandoned the trip to Italy, choosing to fly to Germany when Ashley’s mother died, unable to leave her alone in her grief. Mark had gone in my place, carrying the weight of one of the most critical negotiations of my career on his shoulders.

And he’d pulled it off.

A slow grin spread across my face. “Hell of a job, Mark.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in response. “Thank you, sir. I’ll coordinate with their team for Wednesday’s meeting and send you the agenda by the end of the day.”

I leaned back in my chair, a flicker of relief washing over me. At least something was going right.

“Good work,” I repeated, dismissing him with a wave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the room fell into silence once more.

I should’ve been celebrating. Securing the Valenti partnership was monumental—something most CEOs would kill for.

But all I could think about was her.

Ashley, the woman who haunted my every thought like a ghost I couldn’t exorcise.

And because, despite everything, I still needed her too.

I leaned forward, elbows resting on my desk, fingers steepled in front of me as my mind drifted back to the night two days ago. The warmth of her skin, the way she trembled in my arms, the taste of whiskey on her lips mixed with that unmistakable sweetness that was hers alone.

Damn it.

I thought time would dull the ache. That two years of separation would lessen the pull she had on me. But standing in that bar bathroom with her, every carefully constructed wall I’d built around my heart crumbled in an instant.

And then she left.

My jaw clenched as frustration bubbled beneath the surface. She thought she could shut me out, pretend that last night was nothing more than a fleeting mistake.

But she was wrong.

I shrugged on my jacket in one swift motion. Grabbing my keys, I made my way out, the sound of my footsteps echoing sharply against the marble floor of my office.

Moments later, I was in my car, the engine’s low rumble mirroring the restless energy thrumming through my veins. I didn’t have to guess where she would be—I already knew.

At least Violet has been of help lately. She’d handled the package I sent to Ashley’s apartment without questions. More importantly, she’d let slip that Ashley would be attending Ryan’s birthday party tonight.

And that’s exactly where I was headed.

The city lights blurred past me as I navigated through the busy streets of New York, my grip on the steering wheel tightening with every mile. Today wasn’t about chance encounters or polite conversations. Today, Ashley would face me—and there would be no running this time.

My mind replayed every moment of our last encounter—the way her breath hitched when I touched her, the unspoken longing in her eyes even as she pushed me away. She could deny it all she wanted, but the truth was written all over her face.

As I pulled up outside The Monroe, one of the most exclusive rooftop lounges in Manhattan, the vibrant hum of the party was unmistakable. The valet opened my door, and I handed him the keys without a second glance. The faint pulse of music floated down from the terrace above, blending with the distant honks of city traffic and the low murmur of night.

I took a moment to steady myself, inhaling the crisp night air. This wasn’t going to be easy. But I’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

And Ashley? She was the only challenge that ever mattered.

I adjusted my jacket and strode into the building, the doorman recognizing me instantly and granting access without a word. The elevator ride to the rooftop lounge was swift, yet each second dragged, anticipation coiling tightly in my chest.

When the doors slid open, the scene before me was a blur of movement and sound. Soft ambient lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, casting long shadows across sleek leather couches and glass tables. Guests mingled, champagne flutes in hand, laughter and music weaving together into a symphony of indulgence.

None of it mattered.

My eyes scanned the crowd with singular focus, dismissing familiar faces, ignoring greetings and fleeting glances. I wasn’t here for idle conversation or pleasantries.

Then I saw her.

Ashley.

She stood near the edge of the rooftop, gazing out at the breathtaking Manhattan skyline. The city lights shimmered like a thousand fallen stars behind her, but they paled in comparison to her. Her red hair, illuminated by the ambient glow, cascaded down her back in soft waves. The black satin dress she wore hugged her figure perfectly, the slit along her thigh teasing just enough to drive me insane.

She looked effortlessly beautiful—too beautiful—and my chest tightened with an ache I couldn’t shake.

She laughed at something the man beside her said, the sound soft and melodic, but it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I didn’t care who he was, and I certainly wasn’t going to let him have her attention for much longer.

I made my way through the crowd with purpose, each step measured, controlled. My heartbeat quickened, a steady drumbeat in my ears. I knew she’d feel me before she saw me. She always did.

And I was right.

Even before I reached her, I saw the shift in her posture—her shoulders tensing, fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. She sensed me. She always did.

When her gaze finally met mine, her smile faltered, and something flickered in her hazel eyes—shock, confusion, and something else she desperately tried to hide.

Desire.

She could fight it all she wanted, but it was there.

“Enjoying the view?” I murmured, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade, meant for her ears alone. The man beside her shot me a glance, irritation flickering across his face, but I didn’t bother acknowledging him. He didn’t matter. He realized that because he left immediately

She arched a brow, regaining her composure in an instant. “I was,” she retorted smoothly, the bite in her tone unmistakable. “Until now.”

I chuckled softly, leaning in just enough to make her breath hitch. “Relax. I’m here for Ryan’s birthday. Surely that’s not a crime.”

She arched an eyebrow, recovering quickly. “Is that supposed to be charming?” she retorted, her tone sharp. “Because it’s not.”

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. “Charming isn’t my style.”

“No,” she bit out, eyes narrowing. “Destructive is more your speed.”

I stepped closer, my voice a low murmur meant for her ears alone. “Destructive? Funny, the other night didn’t feel like destruction. It felt like something you didn’t want to stop.”

Her lips curled into a cold, detached smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “What I wanted doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Does it?” I countered softly, leaning in just enough for her to feel my presence—close, familiar, dangerous. Her breath hitched, barely noticeable, but I caught it. She was always good at masking her emotions, but not from me. 

Never from me.