A Cold Reunion

The pressure was mounting. With the wedding fast approaching, the once-steady control Mila Morgan had over her life felt like it was slipping through her fingers. The elaborate event was more than a personal commitment—it was a spectacle, a merger disguised as a marriage, and a strategic chess move between Morgan Enterprises and Hawthorne Industries. Every decision, every step, was calculated to perfection. Yet, despite the cool exterior she maintained, the cracks were beginning to show. Beneath her unshakable confidence, there was a growing sense of isolation.

Mila's life had become a tangled web of distrust and mounting suspicion. Her every move was now consumed by a relentless search for the mole within her company. The tension with Drake, which had once been exhilarating, had turned dark. She couldn't shake the feeling that his hand was behind the insider manipulation, and every encounter with him felt more like a high-stakes game. At the same time, the ever-nearing wedding—a union she had no true desire to complete—hung over her like a dark cloud.

In the midst of this chaos, when Mila thought things couldn't get more complicated, her estranged mother, Julia Morgan, reappeared.

It had been years since Julia had walked out of Mila's life. She had left without looking back, escaping to Europe to chase a world of high society, luxury, and wealth, leaving Mila and her father behind to pick up the pieces. The sudden appearance of Julia at the Morgan Estate in the Hamptons was as unwelcome as it was unexpected. Mila could only assume her mother's return had more to do with her own ambition than any genuine concern.

Julia arrived unannounced, her entrance as polished and practiced as the socialite she had become. She was still beautiful—icy and elegant in her designer clothes, her hair perfectly coiffed, her expression carefully crafted to mask her real intentions. Mila knew her mother too well. Julia didn't do things out of sentimentality. She had shown up now, of all times, for one reason only: the wedding to Drake Hawthorne was a social opportunity too tempting for Julia to resist.

Mila steeled herself as Julia was led into the grand sitting room of the Morgan Estate, a room that echoed with the same cold opulence her mother carried with her. The mansion's marble floors and antique furniture gleamed, but it couldn't disguise the tension that filled the air. Mila, standing with her arms crossed in front of the enormous fireplace, watched her mother enter. The distance between them was palpable.

"Mother," Mila greeted, her voice measured but filled with frost. She didn't move from her position. "What are you really doing here?"

Julia, always composed, smiled—a delicate, practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Is that how you greet your own mother, Mila?" She moved toward one of the high-backed armchairs and sat with the grace of someone who expected the world to bend around her. "I've come to offer some advice. It seems you're getting a bit... distracted."

Mila's eyes narrowed, her arms tightening around herself. "Advice?" She almost laughed at the absurdity. Julia, who had abandoned her, now thought she had the right to give advice?

Julia tilted her head slightly, her voice lowering as if she were about to share a well-guarded secret. "This marriage, this merger... it's a brilliant strategy, I'll give you that. But you're making it far too personal. You need to be smarter about how you handle Drake. He's a Hawthorne, Mila. Men like that are never what they seem. You don't want to get too... attached."

Mila's jaw tightened at the insinuation. Julia's words cut deeper than she would have liked to admit. For weeks, Mila had been battling the very emotions her mother now sought to exploit. She had convinced herself that her dealings with Drake were purely business, but even she couldn't ignore the complexity of their relationship. The memory of their kiss still haunted her, along with the growing suspicion that Drake was actively working to undermine her. Julia was pushing buttons she had no right to push.

"You think I'm getting too attached?" Mila's voice was cold, her gaze locked onto her mother's, daring her to continue. "I don't need your advice. You lost the right to give me guidance the day you walked out of our lives."

For the briefest moment, Julia's expression faltered, her mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of discomfort. But she quickly recovered, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. "You're still so naive, Mila. You think you can fight these battles on your own, that you don't need anyone. But you're wrong. You're playing a very dangerous game with Drake, and if you're not careful, you're going to lose everything."

Mila's heart tightened in her chest, the words striking a nerve she hadn't expected. The idea that Julia, of all people, would come back into her life now, positioning herself as some kind of wise advisor, was almost laughable. But it wasn't just the insult that burned—it was the fear, the lingering doubt that maybe her mother was right. Drake was a Hawthorne, after all. He had been raised to manipulate, to win at all costs, just like she had. And with every passing day, it was getting harder to tell where the business ended and the personal began.

"I trust myself," Mila said, her voice clipped, refusing to give her mother the satisfaction of a reaction. "That's all I need."

Julia's gaze sharpened, the softness gone. "Trust yourself all you want, but you're not invincible. No one is."

Mila felt the tension in the room thicken, the weight of her mother's words lingering in the air. She stood there, staring at the woman who had once left her behind without a second thought, and she felt the old wounds resurface—the pain of abandonment, the anger of being discarded. Julia had never cared about anything but her own advancement. And now, she had the audacity to show up, acting as though she was doing Mila a favor.

"I don't need you, Mother," Mila said, her voice cold as steel. "Not now. Not ever."

Without waiting for a response, Mila turned on her heel and walked out of the room, her footsteps echoing through the vast halls of the mansion. She left her mother sitting alone in the lavish, silent room, the cold grandeur of the estate doing little to mask the emptiness between them.

But as Mila retreated to the sanctuary of her private study, Julia's parting words echoed in her mind. Trust. That fragile, dangerous word that had been haunting her every move lately. Who could she trust? With the mole still lurking in her company, with Drake growing closer and more unpredictable, and now with her mother's sudden reappearance, the cracks in her carefully constructed armor were growing deeper.

She closed the door to her study, leaning against it for a moment as the weight of everything pressed down on her. The wedding was looming, the merger was closing in, and the walls around her were starting to feel like they were caving in. Mila had always trusted herself, her instincts, her ability to stay one step ahead. But for the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure if that was enough.

If she was going to survive this, she needed to be even more ruthless than before. And that meant cutting out the weakness—whether it was Drake, the mole, or the ghost of her past.