The Reunion at War

The conference room at the Waldorf Astoria hummed with anticipation. Rows of suits filled the space, and along the massive oak table sat some of New York's most powerful executives. Bobby Knight adjusted the cuff of his tailored navy suit, flashing just enough of his platinum Rolex to remind the room exactly who he was a Knight, heir to a family empire worth billions.

But today, none of that mattered.

Today was about Knight Industries, his company. The one he built with his own two hands, away from his father's name, and far from the suffocating grip of the Knight legacy. He had poured years into this, fighting tooth and nail to make sure his company was taken seriously. This contract—the Easton Tech Partnership—was the golden goose that would finally crown Knight Industries as a true heavyweight in the tech world.

The door swung open, and his confidence wavered—just for a second.

Her.

Sophia Reyes walked in like she owned the place. Pin-straight dark hair fell over her shoulder, sleek and perfect. Her ivory blazer hugged her curves just right, paired with sharp stilettos that gave her enough height to meet most men eye to eye. Bobby's stomach knotted—not with nerves, but with the sudden, sharp sting of memory.

College. Senior year. Their rivalry had been the stuff of legend back at NYU's business school. Top of the class until her. She had beaten him at every turn. Stolen the internship at Valor Capital right out from under him, made him look like an entitled idiot during their final pitch competition, and worst of all, rejected him the one time he'd tried to close the distance between them.

He remembered that party like it was yesterday—half drunk, too cocky for his own good, cornering her by the keg and asking her out. Her laugh had cut him to the bone. "You're just a spoiled rich boy playing businessman, Bobby. I'm not interested."

Bobby forced himself to smile as she took the seat directly across from him. Of course she was here. Of all the companies in New York, of course NovaTech, Sophia's tech firm, would be the other finalist for the contract. Because fate wasn't just cruel—it had a sick sense of humor.

"Bobby," Sophia said, her smile perfectly polite, her tone just sharp enough to draw blood.

"Sophia," he answered, his grin widening. Two could play this game.

"Still trading on the family name, I see," she said sweetly.

"And you're still pretending you're not obsessed with me," he shot back smoothly.

A few gasps rippled through the room, but Sophia didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, giving him a look that could cut glass.

"Let's make one thing clear," she said quietly enough that only he could hear. "This isn't college anymore. And I'm not here to play."

"Neither am I."

Before anyone could reply, the representative from Easton Tech called the room to order. The final pitch presentations would begin in exactly fifteen minutes. Bobby barely heard a word. His pulse thrummed in his ears, adrenaline sparking like static in his veins.

This was no longer just about the contract. This was about her. And about proving once and for all that Bobby Knight wasn't some silver spoon legacy kid, and Sophia Reyes wasn't some untouchable golden girl.

This was war.

Fifteen minutes later, Knight Industries took the floor. Bobby stood at the head of the room, delivering the pitch he'd spent months perfecting. Every word was precise, every slide impeccable. His strategy was aggressive — a bold expansion plan designed to catapult Easton into a global tech empire.

But even as he spoke, he could feel her watching him. Sophia's gaze was like a laser, dissecting his every word, looking for flaws. For weaknesses.

He wouldn't give her any.

When his presentation ended, polite applause filled the room. Bobby stepped aside, heart still pounding, as Sophia rose gracefully from her seat.

And then she destroyed him.

Her pitch wasn't bold. It was brilliant. Instead of expansion, she proposed evolution. A sustainable, long-term growth model that didn't just promise profits, but purpose. She wove in community outreach, next-gen innovation labs, and an entire mentorship program designed to elevate women and minorities in tech.

It was everything Bobby's pitch wasn't: personal, visionary, impossible to ignore.

The applause when she finished was louder.

Bobby's jaw clenched, fingers digging into his palm. She was good. Better than he remembered.

But this wasn't over.

—

After the meeting, the executives filtered out, leaving Bobby and Sophia alone in the room. The silence crackled like static before a storm.

"You've gotten better," he admitted, leaning casually against the table.

"And you're still overcompensating," she shot back, shrugging into her coat.

He grinned. "Careful, Reyes. You almost sound like you missed me."

She stepped closer, so close he could smell her perfume—something sharp and clean, like citrus and steel. "What I missed," she said softly, "was watching you lose."

His blood heated, but he forced himself to smile. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

They stood there, nose to nose, history pulsing between them.

Then her phone rang.

Sophia glanced at the screen, her expression shifting to something tight and controlled. "I have to go," she said briskly.

"Running scared already?" Bobby taunted.

But her eyes flicked to him, and for the briefest moment, he saw something— Fear.

"My mother's in the hospital," she said quietly.

Bobby's mouth opened, but no words came out.

Sophia swept past him without another word.

And just like that, the battlefield shifted.

—

Later that night, Bobby stood at his penthouse window, staring out over Manhattan. His phone buzzed a text from his sister, Emma.

Emma: Dad's asking why you weren't at the dinner tonight.

Bobby: Tell him I was busy building my own empire.

He tossed the phone aside, jaw tight. The last thing he needed was another lecture about "legacy" and "family loyalty."

His thoughts drifted back to Sophia. The hospital. Her mother.

For a moment, the memory of her face—strong but scared—made his chest ache. But then he remembered the pitch. The applause. The way she'd humiliated him back in college.

No. This was war.

And tomorrow, the battle would begin again.