Chapter 7

The meeting was held in the main conference room at Serene Beauty's headquarters.

I brought three people with me: our head of legal, our financial director, and a project manager. Their side had about eight people, including the founders, the vice president, and various department heads.

When I walked into the room, she stood up.

Serena Sinclair.

She was slightly thinner than in her photo, dressed in a sharp white blazer, her hair styled perfectly, wearing elegant, minimalist makeup.

She smiled and extended her hand.

"Ms. Sinclair, it is an honor to meet you."

I shook her hand briefly.

"Likewise, Ms. Sinclair."

Her hand was incredibly soft and perfectly manicured, with pale pink nails.

My hands were bare. These hands had chopped wood, fed livestock, dug up wild roots, washed dishes, and calculated millions of dollars on a keyboard.

We took our seats, and the meeting began.

My project manager ran through the presentation, outlining our valuation, integration plans, and future growth strategy. Her team raised questions, our legal counsel responded, and our finance director filled in the details. It was a standard, highly professional corporate negotiation.

I remained quiet, observing.

Serena didn't say much either.

But her eyes kept drifting back to my face—lingering for a moment, shifting away, and then returning again.

I knew exactly what she was looking at.

Halfway through, we took a fifteen-minute coffee break.

I stood up and walked over to the window, looking out at the nearby park.

Serena walked over and stood beside me.

"Ms. Sinclair, have we met somewhere before?"

I kept my gaze fixed outside.

"I don't think so."

She was quiet for a moment.

"You look strikingly like someone I used to know."

I turned my head to look her in the eye.

"Who?"

She blinked, startled, and then shook her head.

"Never mind. I must be mistaken."

I didn't press further.

She gave me one last, lingering look before walking away.

The afternoon session went smoothly. We finalized the details, signed the letter of intent, shook hands, and wrapped up.

She escorted us to the elevators.

Just as the doors were closing, I caught her eye. She was still staring at me, her expression a mix of confusion and dawning realization.

As the elevator descended, my assistant smiled. "That went incredibly well, Ms. Sinclair. We should be ready to sign the final contract next week."

"Yes," I murmured.

We walked out of the building, and I climbed into the back of my car. I leaned my head against the leather headrest and closed my eyes.

A single memory flashed in my mind.

An eight-year-old girl in a pink princess dress, looking back at me at the mall.

Just one look.

So bright and completely innocent.

Three days later, my phone rang.

It was an unrecognized local number.

I picked it up. "Victoria Sinclair speaking."

Silence stretched on the other end for a few seconds.

"Is this... Patience?"

I held the phone to my ear, remaining silent.

I could hear her breath hitching, her voice beginning to tremble.

"It's Serena. I know it's you. I knew the moment I saw you... You look just like Dad..."

I leaned back in my chair, staring out at the city.

"What do you want, Serena?"

Another long pause.

"I want to see you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "There are things... I need to tell you in person."

"Fine," I said.

We agreed to meet at a quiet cafe downtown at three in the afternoon.

When I arrived, she was already sitting by the window. A cup of coffee sat untouched in front of her.

She stood up nervously when she saw me approach.

I sat down and ordered a black coffee.

Her eyes welled with tears as she looked at me.

"Patience..."

"Don't call me that," I said flatly.

She flinched.

"I... I don't even know where to start. Mom..."

"Leave her out of this," I interrupted. "I didn't come here to walk down memory lane. If you have something to say, say it directly."

She lowered her eyes, her fingers twisting together so tightly her knuckles turned white.