We Will Love Again Episode 3

📖 The Story Continues

Five years later, Noah Preston’s face filled a phone screen in the offices of Crazy Maple Studio. The young man Alaina had once left standing beside a discarded ring now wore a tailored suit and the unshakable confidence of someone the world had learned to recognize.

Two women crowded around the livestream instead of working. “God, he’s so hot,” one breathed. The other laughed in breathless agreement, captivated by his easy smile and the power behind it.

Onscreen, bright studio lights framed Noah across from a polished interviewer. Cameras tracked every controlled movement, transforming a conversation into a global announcement. He looked entirely at home beneath their scrutiny.

“Mr. Preston, congratulations,” the interviewer began. “Your company, Triple AI, has just become publicly traded and is valued at over fifty billion dollars.” The number sounded unreal even in a city built on impossible fortunes.

At only twenty-seven, Noah had become the kind of success story people used as proof that ambition could defeat circumstance. Five years earlier, he had owned no house and no car. Now markets moved when he spoke.

“How does it feel to achieve this success at such a young age?” the interviewer asked. Her professional curiosity carried a hint of admiration that the camera caught easily.

Noah settled back with a restrained grin. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel pretty damn good.” The audience laughed, and so did the women watching from Crazy Maple, delighted by his confidence.

“Can you share your secret to success?” The interviewer consulted her notes. “If my sources are correct, you’re the epitome of the American Dream. You came from small-town America, were raised by a single mother, and now you’re a multibillionaire.”

The summary made his life sound like a clean upward line. It omitted sleepless nights, rejection, and the fury that had kept him working when exhaustion should have won. Most of all, it omitted the girl whose last words had taught him what poverty could cost.

“There’s no secret,” Noah replied. “It’s just hard work and some good luck.” He delivered the answer smoothly, the kind executives offered when they had learned to keep their scars out of shareholder conversations.

The interviewer was not satisfied. “Come on, you have to give me more than that.” She leaned toward him, sensing that the real story waited behind the polished response. “What got you through your most difficult times?”

Noah’s practiced expression held, but his mind slipped beyond the cameras. He remembered Alaina laughing over ice cream, her hand warm in his, and the wonder on her face when he had proposed. Those memories belonged to another man’s life.

Then the final day replaced them. He saw the luxury car at the curb and his ring lying on the pavement. He heard her calling him a waste of time, each word as sharp now as it had been five years ago.

Pain had once demanded answers. Later it became anger, and anger proved easier to carry into libraries, laboratories, and impossible meetings. Whenever failure tempted him to stop, he remembered how confidently Alaina had judged what he could never become.

Triple AI had grown from that relentless refusal to remain the poor man she discarded. Every closed door became another challenge, every success evidence against her verdict. Eventually, proving her wrong had turned into an empire.

The office women continued whispering over the phone, unaware that their handsome billionaire was fighting a private battle behind his calm eyes. To them, Noah’s past was simply another romantic detail waiting to be uncovered.

He could have offered an inspirational answer about discipline or vision. Instead, the truth pressed too close. The girl he had tried hardest to forget was still woven through every achievement bearing his name.

Noah’s gaze shifted briefly away from the interviewer. Somewhere in America, Alaina might see the man he had become. He wondered whether she would recognize him—or whether wealth had erased the version of him she had once claimed to love.

“I’ll give you this,” he said at last, his voice quieter. The interviewer stilled, realizing she had finally reached something unscripted. Across the city, countless viewers leaned closer to their screens.

Noah looked directly into the camera as a five-year-old wound opened behind his composed expression. “In my most trying times, I do often think about the girl I used to love.” And at Crazy Maple Studio, that very girl was close enough to hear him.