At Connor International's headquarters, thirty floors above the chaos of the city, everything was glass, steel, and silence.
Arnold sat behind his minimalist black desk, jacket off and sleeves rolled up as he reviewed the quarterly performance sheets.
Across from him, Rachel — his senior secretary, and possibly the only person who could match his ruthlessness — flipped through a tablet.
"We've confirmed it," she said, her brows tight with concern. "Alverton Tech and Bravestone Group have been quietly poaching our overseas suppliers. Undercutting contracts and Leaking specs. Classic sabotage."
Arnold leaned back in his chair focusedly, tapping his pen once against the armrest.
"And our legal team?"
"Already on it. But they're using shell partners. It's going to be a slog."
He nodded once.
And Rachel hesitated.
"Sir, this isn't just business. It's coordinated. Someone wants your name dragged through the mud before the next board cycle."
Arnold didn't react. Not visibly.
But something behind his eyes went sharper.
Colder.
"Let them try."
"Just keep a close eye on them," he said.
Rachel gave a small nod and left him with the files.
Barely two minutes passed before the door swung open again — without a knock.
"Have you-" He looked up, expecting to see Rachel returning with more updates. But it was someone else.
Ariel Sawyer stepped inside like she belonged there.
She always did.
Tall, blonde, and born into money, she had the calculated grace of a woman who'd been raised to treat men like pawns and floors like runways.
"Hey, handsome," she said playfully, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
Arnold felt annoyed but kept a straight face. "Ariel," he said without looking up. "You're not on my schedule."
She pouted, her full lips curling into a sulky smile. "Come on...Can't a girl just drop by to see her future husband?"
"Our parents already penciled me in for life, remember?"
Ariel was the daughter of a family friend, and their parents had been pushing for them to get married.
But Arnold was never interested in her.
"We're not engaged, Ariel," he reminded her in a firm voice. "You're confusing marriage with a business merger. Again."
She laughed like he'd complimented her. "Oh, details. Our families would love to see us together. And who knows? Maybe we could make it work."
"What brings you here?" He digressed intentionally.
"I booked a dinner date for us. Are you free tonight?"
"No." He answered curtly.
"It wouldn't be so bad. You and I could run the world together."
She sashayed closer to his desk while swaying her hips seductively under a designer dress that probably cost more than Freya's entire apartment.
"So, what's a girl gotta do to get some attention around here?"
"I'm busy," he said.
"You never make time for me, Arnold. I'm starting to think you're avoiding me." She scowled.
"I told you I'm busy with work." Arnold sighed and ignored her, clearly unaffected by her anger.
"Well, maybe I can help you unwind–" she slowly sat on the desk, exposing her thick thighs in a flirty manner. She leaned closer, their faces mere inches apart as she ran a finger down his chest.
"Okay, that's it. You need to leave now." Arnold jerked off her hands and stood up from the chair, forcing her to step back.
"For now," she said, smoothing her dress. "But you'll come around. You always do, when your father applies pressure."
He didn't respond.
And that, more than anything, made her leave.
After Ariel left, Arnold barely had time to breathe before his phone buzzed.
Father.
He stared at the screen for a moment then answered.
"Yes."
"We're having dinner at the estate this week," came the gruff voice of Charles Connor. "Specific date and time will be sent to you. Don't be late."
"I'll be busy this week. Can I join some other time?" He tried to avoid the meeting.
"Arnold, I don't want to hear excuses. You'll be there, understood?" his father's voice cut through, as authoritative as always.
"Yes, Father. Understood," he reluctantly agreed, knowing better than to push the matter further.
The line went dead, and Arnold sighed, wondering what the meeting could be about this time—and whether Ariel had something to do with it.
Suddenly, a faint scent wafted through his memory… the sweet vanilla aroma of Freya's perfume.
It was as if he had caught a whiff of it in the room, transporting him back to their last encounter.
The sound of her voice echoed in his mind and he recalled the way her eyes sparkled when she was determined, her full lips set in a fierce expression.
Then as if some part of him had been resisting too long, he reached for the intercom.
"Henry."
"Yes, sir?"
"I want a file built. Freya Davis. Daily News. 12 Main Street. Background, current assignments, contacts. Personal and professional."
There was a pause.
"Discreetly?" Henry asked.
"Of course." Arnold's mouth curved slightly as he set the phone down.
Then he started wondering what he just did.
He didn't even know why he was thinking about her.
But he couldn't stop.