Chapter 1: The Collision
Rain tapped gently on the windows of the Willard Enterprises skyscraper — 83 stories of steel and glass that cut into the gray clouds like a blade. At the very top, behind a sleek black desk, sat Jason Willard.
Only twenty-eight, Jason was already a name whispered in boardrooms and plastered across finance magazines. But today, he wasn't thinking about stocks, mergers, or his next billion. He was staring out the window, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes distant. He felt nothing. Not pride. Not satisfaction. Not even exhaustion. His assistant knocked and peeked in. "Mr. Willard, your 4 PM appointment canceled. The afternoon is clear." Jason barely nodded. "Thanks, Rachel." Maybe he'd take a walk. Breathe air that didn't come through a marble-lined HVAC system. Down below, in the buzzing streets of Midtown, Lily MacPherson was soaked to the skin, her worn boots splashing through puddles as she pushed a cart of fresh-cut flowers. She weaved between taxis and rushing umbrellas, calling out: "Roses — three dollars! Tulips for two!" Her fingers were numb, her cheeks red, but her eyes... her eyes held fire. She didn't sell for money — though she needed it. She sold because it meant she mattered. That she wasn't invisible. At the edge of a pedestrian crossing, she tripped. The cart tipped sideways, and flowers spilled into the street like spilled dreams. A passing car splashed water across her apron. She crouched down, biting her lip hard to keep from crying. And that's when it happened. Jason had come out of the building on foot — no driver, no umbrella — just a man trying to feel something. He saw her, drenched and struggling, her hair clinging to her face, tulips crushed beneath a passing shoe. He didn't know why, but he stepped forward. "Hey," he said, kneeling beside her. "Let me help." She looked up, startled. "It's fine. I can—" He was already scooping up flowers, careless about his soaked designer shirt. "These yours?" he asked. She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. They were." He smiled — the first real one in months. "Let's see if we can salvage a few." Five minutes later, they were both soaked, standing on the sidewalk beside a mostly reloaded cart. People stared. Not at her — at him. Jason Willard. The billionaire helping a flower girl in the rain. She noticed. "You look… familiar." He shrugged. "I get that sometimes." She narrowed her eyes. "You're not a criminal, are you?" He laughed. "That's debatable." Her lips curved slightly. "Well… thanks." He glanced at her, quiet for a second. "Can I buy a flower?" She blinked. "You just helped pick them up." "I know. But I'd still like to." She reached into the cart and picked a slightly bent white daisy. "This one's got heart." He handed her a crumpled ten-dollar bill. Their fingers brushed. Something passed between them — quick, strange, unspoken. As he walked away, daisy in hand, Jason realized his heart was beating faster. Not because of business. Not because of ambition. Because of her. And somewhere behind him, Lily watched the stranger walk off with a flower and a smile — and wondered why the world suddenly felt just a little bigger.