It had been days.
Meetings passed in a blur. His inbox piled up. The stock market fluctuated, countries brokered deals with his name inked on the contracts—and still, Kieran Lockhart couldn't get the image out of his head.
The girl.
Not her face—he hadn't seen it clearly, hidden beneath the hood of a rain-slicked coat.
Not her name—she had vanished into the night without a trace.
But her.
The way she had moved. Swift. Purposeful. Unafraid of blood or chaos, even as bystanders recoiled from the man she'd saved. She hadn't waited for thanks, hadn't looked around for praise. She had simply pulled the injured boy into her arms and worked on him with a calm that was almost surgical.
Then she was gone. Like she had never existed in the first place.
Kieran sat behind his desk now, temple resting on his knuckles, absently flipping a platinum pen between his fingers. His office spanned an entire floor, yet it felt smaller lately. Tighter.
He had replayed that moment so many times, it had turned into something dangerous: a fixation.
His private investigators had found nothing. No trace of her. CCTV footage caught her figure in fragments—blurred, distant, always hooded. No face recognition. No digital trail.
The woman had disappeared like smoke.
It irked him.
He didn't like mysteries that couldn't be solved. He didn't like wanting.
And yet here he was, staring out his floor-to-ceiling windows as the city blurred beneath morning drizzle.
"She hasn't left your mind, has she?"
Kieran didn't look up. He didn't need to. The voice belonged to Caleb, his longest-serving executive secretary. Early thirties, ex-military, now the gatekeeper of Lockhart Industries' global empire.
Behind him, two other secretaries—Jonas and Mikhail—were quietly exchanging smirks near the coffee machine.
"Can I help you with something," Kieran asked coolly, "or are we discussing my mental stability today?"
Caleb didn't flinch. "Jonas said you've been zoning out during briefings. Mikhail's convinced you've been struck by what he calls—" he cleared his throat, "'The Classic Drama Trope.' Love at first sight."
Kieran scoffed. "You've been watching too many midday dramas."
"And yet," Caleb said dryly, "here we are. You, staring out the window for the third time this hour. Silent. Restless."
Kieran leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. His voice was low.
"I don't believe in love at first sight."
Caleb raised a brow. "You don't believe in love at all."
Silence.
Then, Kieran's gaze drifted to the city again, softer this time. Not longing—no. Curiosity. Tension. And something more dangerous.
"She was… different," he said quietly. "She didn't hesitate. She didn't look around for validation. She didn't even seem surprised that a life was crumbling in front of her. She just acted."
Jonas piped up from behind them. "Sounds like a woman worth falling for."
Mikhail snorted. "Sounds like we need to hire her."
Kieran said nothing.
But for the first time in a very, very long while—he smiled.