The Hawthorne Ventures headquarters occupied the top fifteen floors of a glass tower in Hudson Yards. Aria had walked past the building a hundred times, but she'd never imagined she'd be inside, riding a private elevator to the fifty-second floor where the gala would take place.
Victoria met her in the lobby—a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and sharper heels. "Miss Chen, welcome. Mr. Hawthorne is already upstairs with the events team. I'll take you up."
The elevator was all glass and chrome, offering dizzying views of Manhattan as they ascended. Aria's guitar case suddenly felt inadequate, her thrift-store jacket shabby against Victoria's designer suit.
The doors opened to reveal what could only be described as a playground for the wealthy. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased panoramic city views. Modern art installations punctuated the open space. A stage had been constructed at one end, with professional lighting rigs and sound equipment that probably cost more than Aria's annual salary.
And standing center stage, gesturing to a technician about speaker placement, was Dominic.
He'd traded his park-meeting suit for dark jeans and a black henley that did absolutely nothing to hide his athletic build. His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it, and when he turned and saw her, his entire face transformed with a smile that made Aria's stomach flip.
"Aria." He crossed the space in long strides, and she noticed he was in sneakers—expensive ones, but still. Somehow that detail made him more real, more accessible. "Thank you for coming early. I wanted to make sure everything meets your needs before the actual event."
"This is..." She gestured at the space, words failing. "This is incredible."
"Wait until you test the acoustics. Marcus, can you start with a sound check?"
Aria blinked. "Marcus?"
Her boss emerged from behind the stage, grinning like he'd won the lottery. "Surprise. Mr. Hawthorne hired me to oversee the sound engineering for your performance. Figured you'd be more comfortable with someone you trust at the board."
Dominic had hired her boss. To make her more comfortable. That was...
"Thank you," she managed, looking at Dominic. "You didn't have to do that."
"I did if I wanted the best possible result. Marcus knows your sound better than any tech I could hire." He gestured toward the stage. "Shall we?"
The next hour passed in a blur of technical setup. Aria played scales, tested microphone placement, adjusted monitor speakers until she could hear herself perfectly. Marcus and the tech team worked seamlessly, making changes based on her feedback without question or complaint.
Dominic watched from the audience area, but he wasn't checking his phone or multitasking. He was listening—really listening—with the same focused intensity he'd shown in the park.
"Try 'Fractured Light,'" he called out during a break. "I want to hear how it sounds in the space."
Aria settled onto the stool they'd positioned center stage, guitar in her lap. She'd finished the song last week, and it had transformed from a rough sketch to something that felt almost painfully personal.
The first notes echoed through the empty space, clear and pure. Then she began to sing.
"In the space between what was and what could be,
I'm collecting shattered pieces of me,
Every crack a story, every flaw a truth,
Learning that broken things can still show proof—
That fractured light still shines,
Scattered but mine,
Every imperfect line
Makes the beauty more defined..."
She lost herself in the music, eyes closed, voice carrying all the vulnerability she usually kept locked away. When the final note faded, silence filled the massive space.
Then Dominic spoke, his voice rougher than she'd heard before. "That's... that's extraordinary, Aria."
She opened her eyes to find him standing now, hands in his pockets, expression unguarded in a way that made her breath catch. He looked affected. Moved. Like the song had reached past his billionaire armor and touched something raw.
"It's honest," she said, deflecting the intensity of his gaze. "Sometimes that's all music needs to be."
"It's more than honest. It's brave." He cleared his throat, composure reasserting itself. "The acoustics are perfect. Marcus, are you satisfied with the setup?"
"Completely. Aria, you're going to sound amazing here."
They spent another thirty minutes fine-tuning details, but Aria kept catching Dominic watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Interest, definitely. But also something deeper—recognition, maybe, or understanding.
When they finally wrapped, Victoria appeared with a tablet. "Mr. Hawthorne, you have a three o'clock with the Jensen portfolio. And Miss Chen, I'll email you the final schedule for the gala. We'll have hair and makeup available if you'd like, though it's entirely optional."
"Thanks, Victoria." Dominic turned to Aria. "Walk you out?"
They left Marcus discussing speaker specifications with the tech team and headed for the elevator. The moment the doors closed, the air shifted—suddenly more intimate, charged with something neither of them acknowledged.
"This space is incredible," Aria said, desperate to fill the silence. "Your events must be legendary."
"They're professional. Whether they're legendary depends on the entertainment." He smiled slightly. "Though I think this year we've got that covered."
"Don't jinx it. I could still face-plant on stage."
"You won't. You know why?" Dominic pressed the button for the lobby, but kept his gaze on her. "Because you care too much about the music to let nerves win. That's the difference between amateurs and artists—artists make the work bigger than their fear."
"You sound like Marcus."
"I'll take that as a compliment. He clearly knows what he's talking about." The elevator descended smoothly, city lights streaking past the glass walls. "Aria, can I ask you something personal?"
Her pulse jumped. "Depends on how personal."
"Why did 'Fractured Light' resonate with me so much? When you played it in the park, it felt like you were singing directly to me. And just now, upstairs—same thing. Is that intentional, or am I projecting?"
Aria considered deflecting, giving him the artist's standard answer about universal emotions and listener interpretation. But he'd been honest with her. The least she could do was return the favor.
"It's about learning to accept your broken parts instead of hiding them," she said quietly. "About realizing that the cracks are where the light gets in—that your damage doesn't disqualify you from being worthy of love or success or happiness. It's... it's something I struggle with. This feeling that I have to be perfect or put-together or impressive to deserve good things."
Dominic's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "And you think that's what I expect? Perfection?"
"I don't know what you expect. That's part of why this whole situation terrifies me."
The elevator reached the lobby but Dominic didn't move to exit. Instead, he turned to face her fully, and suddenly the glass box felt very small.
"I expect you to be yourself," he said, voice low and intense. "That's all. Not some polished, packaged version designed to please me or anyone else. Just Aria—messy, brilliant, stubborn, talented Aria who writes songs about fractured light because she knows exactly what it means to shine despite the cracks."
Aria's breath caught. They were standing too close, close enough that she could see silver flecks in his gray eyes, close enough to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne and coffee.
"Dominic—"
"I know." He stepped back, creating professional distance again. "This is complicated. You work for me, technically. And I don't date people in professional relationships because it creates power imbalances and conflicts of interest. But Aria, I need you to know—when I listen to you perform, when I talk to you, when I think about your music—it's not as your employer. It's as someone who recognizes something real in you that I rarely find in my world."
The elevator doors started to close but he held them open, waiting for her response.
Aria should have said something professional, something that maintained boundaries and protected her heart. Instead, she heard herself say, "What happens after the gala?"
"I don't know," Dominic admitted. "But I'd like to find out. If you're willing."
"That's a terrible idea. You're my client. I'm your entertainment. There are at least seven reasons this is a bad plan."
"I can think of ten," he agreed. "But I'm also thinking of the one reason it might be worth it."
"What's that?"
His smile was soft, almost vulnerable. "Because for the first time in five years, I'm actually looking forward to my own company's event. And it's not because of business opportunities or networking. It's because I get to spend an evening listening to you sing."
The elevator began its alarm chime, protesting the held doors. Dominic released them reluctantly.
"Think about it," he said as she stepped into the lobby. "No pressure. But Aria? The offer stands—whatever happens after the performance, I'd like to get to know you. Really know you. Not as my performer, but as yourself."
The doors closed before she could respond, leaving her standing in the marble lobby with her guitar and a heart that was beating entirely too fast.
Mei was going to kill her.
Because despite every logical reason to keep this professional, despite every warning bell and red flag, Aria wanted exactly what Dominic had offered.
She wanted him to know her.
And that was the most dangerous thing she could possibly want.