ARIA
By Monday morning, I'd convinced myself it was all in my head the tension, the flutter, the spark.
It was just business. Just a campaign. Just a man with the kind of charm that broke women far stronger than me.
Still, my heart skipped when I stepped into the Hale Technologies elevator, the glass doors reflecting the faintest hint of nerves in my eyes.
When the elevator opened, I was met by the chaos of an empire assistants moving like clockwork, phones ringing in perfect rhythm, and Nathan Hale walking through it all as if time bent for him.
He noticed me almost instantly. "Ms. Collins."
He said my name like it was a quiet secret.
"Mr. Hale."
The professional tone I'd practiced all weekend cracked slightly.
He smiled like he heard it. "Come on. I'll show you your office."
My office. I'd expected a temporary desk in the PR division, but the glass door at the end of the hall had my name already etched on it.
"This is… generous," I said carefully.
"Consider it necessary," he replied. "You'll be leading all media strategy for the IPO launch. You'll need privacy and proximity."
"Proximity?"
His gaze flicked toward his own office directly opposite mine, separated by nothing but glass. "It saves time."
It ruins focus, I almost said.
He leaned against the doorframe. "Any questions before we start?"
"Yes." I folded my arms. "I'm used to running my projects my way. No interference."
"Reasonable."
"And I don't tolerate manipulation."
His eyes softened, amused. "That's a strong word to throw at your boss."
"You don't strike me as the type who likes being told what he can't do," I said.
He smirked. "Maybe I just like seeing who's brave enough to say it."
Our eyes locked for one heavy second too long. I looked away first. "Then we understand each other."
"I doubt it," he murmured, pushing off the doorframe. "But I'm looking forward to trying."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings, drafts, and arguments over color palettes. Nathan didn't micromanage, he observed. Every time I spoke, I could feel his gaze following, measuring, learning.
By late afternoon, we were the last two left on the executive floor. The city outside had turned gold, shadows stretching across his office.
He knocked on my door once before stepping in. "You've been here since seven."
"Work doesn't finish itself."
"Neither do people," he said softly.
I frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning you don't have to prove you belong every second of the day."
"I'm not proving anything."
"Yes, you are."
I looked up at him then really looked. The arrogance I expected wasn't there. Just quiet understanding, the kind that made me uncomfortable because it felt too close to truth.
"Go home, Aria."
"I'll leave when you do."
"Then we'll be here all night," he said, smiling.
"Then I guess we'll be here all night," I whispered before I could stop myself.
Something shifted in his eyes a spark, faint but real.
He turned away first. "Goodnight, Ms. Collins."
When the door closed behind him, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Boundaries, I reminded myself.
Keep them. Don't blur them.
But somewhere deep down, I already knew I'd crossed the first one.
NATHAN
She worked like she had something to prove, maybe she did.
Every time I passed her office, she was typing, sketching, pacing, building ideas faster than I could process them. She didn't ask for validation. She just created it. And the more I watched her, the harder it became to treat her like anyone else in this building.
At first, I told myself it was admiration, the rare kind that comes when you see someone fearless. But admiration doesn't make your pulse tighten every time she looks up and catches you staring.
Vivian called twice that day. I ignored both times.
When I finally walked past her office again, she was sitting under the low glow of her desk lamp, hair falling loose from its bun, exhaustion softening the sharp edges of her confidence.
I knocked once. "Still here?"
She didn't look up. "Still pretending to be your own assistant?"
I smiled. "Guilty. Though you're making me look bad."
"Good. Maybe it's time someone did."
The corner of my mouth lifted. She had no idea how much I needed that honesty, that quiet defiance in a world full of obedience.
I wanted to tell her. About the pressure. The constant headlines. The feeling of being owned by a legacy I never asked for. But she wasn't mine to confide in. She was the line I wasn't supposed to cross.
"Don't burn yourself out," I said instead.
"I'll rest when we win," she replied.
She didn't mean it to sound seductive, but it did.
I left before I said something I couldn't take back.
In the elevator, I caught my reflection, the calm, polished heir my mother had built.
But all I could think about was the woman across the hall who'd looked me in the eye and refused to disappear.
And somehow, I knew this was the beginning of the end of my control.