The city never really slept, not if you knew where to look. On the rooftop of the Velvet Lounge, the skyline glowed like a stage backdrop, neon cutting across the night as if it had been designed just for them. Music pounded heavy and alive, lights strobed, and the crowd moved like a single restless body.
Elena was at the center of it, as always.
She wasn't trying to be. That was the maddening part for everyone else. She didn't chase attention; it found her. Every laugh rolled too easily off her lips, every toss of her dark hair looked deliberate even when it wasn't. She wore a slip of a dress that shimmered under the rooftop lights, high heels she'd kicked off an hour ago, and an attitude that dared the world to keep up with her.
"You're trouble," Kate shouted over the bass, clutching her glass with two hands as if it might protect her.
Elena threw her head back and laughed, her earrings glinting as she spun. "Correction: I'm the fun. You're just allergic to it."
Kate rolled her eyes, but the smile broke through anyway. She was the safer one, the careful one, with her neat blazer even here, her lipstick that never smudged. But she orbited Elena willingly, pulled in by the gravity of someone who seemed born to break rules.
A man approached with the kind of swagger that usually worked for him. Elena barely spared him a glance. He lingered, waiting for her to notice, and when she didn't, he drifted away like a moth that had lost its flame.
Kate smirked into her drink. "You do that on purpose."
"Do what?" Elena leaned closer, eyes glittering.
"Destroy men's confidence with silence."
Elena's grin was wicked. "If they can't survive a little indifference, they don't deserve my attention." She grabbed Kate's hand suddenly, pulling her toward the dance floor. "Come on, before you start growing roots."
Kate groaned but followed, her drink sloshing. "You're going to regret this in the morning."
Elena shouted back as the music swallowed her words: "That's tomorrow Elena's problem!"
And in that moment, she meant it. The night was hers, the city hers, the chaos hers. She danced until the floor felt unsteady, until Kate had to drag her off with promises of greasy food and a cab home.
By the time they spilled into the quiet streets below, Elena was laughing again, barefoot, heels dangling from her fingers. She looked up at the sky as if daring it to outshine her.
"Your dad would flip if he saw you like this," Kate muttered, half-joking, half-serious.
Elena only smirked, tossing her hair back. "Good thing he doesn't."
The line hung between them, weighty with unspoken truth. But Kate didn't push, and Elena didn't explain. The night had no room for secrets—only for reckless freedom.
---
The sun was far less forgiving.
Elena groaned as it sliced through the curtains, stabbing her eyes awake. Her head throbbed, her mouth dry as desert. She dragged herself upright, hair tangled, mascara smudged like war paint. The dress was crumpled on the floor where she'd tossed it before collapsing face-first into bed.
The smell of coffee reached her first, followed by the soft knock. The door opened before she could answer.
"Elena."
Her mother's voice was gentle but firm, a tone Elena had grown up with. Victoria carried a tray in, her posture perfect as always. She was elegance wrapped in silk, her hair pinned flawlessly, a woman who made control look effortless.
Elena squinted at her through the blur of sleep. "You're too perfect for mornings. It's offensive."
Victoria set the tray down—coffee, toast, aspirin already waiting. She arched a brow, but her eyes softened. "And you're too reckless for nights. That's offensive."
Elena laughed hoarsely, dragging herself upright. "Touché."
Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the sheets automatically. "Big day today. Your first real step toward independence, and you start it with a hangover?"
"It was Kate's fault," Elena mumbled, sipping coffee.
Victoria shook her head, amused. "You never did learn to take responsibility."
"I am. I'm responsible for surviving the hangover." Elena leaned into her mother's shoulder briefly, her tone softening. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll be fine. You raised me to handle anything."
Victoria's hand lingered against her daughter's hair. She didn't scold further. She didn't need to. Her silence said she trusted Elena, even when she worried.
"You're beautiful," she said simply, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Just…don't waste it."
Elena smiled faintly, hiding behind her coffee cup. "Relax. Sexy Elena can survive anything."
Her mother rolled her eyes but laughed quietly, the kind of laugh reserved only for her daughter.
---
Elena's sleek black sports car had been out of commission for days—engine dead, repairs stalled—so she had no choice but to rely on a private transport service. Practical, efficient, and decidedly unglamorous.
Of course, nothing went smoothly. Traffic crawled, a detour added ten minutes. By the time the car pulled up to Williams & Co., she was officially late.
Elena stepped out, hair slightly mussed, heels clicking on the pavement. She adjusted her bag and strode into the building with effortless confidence.
Elena didn't flinch. Being late wasn't a crime—it was an opportunity to make an entrance worth remembering.
Emily at the front desk noticed immediately, eyebrows arched. "Late…and still looks like she owns the place," she thought, scribbling a note to gossip later.
There was a flicker of something—envy, maybe, or judgment—but it didn't hide behind her professional smile. "You'll follow me," she said, motioning toward the elevators. No questions, no warmth—just efficiency.
Elena arched an eyebrow but didn't respond. She fell in step behind Emily, letting her eyes drink in the lobby, the polished floors, the glass walls. She didn't need a guide, but following Emily gave her a chance to assess the players in this world.
Emily led her through the hallways, pointing out elevators, break rooms, and bathrooms with clipped, almost imperceptible impatience. "Marketing's just down that hall," she said, her voice flat. Then, almost as an aside: "Lucas Emmanuel tends to…ignore new people. Don't take it personally."
Elena smirked slightly, letting a trace of mischief show. "Ignored? Good. I hate small talk anyway."
Emily gestured toward a desk where a man was sorting through files. "This is Daniel, Assistant Head of Marketing. He'll show you the ropes. Try to keep up."
Daniel looked up, gave a polite smile, and straightened. He was trying to gauge her—but she didn't offer anything obvious to read. She followed him down the hall, taking in the space, moving naturally as if she belonged.
Emily lingered near the doorway for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, then returned to the front desk.
---
As Daniel led her to the Marketing floor, Elena glanced around, noting names on doors, the hum of conversation, and a few familiar faces. She didn't speak much, letting observation guide her.
At the far end of the floor, Lucas Emmanuel worked at his desk, absorbed in his screen, oblivious to the new intern. Elena noticed, then turned her attention back to Daniel, letting the quiet of her awareness do the talking.
The day wore on like a storm. Files to organize, memos to sort, Daniel trying repeatedly to impress her with small talk and advice. She deflected most of it with witty, playful comebacks, a laugh that left him flustered. Some junior staffers tried to sneak glances, whispering about her—the bold new intern who carried herself like she already belonged.
Elena thrived in the chaos. She had no interest in blending in, no desire to "play small." Every mistake she narrowly avoided, every smirk she threw at Daniel, every glance toward Lucas was a tiny rebellion against a place that demanded control.
By mid-afternoon, Elena had survived her first onslaught of corporate energy. She had met Karen Holt, whose smiles were a little too polished. Mathias Hartman lingered near Lucas, observing quietly.
Her desk became her command center. She glanced out the glass walls at the city below, letting the sun fall on her face. This was it—the real world. No parties, no nights out, no playful banter. Only power, pressure, and people who believed the world belonged to them.
And yet…Elena felt a thrill. She thrived in being noticed, in disrupting the rhythm, in proving that the sexy, reckless intern wasn't just a pretty face.
She stole a glance at Lucas again. Still absorbed in work. Still untouchable. She had no idea yet how this man, this storm of focus, would clash with her own chaos. That tension, she realized, was exactly what made today exciting.
Elena leaned back in her chair, letting her hair fall over one shoulder. She thought:
"Late, hungover, barely surviving…yet somehow I still turned heads. Let's see how long this place can handle me."
Her phone buzzed. A message from Kate:
"Survived day one without killing anyone yet? You're doing better than I thought."
Elena smiled. She typed back quickly:
"Barely. But wait until tomorrow. This place isn't ready for me."
And somewhere, beyond the glass walls and sleek floors of Williams & Co., the city carried on, oblivious to the chaos Elena was about to bring.