The city never slept. Its streets glittered with restless light, a reflection of ambition and desire woven into the glass towers that reached for the stars. At the top of one of those towers sat Alexander Hayes, a man who had built his empire brick by brick, contract by contract, until his name carried weight that could silence a room.
To most, Alexander was untouchable—a CEO whose calculated decisions shaped industries, whose charm drew alliances, and whose cold efficiency struck fear in competitors. But to those who looked closer, he was also a man hollowed by solitude. At forty-six, with hair brushed in streaks of silver at the temples and eyes the shade of storm clouds, he was handsome, intimidating, and utterly alone.
His wife, Claire, had died a decade earlier, leaving him to raise their only son, Ethan, alone. Ethan was now twenty-two, full of life and energy, a university student with dreams that stretched beyond the corporate world. He was everything Alexander was not—gentle, spontaneous, and unafraid to smile. Yet between them stretched an invisible distance, one that years of grief and unspoken expectations had carved.
That evening, the Hayes Corporation was hosting its annual charity gala, a night of glittering gowns, sharp tuxedos, and polite smiles masking ruthless ambition. Alexander, as always, stood at the center of it all, greeting donors, shaking hands with politicians, nodding to business partners.
But for once, his attention faltered.
She had walked into the ballroom as if she belonged there, though her modest dress suggested otherwise. A gown of midnight blue hugged her slender frame, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders in waves. She wasn't the most dazzling woman in the room—at least not by society's measure—but there was a quiet radiance about her, an innocence that seemed untouched by the shallow glitz around them.
Alexander couldn't look away.
Their eyes met across the crowd, just for a moment, and something unexplainable stirred in him. A pull he hadn't felt in years—since before grief had turned his heart into stone.
He excused himself from a senator's boastful story and crossed the room.
"Good evening," he said, his voice low and rich, carrying the weight of a man accustomed to being listened to. "I don't believe we've met."
The young woman blinked, surprised that the CEO himself had approached her. She offered a polite smile, nerves shimmering in her eyes.
"I—I'm Isabella," she said softly. "Isabella Cruz."
The name lingered in his mind. Isabella. A name that felt like music, foreign and delicate on his tongue.
"Alexander Hayes," he said, though she must have known. "Welcome to the gala. I trust you're enjoying yourself?"
Her laugh was light, unguarded. "Enjoying? Maybe surviving. I don't exactly belong here, if I'm being honest."
His brow lifted with interest. Most women in that room would have pretended otherwise, would have wrapped themselves in pretense and vanity. But Isabella admitted it freely, with refreshing honesty.
"Then allow me to make you feel like you do," Alexander said, surprising even himself with the warmth in his tone.
They talked—about nothing and everything. About books she loved, about the music that reminded him of his late wife, about the view from the top of the skyscraper he built with his bare hands. Time seemed to fold around them, the chatter and laughter of the gala fading into a blur.
For the first time in years, Alexander felt alive.
And yet, somewhere in the city that night, Ethan Hayes waited for a message from his girlfriend, unaware that the girl who held his heart was standing beneath the crystal chandeliers, capturing his father's.
Later that week, their paths crossed again.
The company had begun a new internship program for young graduates, and Isabella, through merit and recommendation, had earned a place. Alexander didn't know whether to call it coincidence or fate when he found her name on the list.
She walked into his office nervously on her first day, her hands clasped around a small notebook. She looked younger there, fragile against the cold modern lines of his office.
"Mr. Hayes," she greeted, standing tall despite her nerves.
"Isabella," he said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I didn't expect it either," she admitted, her smile uncertain. "But… I'm grateful for the opportunity."
Their conversations grew from formal to personal, late nights in the office where the glow of city lights replaced the sun. He found himself laughing at her small jokes, listening to her speak of dreams she had never shared with anyone else. And though he told himself she was just another intern, just another face in the endless tide of employees—he knew that wasn't true.
Alexander was falling.
And all the while, he had no idea. No idea that Isabella was already tied to his world, already tethered to his bloodline by a bond he was blind to.
Because Ethan had not yet brought her home.