The Hayes Corporation tower gleamed in the morning sun, its mirrored glass catching the city skyline and reflecting ambition back at the world. For Isabella, standing at its entrance, the building was less a monument of success and more a giant reminding her of how small she was.
She clutched her notebook to her chest, drawing in a steadying breath. This was her first day as an intern—a dream opportunity that could open doors to a future she had only dared whisper about. But the grandeur of the tower made her palms sweat, her confidence threatening to buckle under the weight of it all.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with activity: sharp suits, polished heels, and the rhythm of business that seemed to move faster than her heart. The receptionist directed her to the twenty-seventh floor, where the internship orientation was being held.
She didn't expect to see Alexander Hayes waiting at the end of the corridor.
"Mr. Hayes?" she asked in surprise, almost stumbling over her own voice.
He looked up from his phone, his storm-grey eyes locking onto hers. That same pull, that same strange current from the gala, returned in full force.
"Isabella," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that startled her. "So it is true. You're part of our program."
She nodded, unable to hide the nervous smile tugging at her lips. "I—I didn't think I'd see you here. Not like this."
He studied her for a moment, as though trying to read the thoughts she kept hidden. Then, with a faint smile, he gestured toward the conference room. "Come. I'll introduce you."
The other interns whispered when she walked in beside him. It wasn't every day the CEO personally escorted a newcomer. Alexander ignored the murmurs, his hand brushing lightly against Isabella's back as he guided her to a seat. The touch was brief, professional to an outsider—but to Isabella, it lingered far longer than it should have.
Over the next weeks, Isabella worked diligently. She immersed herself in projects, learned quickly, and impressed her supervisors. But what unsettled her most wasn't the workload—it was Alexander.
He would find reasons to stop by her desk, asking about her progress with a softness in his tone that he never used with others. He invited her to late-night brainstorming sessions, where the office quieted and the city glowed beyond the glass walls.
One night, as the clock struck past ten, Isabella was still typing away, her hair falling loose from its clip. Alexander entered the office carrying two cups of coffee.
"You'll need this," he said, placing one gently on her desk.
She looked up, startled. "You didn't have to…"
"I wanted to," he interrupted, his gaze holding hers with a weight that made her chest tighten.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The hum of the city filled the silence between them. Then Alexander shifted, almost as though he feared the silence would betray him.
"You remind me of someone," he said quietly. "Someone who used to make me forget the noise of the world."
"Your wife?" Isabella asked softly, though she regretted it the moment the words left her lips.
His eyes darkened, and for the first time, she saw the grief he carried like a shadow. "Yes," he admitted. "Claire."
The tenderness in his voice, the vulnerability, tugged at something deep inside her. She shouldn't have cared—shouldn't have wanted to comfort him—but she did.
And that night, as she walked home beneath the streetlights, she found herself thinking less about Ethan's warm smile and more about Alexander's storm-filled eyes.
She hated herself for it.
Meanwhile, Ethan was planning a surprise.
At the university café, he spoke animatedly to his best friend about introducing his girlfriend to his father.
"He'll love her, man," Ethan said, grinning as he stirred his coffee. "She's smart, ambitious, kind… everything he always wanted me to find in someone. Maybe—just maybe—it'll make him proud of me, too."
He had no idea. No idea that the woman he cherished, the woman he believed would unite him with his father, was the same woman who was slowly being pulled into Alexander's orbit.
That week ended with an announcement: the interns were invited to a private dinner hosted by Alexander himself. It was tradition, a way of welcoming fresh talent. But for Isabella, it felt like walking willingly into temptation.
She dressed carefully, her nerves knotted tight. When she entered the dining hall, her eyes instinctively sought him—and there he was, at the head of the table, his gaze already waiting for her.
The dinner was formal, polite, full of laughter from the other interns. But Isabella barely tasted the food. She felt Alexander's eyes on her, felt the silent connection stretching like an invisible thread.
And as the night drew to a close, she realized with a sinking heart that she was caught.
Not by the company. Not by the opportunity.
But by him.