The storm had not rested since afternoon. It roared across the city like an untamed beast, battering rooftops and clawing against glass towers. Thunder rolled over the skyline, and rainwater ran in silver rivers along the curbs.
For Miranda, the storm was no surprise. It felt like a mirror of her life loud, cold, and unending.
Inside the Imperial Crown Hotel, the chaos of the weather could only be admired from a distance. Guests paused beneath crystal chandeliers to sip champagne, their laughter filling the lobby, their silk dresses and black-tie suits untouched by the world outside.
But behind the marble reception desk, Miranda adjusted her stiff collar and hid her tiredness behind a professional smile. Her shift had begun before the rain, and she knew it wouldn't end until the city fell asleep.
Her shoes pinched her toes, worn from years of overuse. She ignored the dull ache, the same way she ignored the phone in her pocket. Her adoptive mother had already called twice. She didn't need to see the messages to know what they said: Money. Send it now.
Love was never free in her family. They had taken her in as a child, but she had never been treated as a daughter. She was a burden, a mistake that kept her parents' tongues sharp. Now, at twenty-two, she was still paying her debt of existence by carrying their financial weight.
"Miranda, are you deaf?"
The harsh voice yanked her back. Pamela, the senior receptionist, glared at her. Pamela's lipstick gleamed, and her nails tapped against the desk. "The luggage tags. Don't just stand there like a mannequin."
"Yes, Pamela." Miranda quickly passed the tags, keeping her eyes lowered.
Pamela smirked in satisfaction before turning her attention to a wealthy guest. Miranda swallowed the bitterness in her throat. Apologies were easier than explanations here.
Another night, another humiliation.
She inhaled deeply, forcing her shoulders straight, when something changed in the air.
It was subtle like the silence before thunder, the pause before lightning tears across the sky. The back of her neck prickled, her pulse skipping. She turned toward the entrance just as the tall glass doors swung open.
A man stepped in from the storm and the rain clung to his broad shoulders, glistening against a tailored black suit. He didn't carry an umbrella, nor did he flinch at the downpour. His presence was a storm in itself, commanding and unstoppable.
Conversations faltered. A woman dropped her glass. Every head turned.
Miranda's breath caught in her chest.
His frame was built of power, sharp lines of authority in every step. His jaw was strong, his expression carved from cold marble. But it was his gray, storm-dark, ancient eyes that rooted her in place. They cut through the crowd, piercing, unblinking, until they landed on her.
Her stomach tightened as if seized by invisible claws. She couldn't look away.
He approached the reception desk, each stride measured, predatory. The marble floor reflected his shadow, stretching long, darker than any man's shoulder.
"Reservation under Storm," he said, his voice smooth, low, and dangerous.
The sound rolled through her like thunder.
Her fingers trembled as they flew across the keyboard. The name Storm echoed in her mind. She had heard it whispered by staff late at night. Jeden Storm. A billionaire whose empire touched steel, technology, and oil. Ruthless. Unreachable. Some called him cursed. Others said his fortune was stained with blood.
"Yes, Mr. Storm," Miranda managed. Her voice sounded steady, but her chest raced. "Your penthouse suite is ready."
He didn't move. He didn't blink. His gaze pinned her, sharp as a blade, pulling at something deep within her chest.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Would you like me to arrange"
"You shouldn't hide your eyes."
Her words died on her tongue and her tone was quiet, intimate, yet it carried with the weight of command. His gaze softened for a heartbeat, flicking downward before returning with steel. "They're too honest for this world."
Heat crept up her neck. No man had ever looked at her like that. Certainly not a man like him.
Before she could respond, a bellhop rushed over. "Mr. Storm, let me carry your bags."
Jeden Storm turned at last, breaking the magnetic pull. But his eyes lingered on her for one more second before he strode to the private elevator.
The air felt lighter when he was gone, but Miranda's knees trembled. She gripped the counter until her knuckles whitened.
"What… was that?" she whispered.
Pamela's voice snapped behind her. "Stop staring like a lovesick child. He's out of your league, sweetheart. Men like him don't even see girls like you."
Miranda forced a polite smile and turned back to her screen, but inside, her chest thundered with questions.
The rest of Miranda's shift passed in fragments she barely noticed. She checked in more guests, handed out key cards, nodded at endless questions. But every time her thoughts drifted, she felt those storm-gray eyes on her again, replaying in her mind like lightning across dark skies.
She hated herself for it. She had work to focus on. Her adoptive parents were waiting for the money she didn't have. The rent was due. Her younger brother had texted her earlier: They'll kick me out if I don't pay tuition.
Her family's burdens wrapped around her throat like a chain, and still, one moment with that man unraveled her focus completely.
By midnight, the lobby had quieted. The last of the evening's guests were checked in, the champagne glasses cleared. Pamela had gone upstairs, leaving Miranda alone at the desk with only the hum of the rain outside to keep her company.
She bent over her ledger trying to distract herself, when the elevator chimed softly.She looked up, Jeden Storm stepped out,Her heart stopped.
He hadn't changed from earlier, his dark suit still flawless, his stride as purposeful as if the hotel itself were his. But up close, with no crowd between them, the weight of his presence felt heavier. The lobby lights caught the sharp lines of his face, and she noticed the faintest scar near his jaw. Not enough to ruin his beauty, nothing could but enough to suggest violence lurked in his past.
He shouldn't have been here. Billionaires like him arrived with entourages, assistants, lawyers, women in their arms. But he was alone.
Miranda stood quickly, smoothing her skirt. "Mr. Storm, is everything"
"You're still here," he interrupted, his voice low.
"Yes, sir. I'm on the night shift."
For a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze swept across the empty lobby, then returned to her with unnerving precision. "They overwork you."
Miranda blinked, startled. Of all the things he could have said, that wasn't what she expected. "It's… part of the job."
"No," he said firmly, stepping closer. The faintest trace of rain still clung to him, carrying the clean, wild scent of the storm. His presence filled the air, demanding space. "You don't belong here."
Her pulse stuttered. "Excuse me?"
His eyes narrowed, studying her face as though searching for something beneath her skin. "You don't belong in this world of plastic smiles and empty greed. You're too… honest."
Miranda laughed nervously, trying to break the intensity of his gaze. "Honesty doesn't pay bills, Mr. Storm."
Something flickered in his expression. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. For the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted upward not a smile, not really, but a shadow of one.
"You're not afraid of me."
It wasn't a question.
Miranda's throat tightened. She should have been afraid. Every instinct screamed he was dangerous, that the darkness in his eyes was not the kind mortals carried. Yet standing here, looking up at him, she felt… seen.
"I don't know you well enough to fear you," she said softly.
For a second, silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. The storm outside growled, shaking the glass.
Jeden tilted his head, his gaze dropping to her hands resting on the desk. His eyes sharpened, and Miranda froze.
"What happened to your hand?" She glanced down realizing too late that the skin along her knuckles was red and raw from hours of scrubbing and carrying luggage. She curled her fingers into a fist. "It's nothing. Just work."
But his jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. "They treat you like a servant."
"It's my job," she said quickly, though her voice lacked conviction.
He leaned in slightly, his shadow stretching across the desk, his voice lowering until it was almost a growl. "No one should touch what's theirs until it breaks."
Her breath caught.
What's theirs?
The words were strange and possessive,She opened her mouth but before she could ask what he meant the elevator chimed again.
Pamela stepped out, pausing when she saw him. Her eyes widened, then immediately softened into a flirtatious smile. "Mr. Storm. I didn't know you'd come back down. Is there anything I can do for you?"
The tension shattered. Jeden straightened slowly, his face returning to its cold, unreadable mask.
"No." His voice was curt, He turned and walked away, his stride long and purposeful toward the hotel's glass doors.
Pamela watched him go, her lips parting. "God, he's even hotter up close." She glanced at Miranda, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Don't tell me he was talking to you."
Miranda shook her head quickly, clutching the edge of the desk. "He just asked about the lobby."
Pamela studied her for a moment before scoffing. "Right. As if a man like him would waste his time on you."
Miranda didn't respond. She couldn't. Her pulse was still racing, her lungs aching as if she hadn't taken a full breath since he walked in.
When the doors closed behind him, she sagged against the counter, dizzy with confusion.
Why did it feel like she had just stepped into the path of something unstoppable?
Later That Night
When her shift ended, Miranda changed into her plain coat and stepped into the storm. Rain drenched her immediately, seeping through her thin shoes as she hurried to the bus stop.
The city glistened under the storm's fury, but Miranda barely noticed. Her thoughts replayed every word, every glance, every impossible moment with Jeden Storm.
She told herself it was madness. He was a billionaire. She was nothing. Their worlds were galaxies apart.
And yet, deep in her chest, something stirred.
Not longing. Not fantasy.
Recognition.
As though a hidden thread had been pulled tight, binding her to a man whose name she should never have spoken aloud.
She wrapped her coat tighter, shivering. The bus's headlights appeared in the distance, cutting through the rain. She stepped forward, waiting, unaware that far across the street, in the shadow of a black car, Jeden Storm stood watching her.His gray eyes glowed faintly under the storm's light, unblinking,
relentless.
She would learn soon enough.
Her life would never belong to her again.