The soft hum of the elevator filled the air, its mirrored walls reflecting a tall, sharp figure in a charcoal suit.
Alexander Thorne stood perfectly still, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a slim silver tablet. His reflection was as composed as his mind — expression blank, tie straight, eyes glacial.
Beside him, his assistant, Noah Gray, adjusted his glasses nervously. "Sir, the board meeting starts in three minutes. I've already sent the final projections to your tablet."
Alexander's gaze flicked toward the screen, then back to the doors. "Did the investors confirm attendance?"
"Yes, sir. Everyone except Mr. Choi from the Seoul branch — his flight was delayed."
A faint pause.
"Then he can read the minutes," Alexander said coolly. "We don't delay for anyone."
The elevator chimed softly.
The doors slid open to reveal the thirty-seventh floor — Thorne Jewels Headquarters, the empire he had rebuilt from ashes.
As he stepped out, employees straightened instantly. Conversations halted. The air itself seemed to shift.
He didn't need to speak; his presence was enough to command silence.
Noah followed close behind, juggling a folder of documents. "Sir, the quarterly profit margin increased by nine percent. The launch of the 'Aurelia' collection—"
"Ten percent," Alexander corrected without looking at him. "Recalculate. You're missing overseas revenue."
"Yes, sir."
They reached the glass conference room. Through the wall of windows, the city glittered below — silver towers and golden light, the perfect reflection of what Thorne Jewels represented: power wrapped in beauty.
The moment he entered, the executives rose from their seats.
"Mr. Thorne," the CFO began, "the marketing team wanted to discuss—"
Alexander set his tablet down with a soft click. "No need." His voice was low, even, but absolute. "You'll focus on expansion. The new showroom in Paris opens next month. Every detail must scream perfection. No second chances."
He sat, long fingers tapping lightly on the table. "I want the Aurelia diamonds displayed under controlled lighting — not too harsh, not too soft. Subtle brilliance. Like temptation you can't refuse."
The room stayed quiet. No one dared interrupt.
Finally, the head of marketing cleared her throat. "And for the campaign model, sir?"
Alexander's gaze sharpened. "Find someone who can wear silence like a crown," he said. "Beauty that doesn't beg for attention — it demands it."
A brief silence followed. Notes scribbled. Heads nodded.
Then Noah's phone buzzed quietly. He silenced it instantly, but Alexander's eyes flicked toward him.
"Is there a problem?"
"No, sir," Noah said quickly, but the slight tremor in his voice gave him away.
Alexander leaned back, voice calm but edged. "In my meetings, Gray, there are never problems. Only results."
"Yes, sir."
The room exhaled in unison when the meeting finally ended. As the executives filed out, whispers trailed behind him — admiration, fear, awe.
But Alexander Thorne remained unmoved.
He stood before the panoramic window, watching the skyline. His reflection in the glass looked untouchable — a man carved from control.
And yet, somewhere deep in the quiet, a flicker of boredom crossed his expression. The world bowed at his feet, but none of it moved him anymore.
He loosened his cufflinks slightly and murmured to himself,
"Perfection gets… predictable."
Noah approached cautiously. "Sir, there's… one more thing in your evening schedule."
Alexander didn't turn. "If it's not work-related, remove it."
"That's the thing, sir," Noah said, shifting uncomfortably. "It appeared this morning — added directly by Madam Thorne."
At that, Alexander's reflection lifted one brow. "My grandmother?"
"Yes,sir. It's, uh… a dinner engagement."
A pause. The faint ticking of the clock filled the silence.
"With?" Alexander asked, his tone calm but edged with frost.
"Mr. Whitmore's daughter," Noah said, his voice dropping slightly, as though the name itself might trigger something.
Alexander's lips curved faintly — not a smile, more like disbelief. "A date?"
"Listed as such," Noah replied quickly. "Seven p.m. at the Vellaro Hotel."
The city's light glimmered across Alexander's sharp features, catching in the glass like fragments of diamond. For a man like him, composure wasn't effort — it was instinct.
And right now, he wore it like armor.
"So," he said dryly, "my grandmother's taken to managing my personal life. Impressive. I should start paying her."
Noah cleared his throat carefully. "Should I cancel, sir?"
"No." Alexander turned slightly, his voice low but decisive. "If I remove it, she'll only find another way to interfere."
Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk. The screen lit up with a familiar name: Grandmother.
Alexander exhaled softly. "Speak of the devil."
He answered, his tone controlled. "You've been busy, I see."
A warm, mischievous laugh floated through the receiver. "Ah, so you found my little suprise."
"You mean the ambush you disguised as a dinner?"
"Oh, don't sound so dramatic, dear," she teased. "I merely thought it was time you entertained someone who isn't holding a contract or stock report."
"I prefer silence," he replied evenly.
"I prefer great-grandchildren," she countered sweetly.
Alexander's jaw tightened, but amusement flickered in his eyes. "Then you'll be waiting a long time."
"I have patience," she said brightly. "Unlike you."
"Grandmother," his tone dropped, smooth as glass but edged with warning, "I don't do blind dates."
"Then think of it as reconnaissance," she said cheerfully. "Mr. Whitmore's daughter is charming — elegant, well-mannered, and not the least bit intimidated by you."
Alexander let out a quiet, dry laugh. "You've done your research."
"I always do," she replied. "And you, Alexander, have spent far too long staring at jewels. It's time you remembered that people can shine too."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You're relentless."
"I'm right," she said with that unmistakable smile in her voice. "Seven p.m. Don't be late. And wear something that doesn't make you look like you're about to fire someone."
Before he could respond, the line clicked off.
Alexander stared at the phone for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket with a faint exhale. "She never gives me a choice," he murmured.
Noah looked up nervously. "Sir?"
"Nothing." Alexander buttoned his jacket, gaze sweeping once more toward the city below. His reflection in the glass looked immaculate — tall, cold, untouchable.
"Cancel nothing, Gray."
Noah blinked. "Sir?"
"If my grandmother went through the trouble of arranging a dinner," Alexander said, his voice smooth and faintly amused, "I might as well see what kind of trap she's set."
A trace of a smirk ghosted over his lips as he turned toward the elevator. "And who knows…" His voice dropped lower, silk over steel. "Maybe Whitmore's daughter will be less dull than the rest."
Noah straightened immediately. "I'll have the car ready at six-thirty."
"Make it six," Alexander said without looking back. "I prefer arriving early. It unsettles people."
"Yes, sir."