The rain fell in sheets, turning the streets of Eastwood City into a river of reflections. Neon signs flickered in puddles, and the distant wail of sirens echoed through the night. Naomi Hart pulled her coat tighter around her trembling frame, her bag of cheap medicines bouncing against her hip. Each step on the soaked pavement was a reminder of how little control she had over her life.
Her mother was in the hospital, her condition deteriorating with every passing hour. Naomi had promised herself she would do whatever it took to pay the bills. But the truth was harsh—her part-time jobs barely covered rent, let alone the thousands the doctors demanded. She felt trapped, suffocated, but she kept moving, one step at a time, because giving up was never an option.
Her phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with a reminder from the hospital.
"Payment Deadline: Immediate."
Naomi swallowed hard. "I know… I know…" she whispered to herself, voice trembling. Tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them away. She couldn't cry—not yet. Not when she had to keep fighting.
She kept walking, mind elsewhere, barely noticing the blinding rain, the slippery streets, the chaos around her. Until a sharp, commanding voice cut through the storm.
"I said no. I don't care what the board thinks. If he wants to test me, let him try."
Naomi froze. She scanned the street, searching for the source of the voice. Then she saw him.
A man, standing in the middle of the crosswalk, soaked to the bone, phone clutched tightly in his hand. He wasn't just standing—he was radiating presence, a quiet, dangerous authority that made her step back instinctively. His tailored suit clung to him like a second skin, wet with rain, yet he didn't shiver, didn't seem to notice the storm. Every movement was precise, calculated, controlled.
Naomi's heart skipped a beat. She had no idea why she noticed every detail about him, but something about the sharp line of his jaw, the cold dark eyes, the way he held himself… it demanded attention.
She took another step forward. "Sir! Watch out!"
The black car came out of nowhere, tires screeching, water spraying across the road. Naomi's stomach dropped. He didn't see it.
Instinct took over. She ran forward, hands outstretched, her mind screaming, Please, don't let him get hit.
Time seemed to slow.
The man staggered back, just enough to avoid the car, but his hand slammed into a metal pole. Blood bloomed instantly, dark and stark against his pale skin. Naomi gasped.
He didn't fall. He didn't even flinch.
"Sir! You're hurt!" she yelled, rushing to him.
His gaze met hers. Dark. Cold. Unbothered. For a heartbeat, Naomi felt something strange—a pull, a connection she didn't understand.
"It's nothing," he said flatly, almost dismissively.
Naomi's hands shook as she touched his arm. "That's nothing! You're bleeding—let me help!"
He didn't move. He didn't push her away. His dark eyes studied her like she was an interesting puzzle, but there was no gratitude, no warmth, nothing she could read.
Minutes later, she guided him into the nearest emergency room. The neon light reflected in the puddles outside, casting an almost ethereal glow around the entrance. Staff bustled past, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded. Naomi tried to keep calm, but her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
The man sat rigidly in the chair, his posture perfect despite the cut on his hand. He looked like he didn't belong here, like he had stepped out of another world entirely. His watch gleamed even in the dim light, and the tailored suit—wet, but flawless—spoke of wealth Naomi had never seen up close. Her mind reeled. Who was he?
Finally, a nurse appeared, and Naomi tried to step back, thinking she had done enough. But when she turned back to make sure he was okay, he was gone.
"Excuse me!" she called, panic rising. "Sir? Where did you go?"
Only a smear of blood remained on the chair, a silent, mocking reminder that he had been there at all. Naomi's stomach churned with frustration, confusion, and something she didn't dare name.
Her legs felt weak as she walked back into the rain. Everything about that man was a mystery, and she couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter wasn't over.
The next morning, Naomi's life tilted again.
A sleek black car slowed beside her as she left the small clinic she could barely afford. The window slid down, and the man from the street stared out at her, expression unreadable.
"Miss Naomi Hart?"
Her breath caught. "Yes…"
He stepped out. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening and empty. His dark hair was still wet, and his suit clung perfectly to his frame. He looked like he had stepped out of a magazine cover, and yet there was an intensity, a danger, in his gaze that made Naomi's pulse quicken.
"Mr. Storm would like to see you," he said, his voice calm but commanding.
"Mr. who?" Naomi whispered, bewildered.
"Lucian Storm," he replied.
The name hit her like a thunderclap.
Storm. As in Storm Global—the company worth billions, the CEO whose face dominated magazine covers and news channels.
Her mind raced. Could it be? The man she had saved—so cold, so untouchable, so commanding—was none other than Lucian Storm, the billionaire whose name alone inspired fear and awe.
Naomi felt her knees weaken, and for a moment, the world tilted. She gripped her bag tightly, heart hammering. What did he want with her?
He saw the fear, the surprise, the tiny hint of awe in her expression. And for the first time, Naomi felt something else—something she hadn't expected: curiosity. Was he dangerous? Was he… human?
Lucian Storm didn't answer her unspoken questions. He simply extended a hand. "Shall we?"
Naomi Hart had no idea that her life, as she knew it, had just ended. And the 30 days that would change everything were about to begin.