The Monday morning air was thick with the scent of impending rain, but inside the lobby of Stone Industries, the atmosphere was even more turbulent.
Edna Rivers was running exactly three minutes early. She had traded her thrift-store blazer for a crisp, though slightly faded, button-down shirt. She was determined. She was focused. She was—
"Hold the door!" a familiar, commanding voice barked.
Edna's heart did a traitorous somersault. She instinctively stuck her hand out to stop the closing elevator doors. They hissed open to reveal Scott Stone, looking effortlessly lethal in a midnight-blue suit. He stepped in, his presence immediately shrinking the spacious car.
The doors shut. The silence was deafening as the floor numbers began to glow: 1, 2, 3…
"You're breathing quite loudly, Miss Rivers," Scott said, not looking at her. He was staring straight at the polished metal doors.
Edna blinked, insulted. "I'm breathing at a normal human volume, Mr. Stone. Perhaps the silence of your ego is just amplifying it."
Scott's head snapped toward her. A flicker of amusement—or perhaps annoyance—passed through his eyes. "My ego? You're the one who walked in here like you were heading to a guillotine. If you're that miserable, the exit is on the ground floor."
"I'm not miserable," Edna countered, crossing her arms. "I'm prepared. I spent my entire weekend reading those 2018 audits you dumped on me. Did you know you overpaid for the logistics contract in Singapore by nearly six percent?"
Scott stiffened. He hadn't expected her to actually read them. "It was a strategic overage to ensure priority shipping."
"It was a mistake," she whispered boldly. "Even the great Scott Stone misses a decimal point sometimes."
Suddenly, the elevator gave a violent jolt. A mechanical groan echoed through the shaft, followed by a sickening clack. The lights flickered and died, replaced by the dim, red glow of the emergency lamps. The elevator groaned one last time and stopped dead between the 32nd and 33rd floors.
"You have got to be kidding me," Scott growled, hitting the alarm button. Silence. He tried his cell phone. "No signal. This building is supposed to be state-of-the-art!"
"Maybe the building's ego is just as fragile as yours," Edna muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She hated small spaces.
"This is your fault," Scott snapped, pacing the three feet of space he had. "If you hadn't held the door, the weight distribution—"
"Weight distribution? I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds, Scott! Unless your ego weighs ten tons, I didn't break the elevator!"
They stood there, glares locked, the red emergency light casting dramatic shadows over their faces.
"I'm stuck in a box with a girl who thinks a 'jerk' is a technical term," Scott sighed, leaning his head against the wall.
Edna felt a sudden wave of dizziness. The heat in the small space was rising. "Actually," she said, her voice small, "I'm stuck in a box with a man who is so afraid of being human that he treats everyone like a line on a spreadsheet."
Scott looked at her, seeing the slight tremor in her hands. His voice softened, just a fraction. "I'm not afraid, Edna. I'm efficient."
"You're lonely," she corrected, looking up at him.
For a long, heavy moment, the argument vanished. The air changed. Scott stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "And what if I am? What's it to you?"
"It's a waste," she whispered.
The tension was broken by the speakers crackling to life. "Attention, Mr. Stone. We have a mechanical override in progress. You'll be moving in five minutes."
Scott cleared his throat, stepping back immediately. "Five minutes. Try not to spill anything on me in the meantime."
Edna laughed, a genuine, bubbly sound that caught Scott off guard. "I don't have any coffee, Scott. But keep talking like that and I might find some."
While Scott was trapped in a box of his own making, a very different meeting was taking place at an upscale garden café in the Heights.
Theresa Blackwood sat across from Susan Stone, Scott's older sister. Susan was the only person in the world who could tell Scott to shut up and actually have him listen. She was elegant but possessed a sharp, biting wit that kept the Stone legacy grounded.
"You look like you've been crying into your silk pillows, Theresa," Susan said, sipping her Earl Grey. "Is it Scott again?"
Theresa sighed, pushing a salad around her plate. "He's different, Susan. He's cold to me—colder than usual. And it's all because of this... this employee. Edna Rivers."
Susan's eyebrows shot up. "The scholarship girl? I heard about the coffee incident. I thought it was hilarious. Scott needs a good staining every now and then; he's far too polished."
"It isn't funny!" Theresa hissed. "He defended her. He told me she has 'honesty.' Susan, he's never looked at me the way he looked when he was talking about her. It was... intense."
Susan leaned back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Edna Rivers. I looked her up, you know. She grew up in a foster system, worked three jobs to get through school, and graduated top of her class. She's the exact opposite of us, Theresa."
"She's a nobody," Theresa spat.
"No," Susan corrected gently, though her eyes were sharp. "She's a threat. Because for the first time in Scott's life, he's found someone who isn't impressed by his last name. Our brother has spent his life being a king. He doesn't know how to handle a girl who treats him like a peasant."
Theresa gripped her tea cup so hard the porcelain groaned. "I won't let her take him. We have history, Susan. We have the families, the business—"
"History is just a story we tell ourselves to feel safe," Susan said, reaching across the table to pat Theresa's hand. "But if you want my advice? Don't fight her with anger. Scott hates drama. Fight her with perfection. Remind him of what he'll lose if he steps outside our world."
"And if that doesn't work?"
Susan smiled, a cold, Stone-family smile. "Then we'll see just how 'protected' this scholarship girl really is."