I stepped into my office, the mahogany and leather smelling of success, but it felt stifling. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city I supposedly owned.
"Amir? You're staring at the horizon again. That usually means someone is about to lose a lot of money."
I turned.
Maxwell Loberstein was draped across my leather sofa, looking every bit the celebrity fashion mogul in a silk shirt that cost more than most people's cars. He was my best friend, the only person who understood that being a billionaire wasn't just about the bank account, it was about the performance.
"Just thinking about a case, Max," I said, my voice smooth, masking the tremor in my chest.
"Liar," Max grinned, checking his gold Cartier. "You've got that 'bad boy' look in your eye. The one where you're tempted to break something just to see if you can fix it. Tonight? The usual spot? I need to celebrate the new collection, and you need to stop being a stiff lawyer for five minutes."
"Maybe," I muttered.
"No 'maybe.' Ashley called me. She's meeting us there. Her father is breathing down her neck about the Heavens-Lahman merger, and she needs a drink.
You two are the golden couple, Amir. Don't ruin the aesthetic by being moody."
The Golden Cage, that's what I preferred to call it.
The mention of Ashley Heavens brought me back to reality. Ashley was perfect. She was the daughter of Stephen Heavens, a man my father respected. She was sophisticated, beautiful, and understood the weight of my name because she carried one just as heavy.
Our relationship was the pillar of my "Sweet Life." My family loved her. My father saw our union as the ultimate business move, and for the first time in billionaire history, I didn't mind. I loved my family. I loved that they supported my legal career alongside the family empire.
I had everything. I was the man who had avoided the "Achilles heel" of the wealthy. No scandals, no bitter rivalries, no broken home.
So why was I still thinking about a two-word greeting in a parking garage?
I sat at my desk and tried to focus on the merger documents. But the air of familiarity from the garage wouldn't dissipate. It was Tiana, I'll be dammed to forget the young lady who had made quite an impression when I passed by the interview hall. So much of an impression I got her name and simply never forgot it. I knew it was her, even though I hadn't looked at her face.
I knew it in the way my blood surged. I had dismissed her—pushed her aside like a nuisance—but my heart was refusing to follow orders.
The gnawing grew sharper. It was the feeling of a predator who realized he might actually be the prey.
I reached for my phone to text Ashley, to ground myself in the "perfect" life I had built. But my fingers hovered over the screen. I kept thinking about that low rumble of a voice. She hadn't sounded intimidated by the matte black Rolls Royce or the man in the couple thousand-dollar suit.
She had sounded... like she knew me.
I'll call that bluff, as if any one could know me. Heck I didn't know myself, stuck between being the perfect son and caring the perfect façade, I will say I have quite lost the touch of who Amir truly was.
I stood up, abruptly pushing my chair back.
"Max," I said, grabbing my jacket.
"Yeah, man?"
"I'm going for a walk. I'll meet you and Ashley tonight."
"A walk? Amir Lahman doesn't 'walk' without a destination."
I didn't answer. I needed to go back down. I needed to see if that scent was still in the garage. I needed to know why a "Good morning" felt like a death sentence to the life I loved.
The elevator descent was silent, the digital floor indicator flickering with a rhythmic pulse that matched the tightening in my chest.
I didn't belong in the lobby at 10:30 AM. My life was a choreographed sequence of high-level meetings and hushed boardroom negotiations. I was the son of Ahmed Lahman; my time was currency, and I usually spent it in the clouds.
But as the doors slid open to the expansive, marble-clad lobby of Lincoln Willow Legal, I stepped out with a purpose I couldn't quite justify. I looked like a man on a mission, my pace brisk, my expression a mask of cold professional focus. In reality, I was hunting a ghost.
I bypassed the reception desk, ignoring the synchronized nods of the staff. I headed toward the glass atrium that led to the private courtyard—the "Garden of Equity," as the senior partners liked to call it. It was an oasis of green tucked between the steel giants of the financial district.
As I stepped into the garden, the humidity of the morning hit me, followed immediately by the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine. It was tranquil. It was the kind of peace my father had spent forty years building for us.
I leaned against a stone pillar, taking a moment to breathe. My life was, by all accounts, a masterpiece. Unlike the billionaire families I grew up around—the ones rife with litigation, infidelity, and bitter power struggles, the Lahmans were a fortress of genuine affection.
My father hadn't just given me a trust fund; he'd given me his blessing. When I told him I wanted to study law at Harvard instead of just sitting in a C-suite, he didn't scoff. He told me that a Lahman who understood the law was a Lahman who could never be moved.
And then there was Alisha. My kid sister was the light of our family, a brilliant, spirited girl who looked up to me as if I were a god.