ARIA
The lobby of Hale Technologies smelled like ambition, cold glass, white lilies, and the kind of silence that made you straighten your spine. I'd done dozens of presentations before, but this one felt different. This was the kind of room that decided whose names mattered in this city.
And mine was barely whispered yet.
I clutched the folder against my chest, rehearsing my introduction for the hundredth time. Professional, confident, unshakable.
"Ms. Collins?" the receptionist called. "Mr. Hale will see you now."
Mr. Hale.
Even his name had weight.
I followed her through the corridor, every step echoing louder than it should have. The door opened to a panoramic view of Manhattan and a man who looked far too composed for someone everyone called the most chased billionaire alive.
Nathan Hale stood by the window, phone in hand, suit jacket draped over the back of a chair. He was younger than I expected, mid-thirties, maybe but carried the stillness of someone used to owning every room.
"Yes, Mother," he said into the phone, voice low and clipped. "It's handled."
He ended the call, sliding the phone into his pocket, then turned.
"Aria Collins," he said, crossing the room. "Public relations strategist from Lyric Brew. You turned a sinking brand into a success story."
"I prefer to think of it as damage control with creative flair," I said, managing a steady smile.
His mouth twitched. "Clever answer."
"I'm here to sell a new narrative for Hale Tech, not flattery," I said.
"Good," he replied. "I have enough people telling me what I want to hear."
I set my proposal on the table. "Then let me show you what you need to hear."
He gestured for me to start, and I did numbers, campaigns, rebranding angles, everything I'd memorized down to the breath. I didn't dare look at him too long, afraid that one flicker of his expression might shatter my rhythm.
When I finished, he leaned back in silence, fingers tapping once on the table. The quiet stretched, thick and unreadable.
"You don't sound nervous," he finally said.
"I'm not," I lied.
"Should you be?"
"Maybe," I said, holding his gaze. "But nervous people don't win accounts."
He smiled then small, dangerous, and disarming all at once. "I like you already."
My heart thudded once, hard. "Because I'm bold?"
"Because you're not pretending," he said simply. "Everyone in this building wears a mask. You walked in with your own air supply."
"That's a poetic way to say I talk too much."
"That too," he said, and laughed softly a sound I didn't expect from him. It wasn't polished or rehearsed. It was real.
When the laughter faded, he studied me with something quieter in his eyes. "Tell me, Ms. Collins. Why do you want this job?"
I hesitated. The easy answer was money. The honest one was different.
"Because I'm tired of being the person who makes everyone else look powerful. I want to be someone who can stand next to the powerful and not disappear."
He didn't move, but something changed in his expression.
"Then don't," he said quietly.
The words lodged in my chest.
I swallowed. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," he replied. "But it's easier when you stop asking for permission."
Before I could respond, he stood. "You start Monday."
"What?"
He smiled like he'd just made a bet with fate. "You'll head our rebranding campaign. I'll have my assistant send the paperwork."
My voice wavered. "That's… very sudden."
"I make decisions when I'm sure."
"And you're sure about me?"
He nodded once. "I am."
There was no arrogance in his tone. Just certainty and something softer that made it hard to breathe.
I gathered my papers, forcing my heartbeat to slow. "Thank you, Mr. Hale."
"Nathan," he corrected, his voice low.
I hesitated. "All right… Nathan."
As I left the conference room, I could still feel his gaze on me. I told myself it was just professional interest. But deep down, I already knew better.
NATHAN
The door closed behind her, and the silence she left behind was louder than the city outside.
I should've moved on to my next meeting, but my mind was still replaying her words. I want to stand next to the powerful and not disappear.
No one ever said things like that to me. Not here. Not in this building where fear dressed itself as respect.
Aria Collins had looked at me like I was a man, not a legacy. And I couldn't remember the last time anyone had done that.
I turned toward the skyline, trying to shake it off. My mother would hate her, of course. That thought almost made me smile.
Vivian Hale believed control was love, and fear was loyalty. She wanted me polished, predictable, and compliant, everything Aria Collins wasn't. Maybe that was exactly why I couldn't stop thinking about her.
A knock interrupted my thoughts. My assistant poked her head in. "Mr. Hale, the board's waiting for you."
"Let them wait five minutes," I said, picking up the folder she'd left behind.
Inside was her proposal impressive, yes, but it wasn't the presentation that had convinced me. It was the fire behind her eyes when she spoke, the way she didn't flinch under the weight of my name.
There was ambition in her voice, but there was heart, too. Dangerous combination.
I ran a thumb over her name on the folder's cover. Aria Collins.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, something quiet and certain told me this wasn't just business.
It was the beginning of the one story I wouldn't be able to control.