ARIA
Every rule I'd written for myself was starting to blur.
No late-night thoughts about him.
No daydreams about his voice.
No noticing how his shirtsleeves fit just right when he leaned over my desk.
But lines were easier to draw than to obey .
The more time I spent with Nathan Hale, the more dangerous he became not because of what he said, but because of what he didn't. He didn't flirt, didn't chase, and didn't play. He just looked at me like he saw me. And sometimes, that was worse than any touch could've been.
By the end of the third week, the IPO campaign had turned into a battlefield of deadlines and long nights. Sophie was the only reason I remembered to eat.
"Coffee," she said, bursting into my office like caffeine in human form. "Also, chewable sanity."
I smiled weakly. "You're a saint."
"More like an unpaid therapist." She set the cup down. "You look like someone who's been in an emotional staring contest."
"I've been in meetings."
"With Nathan Hale?" Her grin is wide. "Same difference."
I groaned. "Not you too."
"Aria," she said, settling on the edge of my desk, "you're glowing. I've known you since college you only look like this when someone's either about to ruin your life or change it."
"I'm working," I muttered.
"Right. And I bake bread for therapy." She nudged me with her knee. "Just admit it you like him."
I didn't answer. I didn't have to. Sophie's smirk softened into something almost sisterly.
"Just be careful. Men like him don't fall halfway. They crash."
Before I could respond, the intercom on my desk buzzed.
"Ms. Collins," the receptionist said, voice uncertain. "Mrs. Hale would like to see you."
My stomach dropped. "Mrs. Hale?"
"The Mrs. Hale," Sophie mouthed, eyes wide. "The ice queen herself?"
I nodded slowly. "Apparently."
"Good luck," she whispered. "And wear emotional armor."
The top floor of Hale Tower was a cathedral of glass and silence. Vivian Hale stood at its center like a queen carved from frost. Perfect posture, perfect pearls, and eyes that said, "I know what you're hiding" even before you do.
"Mrs. Hale," I greeted, keeping my voice calm.
"Vivian," she corrected smoothly. "I despise formalities, they make people sound like dishonest."
"I'll remember that," I said carefully.
Her lips curved. "You're smarter than I expected."
The compliment didn't sound like one.
She gestured toward the window. "Tell me, Ms. Collins, do you know what I value most in business?"
"Results?"
"Control." Her gaze slid back to mine. "I built this company while men tried to take credit for my every decision. I've learned to see ambition before it grows teeth."
I didn't blink. "And what do you see in me?"
"Teeth," she said, smiling. "And Nathan's attention. Both can be dangerous if not managed."
I froze. "With respect, my relationship with Mr. Hale is strictly professional."
Vivian's smirk didn't fade. "So is mine, dear. And yet, both of us know how far professionalism can stretch before it snaps."
Her words were silk around a knife.
"I admire your work," she continued, "but my son is… easily distracted by passion projects. Don't become one."
There it was. The warning.
"Thank you for the advice," I said. "I'll make sure my focus stays on the campaign."
"I'm sure you will." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "But focus doesn't stop attraction. If it did, you wouldn't be trembling right now."
I stiffened. "I'm not."
Her smile sharpened. "Then prove me wrong."
And just like that, she turned away dismissal as graceful as it was cruel.
I walked out of that office shaking. Not with fear, but anger. Anger that she could see through me so easily, anger that she was right.
I was trembling.
Not because I feared her
But because I feared myself.
Nathan found me in the elevator an hour later.
He looked tired, with shadows under his eyes, but his voice was gentle. "My mother called you up."
"Word travels fast," I muttered.
"She has a habit of testing people ."
"She didn't test me. She dissected me."
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm sorry. She doesn't know how to keep boundaries."
"Funny," I said softly. "We were just talking about those."
He looked at me then, really looked and for a moment, everything felt suspended.
The elevator hummed between floors. His reflection hovered beside mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him.
"Aria," he said quietly, "I don't want her to scare you away."
"She didn't," I whispered.
"Good." He took a small step closer. "Because I'm not ready to lose this."
"This?" I breathed. "You mean the campaign."
He didn't answer.
The elevator stopped with a soft ding. Neither of us moved.
For one dangerous, lingering heartbeat, we were inches apart—his breath brushing my temple, his voice low enough to make my pulse trip.
"Boundaries," I whispered again.
He smiled faintly. "We keep breaking them."
The doors slid open.
We both stepped out slowly, reluctantly, pretending the moment hadn't just changed everything.
But deep down, I knew it had.
Because every rule I'd built around him was starting to burn.
NATHAN
My mother had never approved of anyone in my life, but this time, the disapproval came with a warning.
She saw what I refused to admit.
I liked Aria.
Not as an employee. Not as a strategist. As a woman.
And worse, I respected her.
That combination was something Vivian would never tolerate. She believed love made men weak. She'd trained me to be efficient, composed, and detached.
Aria made all of that feel impossible.
When I'd seen her in the elevator, eyes bright but shaken, I'd wanted to take her hand to tell her my mother's cruelty was nothing compared to her strength.
But touching her would've crossed a line I was already dangerously close to stepping over.
So instead, I said nothing.
That was my curse silence. I'd spent so long speaking in boardroom languages that I'd forgotten how to tell the truth.
And the truth was simple:
I wanted her.
Not for a night. Not for distraction.
But because she made me remember what it felt like to want something real.
And that was exactly what could destroy us both.