Chapter 3 VHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

The First Day

Aria Hartwell.

I arrived at Hartwell Industries at six-thirty in the morning, a full hour before Cassian's usual start time. The executive floor was empty, silent except for the hum of air conditioning and the distant sound of cleaning staff in the lower levels.

My small victory felt petty but satisfying as I unlocked my new office.

The space was smaller than I expected, but the view was spectacular—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. I had never been to the upper levels of this company, and I could say the view was impressive. My desk was already equipped with a computer, phone, and a stack of files labeled "Priority Review."

I shed my coat and got to work.

By the time Cassian arrived at seven-thirty, I was already able to identify three problems with the Chicago property acquisition he was pursuing. The zoning issue alone could cost millions if not addressed immediately. I had notes spread across my desk, multiple browser tabs open, and a growing sense of vindication.

Let him underestimate me. Let everyone underestimate me.

I heard his footsteps in the hallway, that distinctive confident stride that made my pulse quicken despite my best efforts. He paused outside my door. I didn't look up from my laptop, even when I felt his presence like a physical weight.

"You're here early." His voice was carefully neutral.

"I work here now." I continued typing. "Or did you forget the terms of the will?"

Silence ensued between both of us, and then, he moved into my office, and I had no choice but to acknowledge him. He looked unfairly good in a charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin, his dark hair still slightly damp from a shower. The memory of running my fingers through that hair made heat crawl up my spine.

I stood, using the desk as a barrier between us. "The Chicago deal has problems."

His eyebrows rose slightly, maybe surprised that I was talking about work. "I'm listening."

I walked him through my findings, citing specific zoning codes and recent precedents. With each point, I watched his expression shift from skepticism to surprise to something that looked almost like respect.

"You're right," he said finally. "How did you..."

"I have a business degree from NYU, sir. With honors." I met his eyes directly. "I've also been working in this company's philanthropic division for three years. But you never bothered to ask, did you?"

Something flickered across his face. "No. I didn't."

"You assumed I was vapid. A trust-fund princess wasting my father's money on parties and shopping." My voice was sharp with old hurt. "You've made that very clear over the years."

"Aria—"

"Don't." I held up a hand. "We're colleagues now. Nothing more. Let's keep this professional."

"Professional." His lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Yes." But my voice wavered slightly, betraying me. "Not calling, but it is what it is."

He moved closer, circling the desk with predatory grace. I should have stepped back and maintained some distance between us, but my feet refused to cooperate. Within seconds, he was close enough that I could smell his cologne. I could even see the silver flecks in his grey eyes.

"You want to pretend that night never happened," he said softly, dangerously. "Fine. We can play that game. But tell me something, Aria."

"What night?" I feigned ignorance immediately. There was no way he could have known it was me. My mask still covered my face when I woke up that money.

His mouth twitched upwards as if my words amused him, and he took another step forward. I backed up instinctively and hit the wall behind my desk.

"If there was 'no night', then tell me why your heart is racing right now." His hand came up to rest against the wall beside my head, caging me in. "Tell me why you're breathing faster. Tell me why you can't quite meet my eyes."

"You're imagining things." But my voice was barely a whisper.

"Am I?" His free hand lifted, hovering inches from my face. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin. "Tell me to back away, and I will. Tell me you feel nothing, and we'll never speak of this again."

I wanted to, but the words stuck in my throat because I knew I would be lying to myself, and my treacherous body swayed toward him.

"That's what I thought." His voice was rough with satisfaction.

The door to the outer office opened with a sharp click, and we quickly sprang apart like guilty teenagers as Margaret, our new shared assistant, walked in carrying coffee and looking supremely unbothered by the tension thick enough to choke on.

"Good morning, Mr. Kent, Miss Hartwell. The board meeting is in thirty minutes." She set down the coffee cups with careful precision. "I've prepared the quarterly reports you requested."

"Thank you, Margaret." Cassian's voice was perfectly controlled, showing none of the heat that had been there moments before.

She left, closing the door behind her with a soft snick. I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

"We should review those reports," I said, grabbing my coffee hard as if it was going to save me from him.

"Aria—"

"Thirty minutes, remember?" I moved past him toward the shared conference room, needing space, needing air, needing anything but the suffocating awareness of him.

The conference room was exactly as described... it was a neutral territory between our two offices. I spread out my notes and tried to focus on work, on numbers and projections and anything except the way my hands were shaking.

Cassian followed, closing the door behind him. "We need to talk about..."

"No, we don't." I kept my eyes on the reports. "What we need to do is prepare for this board meeting and prove we can work together. That's all."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he pulled out a chair and sat across from me, his expression unreadable. "Fine. Let's talk about the affordable housing initiative you've been developing."

That surprised me enough that I looked up. "You know about that?"

"I know everything that happens in this company." His eyes held mine. "Including projects that certain board members have been trying to kill quietly. Your initiative threatens their profit margins. They want it gone."

"My father approved it."

"Your father is dead." The words were brutal but true. "And those board members think you're an easy target. A spoiled princess playing at business."

Anger flared hot in my chest. "I just have to prove them wrong, don't I?"

"We'll prove them wrong." He leaned forward. "Like it or not, we're partners now. Your success is my success. Your failure is my failure. So if you want to save your initiative, you're going to need my help."

I hated the fact that he was right.

"Why would you help me?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because your housing initiative is actually brilliant, and I'm not stupid enough to kill profitable innovation just because of personal feelings." He paused. "And because your father would have wanted me to."

The mention of my father was a low blow, and we both knew it.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Partners. But only professionally."

"Of course." His smile was slow and deliberate. "Strictly professional. Unless you want to explore other meanings of partnership.”