It was supposed to be a regular Thursday. Board meeting at 9. A call with Shanghai at 10. Lunch with a senator's son by noon. Every second of my life is scheduled, calculated, and efficient. But fate doesn't care about power. Or precision. Not when she's involved.
I stepped out of the towering glass lobby of Knight Industries, phone pressed to my ear, trying to silence the chaos erupting on the other end of the call.
"No," I snapped. "I don't care how badly they want it. I said the shares aren't for sale. End of discussion."
I hung up before the board member could beg again.
My driver waited at the curb, doors already open. But something caught my eye—just across the street. A small crowd had gathered, the kind that forms when something entertaining or ridiculous happens in public. I rarely paid attention to distractions. Or unnecessary gatherings at any jointed point. Until I heard her voice.
"No, I don't have the money for a new plate. And I did it. It was you who made the plate spill from my hands. You dropped it, not me."
Sharp. Angry. Poor. Calm. And beautiful.
I wasn't drawn by beauty, because I saw many thousands of beautiful ladies every day throwing themselves at me. But I looked.
There she was—arguing with a restaurant manager outside a small bistro tucked beneath the shadow of my building. She wore a faded black t-shirt and jeans frayed at the edges, like they'd been washed more times than her body could handle. And sneakers that had been passed down from generation to generation. They were torn at the edges.
Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, and her eyes… They didn't flinch. Not at the man's yelling. Not at the curious stares. Not even when he threatened to call the police over a broken ceramic plate.
"She said I won't pay for it," she growled, yanking a small purse from her side. "Just not with the pride you're trying to rip out of me."
The words hit harder than they should have.
I kept watching the incident unfold, still listening to her tiny voice.
I didn't know when and why I crossed the street. I didn't know why I stepped in.
"Is there a problem here?" I asked, voice low, commanding, and authoritative.
The manager turned. His expression shifted immediately—from superiority to submission. "M-Mr. Knight," he stammered. "No, sir. Nothing to worry about."
She looked at me, unimpressed, as though she had come into contact with people like me before.
Of course, she didn't know who I was.
Of course.
"She's your employee?" I asked flatly.
"No, sir. She just… she broke a plate—"
"It slipped because your waiter bumped into her," and she wasn't looking at where she was going. The girl cut in sharply, stepping between us. "Don't twist it."
I almost smiled. Almost. But I held it back to avoid spoiling the commanding atmosphere.
The manager shrank. "It's fine, sir. I'll handle it."
"No need," I said, my eyes on her. "What's your name?"
She hesitated. "Why?"
"You just lost your job," I said, nodding at the manager. "You need a new one?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't take pity offers."
I tilted my head. "It's not pity. It's a test."
"A test?"
"To see how long someone like you would survive in my world."
She snorted. "People like me? You mean broke? Real?"
I shrugged. "Exactly."
Silence stretched between us. The crowd began to drift away, bored or intimidated. The manager slinked back into the restaurant.
And she just stood there. Unmoving. Unafraid.
"I don't even know your name," she said finally.
"Micheal."
She blinked. "Just Micheal?"
"That's all you need for now."
Another pause.
Then she turned away. "I don't need your job, Micheal."
I was shocked at the way she spoke to me, as though she had no fear of the man in front of her.
And walked off.
No one did that to me. Not business rivals. Not politicians. Not people in authority. Not women who wore diamonds heavier than their hearts.
But she did. Like I was nobody.
I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, swallowed by the city.
My driver approached hesitantly. "Sir, are you getting in?"
I didn't answer.
Something in my chest twisted—an ache I hadn't felt since the night my father told me I wasn't enough to carry the Knight legacy.
"Follow her," I said.
The driver blinked. "Sir?"
"I said follow her."
Because she may have rejected my help today. But something told me that wasn't the end. That girl—with fire in her voice and steel in her spine—had just become a problem. And I don't leave problems unresolved.