The heels of Kierra Davidson's stilettos echoed across the marble floor like a declaration of war. She moved through the towering lobby of Davidson Corp, eyes straight ahead, back impossibly straight, as employees pretended not to stare. Whispers followed her like perfume.
There she is—the heiress. Or is that the only thing she believed?
Didn't her father just appoint Jeremy as acting CEO? She looked furious.
Inside the elevator, she waited until the doors slid shut before slamming her fist against the steel wall. Her perfectly manicured fingers trembled.
"He gave it to Jeremy," she hissed. "Of all people."
Her little brother, the same boy who skipped half his business classes to party in Ibiza. The one who posted shirtless yacht selfies with hashtags like #CEOinTraining and thought a marketing deck was something you sunbathed on.
She had spent years preparing, like taking an MBA at Harvard. Long nights reviewing mergers while Jeremy was out buying limited-edition sneakers.
And yet, her father had made his choice. Not because Jeremy was ready, but because he was a man.
That night, Kierra didn't go home. She packed a single designer bag, left her apartment in silence, and drove for hours with no destination. The city disappeared behind her like a bad memory.
***
Three days later, she was sitting in a dusty café in a coastal town that didn't even appear on her GPS. She hadn't spoken to anyone in hours. Her phone buzzed endlessly in her purse—calls from her father, her assistant, even Jeremy.
She ignored them all.
And then she heard it.
A melody drifted through the air—raw and aching. A guitar. A voice. Not perfect, but honest.
She turned her head.
There he was—leaning against a rusted lamppost outside, playing like the world was watching but he didn't care. Tall, sun-kissed, with shaggy dark hair and worn-out boots. His voice had that kind of gravel that made you want to listen forever.
Kierra didn't realize she was staring until he stopped playing, then approached her.
"You lost? Or are you even new here?" he asked, brushing hair from his eyes with a crooked grin.
She tilted her head, cool and unreadable. "Do I look lost to you?"
He laughed. "You look like you don't belong here."
"I don't," she admitted, lifting her coffee. "And maybe that's the point."
"Well then," he said, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. "Welcome to this kingdom of nowhere, rich girl."
She didn't correct him. For the first time in days… she didn't feel the need to.