Chapter 1
"What in the name of rubbish is this!?"
My voice echoed through the glass walls of my office like a whip cracking in a quiet room.
Every head in the hallway turned. No one breathed.
The file slammed against the desk with a sharp thud. Papers scattered, trembling under the blast of the air conditioner.
Across from me stood a young woman, nervous, wide-eyed, clutching the hem of her blazer as though it could save her from the storm I'd just unleashed.
I didn't care. Not then.
"This is what you call a proposal?" I barked, flipping through the pages with sharp, irritated fingers. "It's incomplete, the layout is inconsistent, and the data isn't even verified! Did you think this company was built on guesswork, Miss Hart?"
She flinched, her voice small. "Sir, I— I followed the—"
"Don't you dare tell me you followed anything," I snapped, my tone low and cutting. "If this is your best work, you're in the wrong building. Take your files and get out of my office."
She froze. I could see her throat tighten as she tried to find words. But I was already done with the conversation.
I turned my back to her, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked downtown Miami.
Below, the city pulsed with life, bright, loud, alive, everything I wasn't.
"Mr. Cole…" she whispered, almost trembling. "I can fix it. I'll stay late, I'll..."
"Just go," I said quietly.
There was a pause. Then the sound of papers being gathered, a faint apology under her breath, and the soft click of my office door closing behind her.
Silence.
The kind I'd lived with my entire life.
I exhaled, loosening the knot of my tie. My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass, thirty-one years old, sharp suit, colder eyes. The world saw a man who had everything.
They didn't see the boy who once stared out of a rain-streaked window, too afraid to speak.
Miami had always been loud, sirens, traffic, laughter, but that neighborhood was quiet. Quiet enough for her voice to carry through the wind.
The woman who lived three doors away.
She smelled of lavender. Always lavender.
I remember the sound of her sandals on the porch. The way she'd call my name, gentle and sweet, like a mother's voice, only, she wasn't my mother.
I was twelve when it began. Sixteen when I left. Four years of silence disguised as care.
"Ethan, you're such a good boy," she'd say, brushing my hair, hands lingering too long, smiles that felt wrong but I didn't know why.
Until I did.
Until I learned what shame sounded like, my own heartbeat, thundering against my ribs as I stared at her door, knowing she'd call me again.
I never told my grandmother.
She was old, fragile, and believed the world was still kind.
So I stayed quiet.
And when my parents died in that car crash, and she became the only light I had left, I made sure that light never saw my darkness.
I built walls, high and clean.
No friends. No lovers.
Just ambition.
By twenty-four, I was the youngest architect to win a national design award.
By twenty-eight, I founded Cole Industries, now one of the biggest design firms in Miami.
And by thirty-one, I'd mastered the art of not feeling.
Until today.
Until her.
Lena Hart.
The new junior architect who walked into my office three weeks ago, eyes full of confidence and warmth I couldn't place.
She'd smiled that first day, a simple thing, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
It made no sense. I'd hired hundreds before her. But there was something about this one, something unsettling.
The way her eyes lingered when I spoke. The faint tremor in her voice when she said my name.
It wasn't attraction. It was… familiarity.
And that bothered me more than anything.
A knock at the door pulled me back.
"Sir?" It was Lucas, my assistant. "Miss Hart… left her ID badge on your desk."
I looked down.
There it was, resting right beside the disheveled papers. Lena Hart, Junior Architect.
Her photo smiled up at me, genuine, unguarded.
"Leave it," I said. "I'll handle it."
Lucas nodded and closed the door.
For a moment, I just stared at the name tag. Then I picked it up, running my thumb over the small embossed letters.
Hart.
Something about it clawed at the back of my mind.
I frowned, set the badge down, and reached for my phone.
Before I could stop myself, I was typing.
Lena Hart, Miami, Florida.
The search results loaded quickly.
She'd recently graduated from Stanford. Moved to Miami last year. No family details listed except,
My breath caught.
A single line at the bottom of the page read:
Mother, Clarissa Hart, retired schoolteacher.
Clarissa.
My blood turned to ice.
I could still hear that voice.
The soft laugh. The lavender scent.
Clarissa. Hart.
The woman who lived three doors away.
My hands trembled before I forced them still.
Fifteen years. Fifteen years of pretending she didn't exist.
And now her daughter worked for me.
I sank into my chair, the leather creaking under the weight of everything I'd buried.
"Of all the people…" I muttered under my breath, my voice breaking just slightly.
The rain began outside, tapping against the windows, the same sound I'd grown up with, the one that always came before the worst nights.
I pressed my palms over my face, trying to breathe through the rush of memories.
She had been kind at first. That's how she trapped me. With kindness. With trust.
I remember the first time she said, "Don't tell anyone. This is our secret."
And the first time I realized it wasn't love, it was power.
I swore I'd never let anyone close enough to have that kind of power again.
Not a friend.
Not a woman.
No one.
And yet… here she was.
Her daughter.
The woman who smiled like sunlight in my office this morning, completely unaware of the shadow she brought with her.
The clock struck eight. Everyone else had gone home.
I loosened my tie again, stood, and walked to the glass wall overlooking the city.
Somewhere below, the lights flickered against the wet pavement.
Life kept moving. Mine had just stopped.
I didn't know what I'd do next.
Fire her? Keep her close?
My head said one thing, distance, but my chest… my chest ached with something I couldn't name.
I closed my eyes and whispered,
"Why now?"
No one answered.
Only the rain.