The rain had cleared by dawn, leaving Helmsworth washed and sharp. Leah walked the last two blocks to Voss Tower, the morning wind tugging at her coat and nerves. The city was louder now—horns, voices, the rhythm of ambition clashing against concrete.
She reached the glass doors ten minutes early. The same security guard from Friday gave a brief nod. "Eighteenth floor again, Miss Morgan. HR logged you in."
Her shoes echoed in the marble lobby as she crossed to the elevators. The mirrored walls caught her reflection from every side: dark blazer, simple bun, determination over exhaustion. She pressed the button. This time, you belong here.
The elevator opened to the soft hush of the upper floors. The air smelled faintly of coffee and paper ink. Desks lined the corridor like a formation, every one occupied. Conversations were brisk, laughter controlled. Leah moved carefully toward her assigned cubicle, a small glass-partitioned space with her name already printed on the tag: Leah Morgan – Executive Support.
A woman appeared beside her. Mid-thirties, sharp suit, quick smile. "You're the new one?"
"Yes. Leah."
"Erin Patel, executive assistant. You'll be shadowing me until Mr. Voss decides what he wants from you."
That phrasing—what he wants—landed oddly, but Leah only nodded.
Erin continued, "He doesn't like delays, noise, or perfume. Keep your phone silent. If he calls your name, answer immediately."
"Understood."
"Good. Coffee station's down the hall. Don't use the left elevator—he keeps that one private."
Erin left before Leah could ask another question. Leah sat down, booted her computer, and tried to steady her breathing. The corporate system blinked awake: inbox, calendar, endless folders of data. She began typing.
Hours passed quietly. Her world narrowed to keystrokes and the faint hum of machines. By noon, she had already organized six client reports and flagged three scheduling errors. It was mechanical, numbing work—but it felt safe.
At exactly 12:45, her phone buzzed. Incoming call: A. Voss.
She froze. Answered. "Yes, Mr. Voss?"
"Bring the quarterly file to Conference Room One." The voice was the same—low, clipped, absolute.
"Yes, sir."
She found the file, checked it twice, and walked fast enough to seem efficient but not panicked. The conference room was large, all glass and chrome. Adrian Voss stood at the far end, sleeves rolled to his forearms, reviewing something on a tablet.
He didn't look up. "Close the door."
She obeyed.
"Sit."
She did.
The silence thickened. He kept reading, expression unreadable. Finally, he set the tablet down and spoke without looking at her. "Your father—David Morgan. The contractor who worked on our East Pier project, correct?"
The question hit like a blade slipped between words. Leah's breath caught. "Yes… he was."
Adrian's gaze lifted, precise and sharp. "He left the project before completion."
"He—he fell ill," she said carefully. "He passed away before he could finish."
Adrian said nothing. The air between them changed again—denser, aware. He leaned back, assessing her face as though comparing it to something long buried.
"I see." He tapped the table once. "That will be all."
Leah stood, pulse hammering in her ears. She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her halfway to the door.
"Miss Morgan."
She turned.
His tone softened by a fraction. "You type well. Keep doing that."
She nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Back at her desk, Erin appeared with a knowing look. "He called you in?"
Leah nodded.
"Then you'll do fine," Erin said. "Most people don't make it through their first meeting."
That evening, Leah stayed late, finishing reports long after the lights dimmed across the floor. Through the glass, she could see Adrian's office still lit. He stood by the window, phone in hand, gaze distant. For a moment, she wondered what kind of man stayed that late when he already had everything.
In her folder, her father's old letter peeked out—a letter she hadn't opened since Helmsworth. She traced the edge of the envelope, then slid it back into her bag. Not yet.
The city outside pulsed with light. Inside, two lives—one bound by memory, the other by curiosity—had begun circling each other without knowing it.
Leah powered down her screen. Her reflection on the glass looked steadier now. She whispered the same words that had carried her this far.
"You can do this."
Behind her, the elevator chimed softly. A familiar voice—low, precise—echoed down the hall.
"Miss Morgan, a moment before you go."
She turned.
And the story between them truly began.