The morning after brought no peace.
Aria stood on the east terrace of Sapphire Reef Resort, a paper cup of black coffee gripped tightly between both hands. The brew had long gone cold, but she barely noticed. Below her, the sea pounded the rocky shore like a relentless heartbeat—constant, powerful, unforgiving.
Inside her, the storm raged on.
She replayed every moment of yesterday in her mind—Killian's disconnected gaze, the ledger with her name on it, the stranger who warned of debts and shadows in the lobby.
Each memory fractured her blood like ice.
Focus, she reminded herself. There was work to be done.
She took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and walked inside.
"Morning," Tanya greeted her in the corridor near Operations, handing over a tablet with poise. "Vendor from Madrid is already waiting in Suite B—looks like sunshine and entitlement had a baby fathered by arrogance."
Aria arched an eyebrow. "Perfect. Exactly my type."
Tanya smirked. "Also—Killian requested your noon update delivered in person. He said, and I quote, 'A face only she can show works best.'"
Aria rolled her eyes. "Helpful as emotional labor."
But beneath her sarcasm, a tightness had settled in her chest.
⸻
The vendor meeting was brutal theater, designed to test patience and exploit kindness.
Aria leaned into each question with unwavering calm. When cornered by inflated pricing arguments, she leaned over the polished table and said:
"You're increasing cost by 12% with no service improvement. That math won't fly here."
He sneered. "It's standard across the board."
Aria's lips pressed. "I'm not that board."
Silence stretched.
"Fine," he conceded. "Seven percent. And I'll include priority delivery options."
"I'll email the updated contract," she said firmly, rising.
She left with victory wrapped in paperwork and the thrill of regained control.
Small wins. She'd take them. These days, victories didn't roar—they whispered.
⸻
By noon, she stood outside Killian's glass‑walled office. The sea frothed violently beyond him—nature mirroring her inner turbulence.
He looked up only briefly before motioning to the desk.
"Your update," she said, placing the file in front of him.
He reviewed it meticulously—head tilted, eyes softening with respect or calculation, she couldn't tell.
"You've gone above and beyond," he finally said.
"I wasn't trying to impress—only to survive."
He stood and paced slowly. "Relying on charm rarely wins you deals; efficiency does."
Aria met his gaze. "We were never playing the same game."
"You play ruthlessly," he replied. "But I built the table."
Just as she began to step away, he posed a question that felt colder than ice.
"That man you saw by the pool—what exactly did he say?"
Her breath caught. So, he knew.
"He warned me about you. Said you had debts, unfinished business."
Killian's expression hardened. "He has no right to talk to you."
"Well, he did." Her tone stiffened. "And his insight shook me more than your silence could."
She watched him hesitate. Then he said:
"Sunsets burn brightest before night falls. Don't get consumed by yours."
Her throat tightened as she turned to leave.
But she stopped.
One last question, sharp.
That ledger—dated just days before he vanished.
An EA role for her, signed, vetted, official.
"Was I meant to be yours from the start?"
Silence.
She waited for a flat denial.
Instead, he reached toward the drawer and pulled it open.
From inside, he withdrew a file and slid it across the desk.
Aria glanced at the cover: Executive Authorization. Inside was her name… correct, clear, unambiguous.
Quietly, he said, "Plans change."
"You left me," she whispered.
His eyes lingered. No apology. But for a moment, almost… regret.
"If I hadn't," he said, so low she barely heard him, "we might've both been destroyed."
⸻
Later that day, Aria sat in the café lounge, tucked into a quiet corner near the glass wall that overlooked the infinity pool. Her tablet sat in front of her, but the screen had dimmed from inactivity. She hadn't scrolled in ten minutes.
Tanya had dropped off espresso and a pastry—sweet gesture—but Aria hadn't touched either.
She wasn't reading vendor files anymore.
She was rereading that memo.
The one Killian had pulled from his drawer without fanfare. The one with her name on it. Dated. Labeled. Signed.
Executive Authorization: A. Blake – Position Integration Pending.
It wasn't just a memory now. It was evidence. Proof that once upon a time, before everything shattered, he had meant for her to be part of something bigger—his company, his empire… his life.
So why walk away?
Her mind spun. Was it fear? Was it sabotage? Was it someone else pulling the strings?
Or was it guilt?
Before she could unravel the thread further, a soft tap echoed across the marble floor.
She glanced up, expecting Tanya again—but it wasn't.
A man stood near the planter by her table. Not the mysterious one from yesterday—someone younger. His suit was perfectly tailored, though slightly too polished, too intentional. Like he wanted to look harmless… but wasn't.
"Miss Blake," he said, smiling thinly. "Mind if I interrupt your thoughts?"
She blinked. "I'm sorry—do we know each other?"
"No," he replied. "But I was sent by someone who does."
Her pulse slowed, sharpened. "Killian?"
"No," he said carefully. "Someone older. Someone who believes you deserve a warning."
She exhaled harshly. "I've had enough cryptic men for one lifetime."
"I'm not here to confuse you," he said. "I'm here to tell you the past doesn't sleep. Especially not when it's owed something."
Aria stiffened. "What kind of something?"
The man smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Ask Killian about Zurich. About the fire."
Her heart skipped.
He turned to leave but paused. "Oh—and you should stop reading old documents. Start reading between the lines instead."
And just like that, he disappeared into the polished corridors of Sapphire Reef, as if he'd never been there at all.
⸻
Aria stared at the doorway he'd vanished through, her pulse pounding like the surf outside.
Zurich? Fire?
None of it made sense. Not yet. But it would.
Because she wasn't just going to survive Killian Laurent's return.
She was going to uncover the truth.
Even if it burned.
She closed her tablet slowly, fingers trembling just enough to betray her. The weight of too many half-truths pressed down on her like a velvet anvil—soft on the outside, suffocating beneath.
If Killian's return was a storm, then this was only the first drop of rain.
Aria turned toward the main hallway, spine straight. There was more to uncover. More than whispers, more than ledgers. Somewhere inside the lies, her truth waited—hidden, burning, begging to be seen.
And she would find it.
Even if it meant unraveling everything.