●When Worlds Collide
When the door opened, I stepped inside slowly — my palms damp, my knees trembling.
The office was vast, sleek, and cold. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the storm clouds outside, and the city stretched below like something untouchable.
Then my gaze lifted.
And my breath caught.
It was him.
The man from the gala.
The one whose eyes had cut sharper than any blade, whose words had humiliated me in front of strangers.
Ariyan Vincent Romano.
For a moment, everything around me disappeared — the room, the sound of rain, even my own fear. Only the disbelief remained.
He looked the same — maybe even more dangerous up close.
Sharp jawline, gray eyes like steel, a presence that filled the space until it felt hard to breathe.
His tailored suit fit him like armor, and his expression was unreadable.
I froze halfway between the door and his desk.
My throat went dry.
He was staring too.
Recognition flickered briefly in those cold eyes, then hardened — as if the memory of me only reminded him of annoyance.
Of course he remembered.
The "girl who entered the VIP section."
The one he'd called security on.
My heart dropped.
What were the chances? Out of all people in the world — it had to be him.
He spoke first.
His voice was smooth, low, controlled.
"You."
I swallowed hard. "I—I didn't know this company belonged to you. I came because—"
He leaned back in his chair, cutting me off with a faint smirk.
"Because you want money?"
The words stung like a slap.
I clenched my hands together. "No. I just came to ask for time. Please, my family—"
"I see," he said flatly. "So now the quiet, innocent act has purpose."
I blinked, shocked. "What?"
He stood slowly, his tall frame casting a shadow that made me instinctively take a step back.
"You tried the same trick at the gala, didn't you?" he said, voice calm but edged with something cold. "You walk in where you don't belong, look lost, fragile — and hope a rich man will save you."
I shook my head quickly, tears pricking my eyes. "That's not true! I swear, I didn't even know—"
"Stop lying."
The sharpness in his tone made my chest tighten painfully.
"I'm not lying," I whispered, my voice trembling but steady enough to hold his gaze. "I don't want your money. I just want to save my home."
He stared at me for a long moment — silent, assessing.
Something flickered in his eyes, almost too quick to catch. Doubt, maybe. Or guilt.
But just as fast, it was gone.
His walls went back up.
"People like you always want something," he said quietly. "Kindness doesn't exist in your world. Or mine."
I met his gaze, voice barely a whisper.
"Maybe that's because people like you stopped believing in it."
For a second — just a heartbeat — his jaw tightened, like I had hit something buried deep inside him.
The air between us thickened.
Neither of us spoke.
Only the rain answered — steady, relentless, whispering against the glass.
Ariyan's POV
He didn't know why her words lingered.
He'd met hundreds like her — desperate, pleading, manipulative behind soft eyes.
And yet… there was something different about this girl.
She looked too fragile to survive in a place like this — yet she stood there, trembling but unbroken.
Her voice still echoed in his mind.
"Maybe that's because people like you stopped believing in it."
He hated that it made him think of rain. Of hunger. Of being that boy left alone under a broken streetlight.
He clenched his jaw.
Feelings were dangerous. Compassion was weakness.
"Leave your documents," he said finally, his tone clipped, forcing his emotions away. "I'll review the case. That's all."
She nodded silently, placing the papers on his desk. Her fingers brushed the edge — delicate, cold. Then she turned to leave.
For some reason, he found himself saying, almost involuntarily,
"Miss Hazel."
She turned back, eyes still glistening with unfallen tears.
"Don't expect mercy," he said, voice low. "The world doesn't give it."
She looked at him for a long, quiet moment.
Then whispered, "Maybe it should."
And she walked out.
Ariyan stood still long after she was gone — his reflection in the rain-streaked glass staring back at him, unfamiliar, unsettled.
●
The office was quiet again, but something didn't feel right.
Papers lay untouched on his desk. The city outside was a blur of gray and silver, rain sliding down the glass like threads of memory he couldn't cut away.
He'd dismissed her, like he always did.
And yet…
Her voice refused to leave his head.
"Maybe it should."
He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. But instead of calm, he saw flashes —
a trembling girl with soft brown eyes;
a tiny, fragile thing standing in front of him like she belonged nowhere;
and the faint tremor in her voice, brave even in fear.
"Sir?"
Ariyan opened his eyes. His assistant, Hale, stood at the door.
"Should I process the file?" Hale asked carefully.
Ariyan hesitated — something he never did.
"Yes," he said finally, though the word felt heavier than it should. "But put it aside for now. I'll handle it personally."
Hale blinked in surprise. "Personally, sir?"
Ariyan's gaze returned to the window. "Just do it."
"Yes, sir."
The details were sordid and common. A foolish man, a runaway debtor, a family left holding the bag. The financials of the household were pathetic. They couldn't pay. He already knew that.
He pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to push away the memory of her expression.
There was no reason for it to affect him. She was nothing — just another desperate soul caught in a mess.
But still, it bothered him — that flash of defiance in her eyes, the way she said "maybe it should."
No one had ever dared speak to him like that.
No one had ever made him feel… human.
He hated it.
And yet, deep down, he couldn't stop wondering — what kind of life made her look at the world with such sad, stubborn hope?
"Sir, the board is waiting for the quarterly review."
"Cancel it," he said, his voice rough.
Hale blinked, a rare show of surprise. "Sir?"
"Reschedule it." He didn't look up from the file, his eyes scanning the personal details. Anya Hazel. Age 19. Student. Living with her older brother and his family. Parents deceased.
When Hale left, the silence came back — thicker than before.
A picture was forming, one he didn't want to see. A picture of a life built on borrowed time and broken promises. It was too familiar.
He remembered the weight of the stolen chicken in his small hands, the grit of mud, the crushing fear. He remembered the cold, and the profound loneliness that came before the man in the black coat.
He slammed the folder shut, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot. This was absurd. He was Ariyan Vincent Romano. He didn't get involved. He acquired, he dominated, he discarded.