Kate Tanner knew two things for certain.
First—nothing good ever came from a Hale.
Second—never trust any member of an Hale family.
That was what circumstances as taught her. So, as she looked at the young standing in front of her, calm and devastatingly handsome in a tailored black suit. All the anger she had carried within her for years only intensified.
He was Daniel Hale.
The Heir to Hale fortunes. The son of the man who had once deceived her dear family.
Her fingers curled around the folder in her hands as if paper could anchor her from the wave of disbelief crashing through her chest.
The conference room was too quiet. Too neutral for the kind of war that had just walked in wearing a polite smile.
"Ms. Tanner, " he said, voice smooth. "It's… good to finally meet you."
The audacity of him.
Kate didn't shake his hand.
She lifted her chin instead. "I'd say the same, Mr. Hale, but I don't lie for courtesy."
Something flickered crossed his face. Surprise, or maybe admiration. But soon vanished behind practiced composure.
Daniel Hale smiled anyway. It was a warm and cheerful one. Kate pulse Jumped. She hated it did.
They sat across from each other, a long glass table between them like a fragile ceasefire. Lawyers, board members, assistants—none of them understood what this moment meant. To them, it was a merger discussion. A forced collaboration between two struggling branches under the same corporate umbrella.
To Kate, it was betrayal wrapped in legal language.
"You're aware," Daniel said evenly, "that this partnership wasn't my decision alone."
She scoffed softly. "Funny. That's what your father said when he destroyed my family's company."
The room tensed.
Daniel's jaw tightened. "I'm not my father."
"Is That not exactly what all members of the family always say."
Silence followed. It was thick, and uncomfortable. Kate felt it settle into her bones, old memories clawing their way up. Late nights watching her mother cry. Her father's hands shaking as he signed papers he didn't understand. The name Wolfe whispered like a curse in their home.
Daniel leaned back slightly, studying her now—not like an enemy, but like a puzzle.
"I didn't come here to hurt you," he said quietly.
She laughed. It slipped out sharp and humorless. "You people never do. It just happens."
Something shifted then. His expression softened, just enough to make her uneasy.
"Maybe," he said, "we're both paying for a Feud we didn't start."
Kara stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't pretend you understand," she snapped.
"What if I do ?"
"You grew up with everything. Money. Power. Protection. I grew up watching my parents lose their sanity trying to survive what your family did."
Daniel rose too, slower, controlled. "You think I don't know what it's like to be trapped by a Surname?"
"I am sure you don't know how it feels to watched your parents drown in regrets."
She met his gaze—and for one dangerous second, she saw it. Exhaustion. Resentment. Pain. It scared her. Not because hatred was easy, but because understanding was not.
"This partnership is temporary," she said coldly. "I'll do my job. You do yours. But don't mistake professionalism for forgiveness."
Daniel nodded once. "Fair enough."
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Kate Tanner."
The way he said her name—soft, careful—sent an unwanted shiver down her spine.
"This is going to get complicated," he said.
She didn't look back.
"I know," she replied. "What else can I expect from an Hale after all."
And yet, as she walked away, one thought betrayed her certainty. Enemies weren't supposed to look at you like that.
Kate had learned very early in life that anger could be useful. Not only does it sharpened her focus and kept her upright when grief wanted her folded in half. It also reminded her who the enemy was when exhaustion tried to blur the lines.
So she held onto it now as the elevator descended, glass walls revealing the city she loved and resented in equal measure. Her reflection stared back at her—dark eyes, composed face, shoulders squared like armor.
A Tanner did not flinch.
The doors slid open.
"Ms. Tanner."
She froze.
Of course.
Daniel Hale stood just outside the elevator, phone pressed to his ear, suit jacket draped loosely over one arm as if this building belonged to him. He glanced up, caught her expression, and ended the call with a quiet, "I'll handle it."
Kate stepped out without acknowledging him.
Big mistake.
They were assigned the same floor.
The silence stretched between them as they walked—her heels sharp against the marble, his stride unhurried, confident. She could feel him beside her, like static in the air before a storm.
"You left before the terms were finalized," Daniel said eventually.
"I left because the meeting was over for me."
He hummed softly. "Funny. The documents say otherwise."
She stopped so abruptly he nearly walked into her.
"What part of I don't want this partnership are you struggling to understand?"
"The part where your refusal doesn't change reality," he replied calmly. Too calmly.
Kate turned fully now, anger flaring bright. "Your family has a talent for rewriting reality to suit yourselves."
His eyes darkened—not in anger, but something quieter. He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate.
"We're sharing oversight of the Westbridge redevelopment," he said. "For a year."
Her stomach tightened. "No."
"Joint decisions."
"No."
"Shared office space."
Her laugh burst out before she could stop it. "You're joking."
"I don't joke about contracts."
"Well, I don't breathe the same air as Hale's." she snapped.
"That's rather unfortunate," he said, voice low, "because you'll be doing exactly that for one full year."
He reached into his folder and handed her a document. Kate stared at it like it might possibly betray her.
"You can fight it," Daniel continued. "Lawyers will make money. Time will be wasted. And at the end of it, this clause still stands."
She scanned the page, heart pounding harder with every word.
Forced collaboration.
Daily strategy meetings.
Shared executive workspace.
This wasn't a partnership. It was a siege.
"You planned this," she said quietly.
His gaze didn't waver. "I didn't write the past, Kate."
She stiffened at the sound of her name again. Too familiar. Too soft.
"Don't sound like you know me."
"I'm trying to," he replied.
That—that was the problem.
She shoved the document back into his chest. "You want war? Fine. But don't expect civility."
A corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Something sharper.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
⸻
The office was a disaster. Neutral colors. Glass walls. One long desk dividing the room into two equal halves like a poorly drawn border.
Kate stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, heart racing with disbelief.
"They couldn't have put you anywhere else?" she demanded.
Daniel set his briefcase down on his side of the desk. "Apparently not."
She marched to her chair and dropped into it with unnecessary force.
"Let's establish something," she said. "I don't trust you. I don't like you. And I don't care how charming you pretend to be."
"I'm not pretending," he replied, loosening his tie. "And I'm not here to be liked."
Her eyes flicked—traitorously—to the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, sleeves rolled just enough to show strong forearms.
She looked away immediately.
Disgusted with herself.
"Good," she said. "Then we understand each other."
Daniel studied her for a long moment, gaze thoughtful rather than hostile.
"You carry your anger like a shield," he said.
She bristled. "And you carry arrogance like a birthright."
"Fair."
They sat in silence, tension coiling tighter with every second.
Finally, Daniel opened his laptop. "Let's talk numbers."
She leaned forward, sharp and focused. "Let's talk accountability. Your father sabotaged Tanner Holdings during the Shoreline acquisition."
"That wasn't—"
"Don't interrupt me," she snapped. "We lost investors. We lost credibility. My mother lost her health."
Daniel's fingers paused on the keyboard.
"I was a teenager," he said quietly. "Still in grad school. I didn't even know about the acquisition until it was over."
She searched his face for lies but found none. It unsettled her more than deception ever could.
"Then why defend it?" she asked.
"I don't," he replied. "But I also won't accept blame for sins I didn't commit."
The words landed heavier than expected. For the first time since meeting him, Kate felt the ground shift slightly beneath her certainty.
"People like you always say that," she murmured.
"And people like you never stop listening long enough to hear the truth."
Her eyes snapped back to his.
The room crackled.
"Careful," she warned.
Daniel leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk, gaze intense. "You want me to be the villain because it's easier than questioning the story you've been telling yourself for years."
Her breath caught.
That hit too close.
"You don't get to psychoanalyze me," she said.
"Then don't look at me like you're waiting for me to confirm your worst fears."
Silence fell again—thicker, heavier.
Kate stood abruptly. "I need air."
She headed for the door.
"Run if you want," Daniel said behind her. "But we're not going anywhere."
She paused, hand on the handle.
"Don't flatter yourself," she replied. "This isn't running."
She left without looking back.
⸻
That night, Kate lay awake staring at her ceiling, mind refusing to quiet.
Daniel Hale wasn't what she'd expected.
He wasn't cruel. He wasn't smug in the way villains were supposed to be. And worst of all—he looked at her like he saw her.
She hated that.
She hated how his voice lingered in her head.
How his restraint felt more dangerous than rage.How the line between enemy and something else felt thinner than it should.
Across the city, Daniel sat alone in his apartment, tie discarded, sleeves still rolled. He replayed her words. Her anger. Her pain. And for the first time in years, he wondered if the war his family started might finally cost him something he actually wanted.
Because Kate Tanner wasn't just an obstacle.
She was a fire.
And standing this close to her?
He could already feel the burn.