Nora Bennett woke to the sound of the television arguing with itself, not voices she could follow-just noise. One of those early morning talk shows Claire liked to leave playing, the volume low enough to pretend it wasn't there, but loud enough to make sleep impossible. The kind of sound that crept into dreams and tugged you awake before you were ready.
She turned onto her side and stared at the wall. The paint has been peeling near the corner, curling away in thin strips like it had grown tired of holding on. Nora had noticed it days ago and said nothing. There were things in that apartment that mattered more than peeling paint. Things that demanded attention first.
She sighed and pushed herself out of bed. The floor was cold, sharp against her bare feet, and she stood still for a moment, waiting for her balance to settle. Mornings always felt like this, like her body needed convincing before it agreed to move.
She tied her hair into a loose bun and pulled on an old sweater, the fabric thinned from too many washes. In the small mirror above the sink, she paused. Her eyes looked tired, not empty but Just…used.
People often mistook quiet endurance for emptiness. Nora knew better.
The kitchen smelled faintly of fried eggs and toasted bread. Her mom, Evelyn, stood over the stove already dressed for work, her back straight, her movements slow. Evelyn carried responsibility the way some people carried handbags always with them, never set down. At the table, Claire, Nora's older sister, scrolled through her phone while chewing her toast, one leg hooked lazily over the chair. Claire had mastered the art of looking unfazed, even when she wasn't. On the couch nearby, Lily, the youngest, sat cross-legged with a bowl of cereal balanced in her lap, eyes fixed on the television. She watched the morning news with the seriousness of a child who didn't yet understand how heavy the world could be.
"Nora," her mom said without turning around. "You'll miss the bus."
"I won't mom," Nora replied, reaching for a slice of bread.
She glanced over her shoulder. "You always do."
A faint smile tugged at Nora's lips. Life in the Bennett household moved in small, repeating circles, bills, shifts, meals and fatigue, but love lived there too, Quiet and Persistent, Never loud enough to announce itself, but always present in the spaces between words.
Nora kissed her mother's cheek, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside.
The city was already awake and impatient. Cars honked without reason. People walked fast, eyes forward, as if everyone was late for something important, even when they weren't sure what that something was.
The Eastbridge branch of Hawthorne Holdings looked exactly like what it was, a forgotten extension of something far larger. Beige walls dulled by time. Desks arranged without intention. Computers that hummed louder than necessary. Employees who worked hard while knowing, deep down, that no one truly saw them.
Nora took her usual seat near the back and logged into her system, she liked routine. Routine didn't disappoint you, It didn't promise more than it could give.
She was midway through her first task when the whispering began.
"Did you hear?"
"They said he's coming."
Nora glanced up. "Who?"
Tessa leaned over the divider, lowering her voice like the walls might be listening. "The owner. Lucas Hawthorne."
Nora blinked. "Here? Like here here?
Tessa nodded rapidly. Barely containing herself, "Yes him. The Lucas Hawthorne."
And of course, she didn't stop there.
"They say he's a billionaire, like actual billions, he's not just rich rich, his obscene rich. He took over Hawthorne Holdings in his thirties after his father stepped down, and somehow made it bigger.
Nora hummed. "You sound impressed."
"I'm very impressed," Tessa said. "And he's young, and unfairly handsome, you know that dangerous billionaire look? Like he's never had to explain himself a day in his life?"
Nora raised an eyebrow. "You've seen him?"
Pictures tessa said grinning, and I've watched most of his interviews like that charity gala last year? I watched clips like three times.
Nora glanced back at her screen. "You're describing a fictional man."
"Exactly," Tessa said. "Except this one controls our salaries."
Nora shrugged. "Men like that don't notice places like this, or people like us."
Tessa tilted her head, studying her. "You always say that."
"And I'm usually right."
At exactly 10:17 a.m., the office doors opened. The man who walked in didn't rush, he didn't pause either. Lucas Hawthorne moved like someone who didn't need to announce himself. Like someone who owned not just the building, but the space inside it. He didn't look around with curiosity, he looked like a man confirming conclusions he'd already made.
He's Tall and was Immaculately dressed, Composed to the point of intimidation.
Nora's breath caught before she could stop it. This was the first time she had ever seen him.
He spoke briefly with the branch manager, his voice calm and precise, stripped of unnecessary warmth. He listened without sympathy, responded without indulgence. From her desk, Nora watched, her fingers hovering uselessly on the keyboard.
Once, just once his gaze swept the room.
It passed over her.
Not curiosity or interest, just Assessment.
And then he moved on.
The meeting ended without ceremony, Lucas Hawthorne left the same way he had arrived quietly, efficiently, without apology.
But when the doors closed behind him, Nora felt it. Something had shifted.
She just didn't yet know how deeply it would rearrange her life.
That night, Nora stood outside Eclipse Lounge, adjusting the thin strap of her heels with fingers that refused to stay steady.
The club was nothing like the office, The lights were low and intentional. Music pulsed through the walls, heavy and consuming, People came here to forget who they were or to remember exactly who they wanted to be. She worked here because rent didn't wait for dreams.
Inside, the crowd pressed close, bodies warm and careless, laughter spilled freely. The air smelled of perfume, alcohol, and anticipation. Nora took the stage when the music changed, wrapping herself around the pole with effortless control. The bikini left her exposed, but her movements were confident, measured and deliberate.
She was halfway through her shift when the room subtly changed.
Her gaze lifted and she felt it before she saw him. Lucas Hawthorne sat in the VIP section like the space had been designed around his presence, No entourage, No wasted movement ,Just stillness polished and expensive.
Her stomach tightened.
The manager appeared at her side. "He asked for you.
Nora froze. "Who?"
Mr Hawthorne, he said, and pointed slightly at his direction. "He wants you," the manager said, already smiling. "And he's paying well."
"No," Nora said too quickly.
"He doesn't like being told no."
"I don't care."
Her voice betrayed her anyway. Heat crept up her neck as she risked another glance back toward the VIP section.
Lucas was watching her. Not casually. Not impatiently.
As though he were curious which version of her would surface. Panic rose sharp and sudden, crowding her chest. This wasn't part of the job, this wasn't something she could afford to misunderstand.
Nora turned and walked straight out of the club. Outside, she leaned against the brick wall, breathing hard, the night air cold against her skin.
Inside, Lucas Hawthorne watched the door close behind her.
He didn't follow.
But he remembered her.