Nobela ni Julia Benjamin

The morning sun streamed into the office, hitting everything at sharp angles, almost like the city was reminding everyone that nothing could stay hidden for too long. Ares Valtieri was already in his groove, one hand on his phone, the other holding a tablet, scrolling through updates with the kind of focus you’d expect from a surgeon. Meanwhile, Isla Quinn leaned against the window ledge, arms crossed and a notebook resting on her hip."Do you ever sleep?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.Ares didn’t even look up. "Sleep is for those who don’t have empires to protect.""Right. Because your empire is apparently as fragile as a ceramic cat figurine in a toddler’s playroom." She tapped her notebook lightly. "I like to think my sarcasm brings a bit of balance."Finally, he glanced her way, his lips twitching as if he wanted to laugh but held it back. "You’re doing a terrible job.""Terrible is actually my middle name," she shot back, smirking. "Well, not literally, unless you check my foste

The office had a faint aroma of espresso and leather a scent that felt carefully curated, sharp, and fresh. Ares Valtieri sat at his polished desk, with the morning sunlight bouncing off the glass walls, casting narrow strips of light throughout the room. Isla Quinn stood a few steps away, notebook in hand, observing him as he worked.It was quiet. For now. Too quiet.Ares ran his fingers through his hair, phone in one hand, methodically scrolling through updates. Every word on every screen was important, every subtle tone shift, every omission each calculated rumor mattered.“Marcus Hale leaked something,” he stated without looking up.Isla’s pen stopped mid-note. “Leaked what?”“Partial financial reports,” he replied, finally making eye contact. His dark eyes were sharp and calculating. “Just minor details, but they’re framed to suggest mismanagement on our part. Nothing concrete. Yet.”“Yet,” she echoed, jotting it down anyway.“You’re… surprisingly calm,” Ares said, one eyebrow ra

Dawn in New York carried a bite. Slivers of light stretched over sidewalks, unyielding, slicing into mist rising from the water. Walking next to Ares Valtieri, Isla Quinn neared the gathering called a foundation event, routine on paper, nothing more than that.That morning, her outfit was her decision. Navy, plain cut, cinched gently at the middle, small earrings nothing staged. Not polished for cameras or approval. Nothing pretending to be more than it was. Ares saw it anyway and kept quiet on purpose. Silence worked better. Her posture spoke without sound: this space held her, welcome or not.Quiet talk filled the space, soft hellos mixing with low deals being struck. Not quite friends, these people directors, money backers, reporters just watching each other acting as if ease came naturally. A place where errors slipped by unnoticed, only showing up when nothing could be fixed.Close by Ares, his people moved like a single unit, smooth without sound. Glances slipped between them fl

Morning didn’t announce itself.It slipped in quietly, pale light stretching across the apartment like it didn’t want to disturb anything fragile. The city outside was already awake, sirens distant, traffic humming but inside, everything felt suspended, as if time itself had decided to wait.Isla sat at the kitchen counter with a mug gone cold in her hands.The news played softly on the mounted screen, volume low, captions rolling faster than the anchor could speak. Headlines blurred into each other Ares Valtieri’s name repeated, dissected, speculated on. She read them without flinching.She had learned, quickly, that panic never helped.Behind her, Ares stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear. His posture was straight, immaculate even in a rumpled shirt, voice measured as he spoke to someone on the other end.“No,” he said calmly. “That won’t be necessary.”A pause.“Yes. Handle it.”Another pause, shorter this time.“And keep her name out of it.”The call ended.He didn’t tu

The ballroom pulsed with intent.Light spilled from crystal chandeliers, skating across floors polished to a high gleam. Money spoke here, masked as benevolence. But let’s not pretend this was power, dressed up in charity’s finest.Isla Quinn paused at the threshold beside Ares Valtieri, her hand at ease, her posture steady. No nerves. Not tonight. She hadn’t needed guidance on what to wear or how to stand. She chose a black dress uncomplicated, striking, hers. Hair slicked back, nothing elaborate. She looked like she belonged not because she was placed here, but because she arrived and owned it.Ares glanced her way. “You don’t have to stay.”“I know,” she replied.Together, they stepped forward.Flashes fired immediately. Murmurs chased them, skimming Isla’s skin like static, but she didn’t falter. She’d been watched before. What was truly different now? She refused to shrink.Halfway across the floor, it happened.No crash, no shouts.Just the humming of phones.First a few, then a

Fatigue crept up on Isla. It didn’t burst, it slipped behind her eyes, beneath her skin, and settled deep inside her bones. As if she’d earned every bit of it.She woke up weary. Not just weary bone-deep, soul-heavy weary.The penthouse was already awake before sunrise. Security guards traded shifts in that silent, practiced way, hardly a noise. Isla lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting her breaths, waiting for the pressure in her chest to ease.Living like this, guarded, observed, meant never truly relaxing.She moved through her morning on autopilot, always conscious of the cameras, the doors, the people whose whole purpose was to notice everything. It wasn’t fear that crawled beneath her skin. It was being watched every moment. Losing anonymity weighed more than any threat.Her phone vibrated on the counter.Maya.Isla picked up without pause. “Hey.”“I’m okay,” Maya said immediately, getting in first. “I wanted you to know that.”Isla released a breath she hadn’t realized s