CHAPTER 3: SUNLIGHT AMIDST THE CINDERS 

Aiden averted his gaze from the blue signal on the dashboard and tossed his phone onto the oak desk in frustration. The dull thud echoed through the silent room, marking the final snapping point of his patience. He sank into the high-end leather chair, taking a deep breath to suppress the searing pain radiating from deep within—a brutal manifestation of the malignancy he believed was gnawing away at his life. To Aiden, every tick of the clock was a cruel reminder that the hourglass of his existence was bleeding its final grains of sand. He ran his fingers through his usually impeccably groomed hair, his bloodshot, sleep-deprived eyes staring blankly into the void.

That girl has arrived.

An unusual sense of unease rose within him. Nolan had yet to send the detailed dossier; this final candidate remained an enigma behind the heavy oak door. He wondered: was he being too callous, preparing to turn a woman into a mere tool to sustain his empire before he breathed his last? Or was he the pathetic one, clutching at a fleeting hope?

Knock, knock.

The rhythmic tapping was slow yet firm. Aiden sat upright, smoothing the creases of his vest—a Pavlovian reflex of a man who never permitted himself a moment of weakness.

"Come in," Aiden said coldly, his deep, gravelly voice echoing through the vast 88th-floor office. His eyes remained fixed on the lifeless file on his desk, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. He chose silence to stifle the visitor's confidence—a psychological gambit he often deployed in the boardroom. Do not look up.

The heavy door creaked open, bringing an unexpected surge of fresh air into a room saturated with the scent of wealth, sandalwood, and heavy painkillers. Aiden heard hesitant footsteps on the polished marble floor. Unlike the sharp, assertive click of high heels from previous women, these steps were timid, as if fearful that each stride might shatter the solemn atmosphere.

Suddenly, a vivid splash of red crashed into his downward gaze. A pair of red high heels—a burning, rebellious streak of color that completely disrupted the office’s cold, neutral palette. Under the dim lights, the red appeared misplaced, even defiant. Upon closer inspection, the leather at the heels was slightly worn—a testament to the many streets they had traversed with their owner—yet they were polished to a mirror shine: the last shred of pride for a girl who had nothing left but her own resolve.

"Who are you? Speak quickly, I don’t have all day," Aiden asked, his fingers aimlessly flipping through papers. His tone was lethargic, yet it carried a suffocating pressure.

The room fell so silent he could hear the ticking of the Patek Philippe on his wrist. This stillness unnerved him; it didn't feel like fear, but rather a frozen state of shock. Just as he was about to look up and hurl a scathing dismissal, a voice spoke—a sound he had sealed away in the deepest pits of his memory for fifteen long years.

"I am Alma... Alma Jane. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

Thud.

The expensive fountain pen slipped from Aiden’s hand, splashing a streak of black ink across the pristine white page. His entire body stiffened as if struck by a high-voltage current. His heart skipped a beat, then began to thrum wildly, the rush of hot blood in his veins drowning out the dull throb of his illness.

Aiden looked up, agonizingly slow, as if he were bearing the entire weight of his past on his shoulders.

The moment her emerald eyes met his razor-sharp gaze, Aiden’s world imploded. There was the same radiant smile, tinged with a hidden melancholy; the same saintly face of his unrequited first love—the girl he only dared to watch from afar during those golden dusks in their hometown, back when he was just a poor boy with a soul full of scars.

But Alma looked at him with the eyes of a total stranger. Aiden realized with bitter irony that in her eyes, he was now just a stranger—a powerful, dangerous, and oppressive man. She could never find the shadow of that shy, gentle boy in the "monster" now ruling from the summit of this empire.

"Miss Alma Jane, who told you to come here?"

Aiden demanded. His voice was hoarse, trembling with the emotions screaming within his chest. He offered no warmth in his greeting; instead, he fixed her with a scrutinizing gaze—as if inspecting a piece of merchandise—to mask the violent turbulence of his soul.

Within Aiden, the initial shock quickly spiraled into a heart-wrenching ache, before instantly freezing into a cold, hard fury. Why was a girl as proud and intelligent as Alma standing here? Why had she appeared in this space, thick with the stench of money and the demeaning air of oppression? What flowery promises had Nolan used to lure her into this trap?

Did she, in this very moment, as she faced a gaze that seemed to strip away her every defense, realize with bitter clarity that she was nothing more than a commodity in a contract to trade away her self-respect—one whose name she had never even known?

Under his razor-sharp stare, Alma’s cheeks flushed crimson, her shoulders hunching slightly in fear. She felt a frigid aura radiating from the man before her, threatening to freeze whatever courage she had left. Alma bit her lip, her eyes flickering with wary hesitation. She felt suffocated in the vastness of the room. The man in front of her was nothing like a savior from a fairy tale; he exuded an aura of lethal intent and absolute authority that made even a composed former medical student like her feel her skin crawl.

"It was Nolan Alice... Did he not inform you?" she asked anxiously, her small hands gripping the straps of her handbag so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you. I can return at another time... if you’re busy."

Alma took a small step back toward the door. Her survival instinct screamed at her to flee from this terrifying man, even if the price was the collapse of her family.

"That won't be necessary," Aiden interjected, his voice firm and absolute—a command that brooked no refusal. "You may stay."

Aiden stared at her, struggling to keep his cold mask from cracking. A delirious thought took hold: If she walked out that door, would fate ever grant him a second chance in the six short months he had left? A dark, primal sense of possessiveness surged within him. He needed her. He needed her blood, her warmth to thaw his final, freezing days. But he would never let her see his vulnerability. 

"Nolan mentioned a beautiful woman would be coming," Aiden explained with a sneer, a bitter, faint smile ghosting his lips. "But he withheld the name. So, I need to verify if you’re worth my time... or if you're just another gold digger."

His words hit Alma like a slap to the face. She felt her heart tighten with humiliation. However, the haunting image of her father’s gaunt face and the mountain of unpaid bills forced her to stand her ground. She knew she was gambling both her dignity and her future by coming here.

"I see... I understand. You are Aiden Power, correct?" she asked, confirming his identity. Her voice was still strained with extreme tension, yet a spark of resilience—the kind belonging to someone with nothing left to lose—began to flicker within it.

"Correct," Aiden said, before gesturing with a sharp, distant motion: "Take a seat, Miss Alma. We shall seriously discuss... the position you are applying for."

"Thank you."

Alma slowly approached the high-end leather sofa. She held the hem of her skirt and sat gingerly on the edge of the seat, mirroring the exact way she had sat on a stone bench at high school fifteen years ago.

She gently pushed her portfolio forward, her eyes brimming with hope. "I have prepared my resume and professional certifications, Mr. Power..."

Aiden didn't respond, nor did he touch the folder. He stood up and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city as the lights began to flicker on. He needed to turn his back so Alma wouldn't see his hands trembling uncontrollably—from both emotion and the sheer terror suffocating his mind.

At that moment, the phone on the oak desk vibrated with a short buzz. Aiden glanced at it through the glass reflection. A message had just arrived from Nolan: "Here is the final candidate’s file. I haven't told her the truth about the 'contract' yet; that's on you. She's desperate for the money."

Attached was a skeletal resume with nothing but a name: Alma Jane.

Aiden’s entire body went rigid. He had assumed she was just like the materialistic women before her—already coached by Nolan and willing to accept a humiliating transaction for money. But hearing her mention "professional qualifications" and seeing how she cherished those unfinished medical degrees like life-saving treasures, Aiden realized the brutal truth: She knew absolutely nothing.

Nolan had played a sinister hand against both of them. He had thrown a desperate angel into the clutches of a dying monster, blinding her with a sweet lie about an "assistant" position.

A Stage IV death sentence and his only first love—two parallel lines that had finally intersected here on the 88th floor, in the cruelest circumstance Providence could arrange. The game had only just begun. Aiden clenched his fists, watching Alma’s frail silhouette reflected in the glass. A dark, primal sense of possessiveness surged. No matter what it took, even if he had to sustain this charade, he would never let her leave again.