NATHAN'S POVI stood at the center of my restaurant’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron already stained, and adrenaline pumping harder than my heart on a jog. Tonight wasn’t just a normal night—we were hosting our first ever Charity Chef’s Night. All proceeds would go to a local shelter that helped underprivileged youth. It was my idea, sure, but it had grown into something much bigger than I expected.And I wanted to make Isla proud.I glanced at the clock. 6:42 p.m.We had a full house. The tables outside were filled with guests, and the buzz in the room was electric. Laughter. Wine glasses clinking. And the rhythmic chaos of my kitchen behind the scenes.“You’ve got eight tickets coming in,” shouted Marco, my sous-chef, over the clatter of pans. “Two need vegan substitutes!”“I got it!” I called back, sliding a tray of roasted mushrooms into the oven. “Tell Gina to prep the walnut cream.”This was what I lived for. The hum of the burners, the urgency, the fire—literal and emotional
ISLA'S POVThe morning air was still, too still for a Tuesday.I stood by the large window in my office at Titan Holdings, clutching a mug of coffee that had gone cold long ago. The city skyline stretched beyond the glass, stoic and unbothered, unlike the chaos I was about to walk into.I had barely settled at my desk when my assistant, Claire, peeked in."You might want to head to the design studio. Now."I blinked. "What happened?""The fabrics for the Henderson pitch. They're gone.""Gone? As in missing?" I was already out of my seat.Claire nodded, her face pale. "And Lucas is in the middle of it."My heels echoed down the hall as I made my way to the design studio. The pitch for Henderson Atelier—a luxury brand expanding into urban sustainable wear—was one of the biggest projects we had landed this year. And now, days before the final presentation, the custom-ordered eco-blend fabrics were missing?The studio was in disarray. My team huddled near the center table, looking fluster
ISLA'S POV I unlocked the front door of my restaurant just as the sun filtered through the tall windows, casting a golden haze across the polished floors. The scent of rosemary and burnt oak still lingered from the night before. Mornings like this, when the city was just waking and the kitchen was quiet, were my favorite. I could hear myself think.Ever since I decided to expand the place—make it more of a family-style restaurant with a mix of fine dining and casual—my days had been a blur. I’d taken on more responsibility, hired new staff, and started brainstorming a new menu with Chef Marco. It was exciting. Exhausting, too.But today felt different. Today, I had something else on my mind. Isla.Things between us had shifted lately—in a good way. The walls she used to keep around her were slowly coming down. I could see it in the way she smiled at me, the way her voice softened when she talked about the future. And now that we’d decided to move in together, things were starting to
ISLA'S POVThe next morning, I arrived at Titan Holdings earlier than usual. The office lights were still dim, the air cool, the silence thicker than coffee. I needed the quiet to think, to sort through everything that had happened yesterday.Roman Adler’s visit kept replaying in my head. His veiled threats, his eerie calmness, the way he predicted betrayal like he was sure of it. I still didn’t know if I had just met a threat, an ally, or a storm waiting to unravel.And then there was that note on my door.Success attracts attention. Be smart.It didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded like a warning.I dropped my bag at my desk, opened my laptop, and stared at the screen. I couldn’t focus on design mockups or supplier reports. My eyes kept drifting toward the door, my ears attuned to the click of heels or a shifting chair. Everyone felt like a shadow today.Around 8:50, the elevators chimed, and the office began to fill with life—casual conversations, greetings, and clacking keyb
ISLA'S POVI didn’t expect the day to spiral the way it did.It started with a presentation. A simple design walk-through for the Stratmore Redesign team. I had rehearsed it twice, my slides were clean, my outfit sharp, and my confidence steady. Everything was in place.Except the projector.“This thing hasn’t worked since last week,” Kareem muttered, kneeling beside the wires.“Perfect,” I whispered under my breath, forcing a smile as the panel of Stratmore reps watched us troubleshoot.“Give me two minutes,” Ava said, already on the phone with maintenance.I nodded, holding my breath. In the world of high-stakes design, a tech failure could sink an entire pitch. But I stayed composed. I’d come too far to let a faulty cable rattle me.We finally switched to a backup screen, and I walked them through the revised floor plans, material swatches, and digital mockups. My voice was clear, my points well-paced. By the time I ended with the 3D animation, the energy in the room had shifted. A
ISLA'S POVThe morning started with a headache. Not the kind caused by lack of sleep or coffee, but the kind that brewed from tension in the air. Titan Holdings was buzzing louder than usual, and I didn’t need an official memo to know something was up.By 9:15 a.m., I was in the boardroom, sipping stale coffee from the break station, surrounded by people pretending to be calm. I’d barely sat down when Elizabeth, our sharp-eyed operations manager, walked in with a red file pressed to her chest like it held national secrets.“We’ve been invited to pitch for the Stratmore Redesign Project,” she announced.Just like that, the room shifted. The Stratmore Redesign was no ordinary gig. It was a landmark fashion infrastructure—a ten-story office-slash-studio hybrid in downtown New York. The kind of project that could shape a career, or ruin one.My eyes locked with Elizabeth’s as she dropped the file on the center of the table. “This is a high-stakes opportunity. Titan Holdings was one of fou