Chapter 5

The elevator chimed.

Dylan Frost adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit, his expression unreadable as he stepped into the executive floor of Frost Holdings. New York air always carried too much noise, but inside his company, silence was a rule.

His personal assistant, Evelyn, trailed beside him with her tablet, her heels clicking softly in rhythm with his steps. “Sir, about the internal screening…”

He didn’t look at her. “Proceed.”

Evelyn nodded quickly. “Your mother approved the idea of a private selection. Six candidates have been shortlisted, all with verified backgrounds, strong social standings, and no prior scandals. I’ve organized their profiles in your system.”

Dylan’s jaw flexed. The entire ordeal was absurd, a “selection” to find a wife, orchestrated under the guise of corporate image and family legacy. But his mother had made it clear: his father’s will wasn’t negotiable. Marry before his half-brother’s wedding, or lose Frost Holdings to someone who didn’t deserve to inherit it.

“Choose a date,” he said finally, voice low and even. “And contact the ones who tick every box. I want this done quietly without the board members knowing.”

“Yes, sir.” Evelyn bowed her head lightly. “I’ll arrange it and update your calendar before noon.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into his office. The door closed with a soft hiss of soundproof glass.

The city spread beneath him through the windows, a tapestry of ambition, neon, and deceit. He tugged at his tie, irritation simmering under his calm exterior. The last few days had been nothing but noise, boardroom meetings, family politics, marriage arrangements. He needed focus and control, hence the need for a secretary.

And then he noticed her.

A woman stood by the window, her back to him, earbuds tucked in, completely unaware of his presence. The early light poured around her like liquid gold, tracing her outline through the fitted blouse and pencil skirt. She was still, poised and too calm for someone in his office.

His jaw tightened.

He hated being ignored.

“Miss Brown,” he said sharply.

No response.

He moved closer, the scent of her shampoo, something faintly floral drifting toward him. His patience thinned. He reached out, his hand brushing her shoulder.

She startled, spinning around her eyes wide, lips parted. The music cut off as one earbud slipped loose.

Their gazes collided.

For a brief, suspended heartbeat, neither of them moved. Confusion or maybe recognition flickered in his eyes, but Isla’s expression stayed unreadable.

For the first time in years, Dylan forgot how to breathe.

She blinked rapidly, pulling out the other earbud. “Oh… Mr. Frost, I’m so sorry!”

Her voice was soft, breathless, as she straightened her blouse and stepped back from him. A faint flush crept up her neck. “I didn’t hear you come in. I’m Isla Brown, the new secretary.”

Dylan said nothing at first. His gaze swept over her, not with desire, but with something closer to disbelief. Brown? Of course, Evelyn had mentioned hiring someone new, but he hadn’t expected it to be her.

Not when every inch of her face clawed at the back of a memory he’d tried for weeks to erase.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to mask her embarrassment with a small, polite smile. “The view from here is… something else,” she said quietly, glancing toward the skyline. “The city looks really beautiful from up here.”

He followed her gaze. The reflection of her face shimmered faintly against the glass beside his own.

Dylan slipped his hands into his pockets, his gaze steady but unreadable. “You’ll have plenty of time to admire it after work hours, Miss… Brown.”

She blinked, then nodded quickly. “Right. Work. Of course.”

The corner of his mouth twitched between annoyance and disbelief. He’d forgotten how easily innocence could disarm a man.

She took a small step closer, still visibly nervous but eager to make a good impression. “I have to say, you look even cooler in person than in your photos.”

His brows lifted a fraction. “Photos?”

“Oh! I mean…the company website,” she said hurriedly, gesturing toward his desk like it was a lifeline. “There’s this official profile of you, and, well… it’s very corporate-looking. But in person you’re…” She hesitated, realizing how that sounded. “You’re just more… real.”

He stared at her.

More real?

The irony of it nearly made him laugh.

He remembered how real it had been that night, her skin, her voice, the way she’d whispered something he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he’d tried.

And now she stood in front of him, smiling like a stranger.

“You’ve seen me before, haven't you?” he said before he could stop himself.

Her head tilted slightly. “Well, yes. The pictures. But technically, no. This is my first time.”

He studied her face, searching for any flicker of recognition, any hint that she was pretending. But there was nothing. Just open sincerity and that same softness that had undone him once before.

He cleared his throat, retreating behind the cool tone he was known for. “Let’s keep it professional, Miss Brown. I’m not a fan of small talk.”

“Understood,” she said quickly, lowering her gaze.

He turned toward the window again, but his reflection stared back at him with something uncomfortably close to fascination.

She doesn’t remember.

That should have been a relief. Instead, it felt like a curse.