Chapter 4

Lia’s POV

The first thing I noticed about Lucien Hayes wasn’t his suit, though it probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. It was his eyes—steady, unreadable, the kind that made you want to straighten your posture and choose your words carefully.

He extended a hand across the glass desk. “Lia Hart,” he said, as if testing how the name felt on his tongue. “Welcome to Hayes Corporation.”

His voice was deep, calm, deliberate. The kind of voice that could either soothe you or destroy you, depending on what he wanted.

“Thank you, Mr. Hayes,” I replied, managing a small smile. “It’s an honor to be here.”

I hated how formal I sounded. But it was safer this way. Safe meant distance. Safe meant control.

He gestured for me to sit, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. Not in a predatory way—no. It was more like curiosity. Like he was trying to read between the lines of who I was and who I was pretending to be.

“You come highly recommended,” he said, flipping through my portfolio. “Your PR work at Black Corporation was… impressive.”

The mention of that name hit me like a sudden chill. I kept my expression neutral. “Thank you. I learned a lot there.”

He hummed, still watching me. “And then you resigned. No public reason. No LinkedIn update. Just vanished.”

My stomach tightened. “I needed a break,” I said softly.

He tilted his head, as though he didn’t quite believe me—but didn’t push either. “We all do, sometimes.”

Then he closed the file. “Let’s start fresh, Miss Hart. Your first campaign will be with me directly. I want to see what you can do.”

I nodded, holding his gaze just long enough to appear confident. “You won’t be disappointed.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. There was something heavy in the air—an unspoken challenge, a quiet recognition of strength in the other. I broke the tension first, thanking him again before stepping out of his office.

The hallway felt brighter somehow, though my pulse still raced.

---

The next few days passed in a blur of meetings, phone calls, and late nights. Hayes Corporation was demanding, but in a way that made me feel alive again. I was good at what I did—crafting stories, repairing reputations, spinning light from chaos.

And Lucien Hayes noticed.

He wasn’t like other CEOs I’d met. There was no arrogance in him, no need to fill silence with authority. He spoke little, listened more, and when he did speak—it mattered.

One evening, as we finalized the layout for a client’s rebranding proposal, I realized we were the only ones left on the entire floor. The city lights stretched out behind the glass walls, glittering like a thousand secrets.

Lucien stood by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. The sight made something inside me stir—something I thought I’d buried.

He turned to me, catching me mid-thought. “You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

I forced a small laugh. “Just focused.”

“Focused looks good on you.”

The words hung between us, gentle yet weighted. His tone wasn’t flirtatious—it was matter-of-fact, but it still made my breath hitch.

I looked away, pretending to check the mockups on my laptop. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Mr. Hayes.”

He smiled faintly. “Lucien,” he corrected.

I swallowed. “Lucien.”

“Better,” he said, stepping closer—close enough that I could smell his cologne: cedar and rain. “You know, you work like someone trying to outrun something.”

My fingers froze on the keyboard. “Maybe I just like being productive.”

“Or maybe,” he said quietly, “you’re rebuilding yourself.”

I looked up at him, caught off guard. “What makes you think I need rebuilding?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze softened, tracing the guarded expression I hadn’t realized I wore. “Because I know what it looks like,” he said finally. “I’ve done it too.”

Something in me cracked open at those words.

Not enough to fall apart. But enough to feel seen.

For a long moment, we just stood there—two people carrying ghosts, sharing silence instead of stories.

Then his phone buzzed, breaking the spell. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening. “I have to take this,” he murmured. “You can head out, Lia. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

I nodded, gathering my things, my heartbeat unsteady.

---

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his words—his voice, his eyes, the quiet understanding in them.

Lucien Hayes was not Ethan Black. He didn’t command attention; he earned it. And that difference scared me more than I wanted to admit. Because with Ethan, I’d fallen for the illusion. With Lucien, I felt the pull of something real.

And real could be dangerous.

I turned on my side, staring at the faint city glow spilling through my curtains. I wasn’t ready for this—not for another man’s gaze, not for the warmth creeping back into my chest.

But maybe I didn’t have to be ready.

Maybe I just had to exist.