The past few days at work had been nothing like Aliyah had expected.
Alexander walked past her in the hallways, passed her unit, and even ignored her in the parking lot, offering neither a glance nor a word.
She felt foolish for not wearing her hair in a ponytail.
Why did I even think he'd notice? she wondered.
Her father's doctor had called the night before with good news—his condition had improved, and he could return home for a while. It was something to hold on to, something worth smiling about.
That morning, she made sure her ponytail was sleek and tidy before heading out the door.
Imogen was already parked outside, her face hidden behind dark sunglasses, but her smile wide and bright.
"Hey, best friend," she called out, her tone playful. "Want a ride?"
Aliyah locked her front door and raised an eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"
"Do I need one? Sweet people do sweet things just because… You know?" She giggled.
Aliyah smiled lightly. "Fair enough…" She walked over to the passenger side and slid in.
Imogen started the engine and drove off.
"I spoke to Mr. Sinclair," she said with a smile. "Not Alexander… his father. I told him how much I like his son."
Aliyah glanced out the window, unsure how to respond.
Imogen continued, "Alexander isn't easy. So as the face of Étoile, I asked his father to put in a good word for me."
There was a pause before Aliyah finally spoke, her tone flat. "That's… nice."
Imogen chuckled softly. "Isn't he dreamy… Liyah? I saw the way you looked at him the other day in his office. You were definitely staring."
Her voice dropped slightly, more serious now. "Don't forget, I told you he's mine."
Aliyah held her breath for a moment, then looked straight ahead. "I remember," she said quietly.
Imogen let out a light laugh, but her eyes stayed on the road. "Good. I just wanted to be clear."
She scoffed lightly, then glanced sideways at Aliyah. "Honestly, Liyah… you're not even his type."
Aliyah turned her head slightly. "What do you mean?"
Still smiling, Imogen replied, "Alexander likes sophisticated women, bold and commanding. Don't get me wrong, Liyah, you're sweet, soft, and quiet…" She reached out and patted Aliyah's jaw. "You don't even fit the kind of body he goes for."
Aliyah stayed silent—her eyes steady on the road.
Imogen ran a hand through her styled hair. "Men like Alexander want someone who fits into their world. Someone like me."
The rest of the ride was quiet.
When they finally pulled into the company's parking lot, Aliyah opened the door without a word and stepped out, walking away without looking back.
Imogen was supposed to be the one person who never made her feel small.
Her best friend.
The only one who had seen her through the quiet struggles, the quiet wins.
But growing up, Aliyah had always let Imogen take the spotlight.
The best seat, the final slice—if Imogen wanted it, she let her have it.
Not because she didn't want it too, but because it was easier than fighting for things that never seemed meant for her.
As she approached her unit, her glance caught Alexander, coming from the opposite end of the corridor.
He noticed her. His eyes briefly scanned her hair, now slicked back in the neat ponytail he'd once told her not to wear. His expression was unreadable.
"Miss Archer," he said, voice firm and calm. "I thought I made myself clear about the ponytail."
Aliyah looked up at him, steady. "You haven't spoken to me in days. I didn't think your preferences still applied."
Something flashed in his eyes—maybe a smile, but it was gone too fast to know.
"They do," he replied. Then, after a pause: "Come with me."
Before she could ask where, he was already ahead. She paused, then followed.
He said nothing as they stepped outside. His black car was parked by the sidewalk.
Her eyes searched quietly for Imogen.
Alexander opened the passenger door and looked at her. "Get in."
Aliyah blinked. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere quiet."
Her heart thudded, but she got in.
He slid into the driver's seat beside her and shut the door.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, without warning, he leaned over, his hands brushing against her shoulder as he reached for her hair.
He gently pulled the band from her hair. It fell loose, soft around her face.
"I told you," he said, his voice low. "Keep it down."
He noticed her eyes were closed, his face just an inch from hers. He chuckled softly and pulled back.
As the car glided through the quiet streets, Aliyah finally broke the silence.
"I really shouldn't be doing this. I have a pile of work waiting. Mr. Blake has already been on edge this week."
Alexander gave her a sidelong glance, then reached out for his phone.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. Just tapped a few times, brought the phone to his ear, and said, "Mr. Blake? This is Alexander Sinclair. Miss Archer won't be available for the rest of the day. Handle whatever needs handling."
A pause.
"Good." He ended the call, placed the phone down, and looked ahead again.
Aliyah glanced at him, wondering how someone so composed could make her feel so completely unsteady.
The way he took control of everything—even her time—left her both irritated and… compelled.
The drive was quiet, tension thick in the air. Aliyah didn't ask further about their destination—she only watched the city blur past.
Ten minutes later, the car pulled into a private underground garage.
Alexander led her to a private elevator in silence. She followed, unsure, her heels clicking softly against the floors.
When the elevator doors opened, they revealed an open penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, the morning sky bright and clear in golden sunlight.
"You live here?" she asked quietly.
"No," he said. "But it's mine."
He walked over to the glass, hands in his pockets. "I come here when I don't want to be found."
He paused, eyes on the sky. "Got this place when I turned twenty-two. You're the second person I've ever brought here."
Why me? And who was the first person?
The questions lingered in Aliyah's mind.