Her company headquarters was a modern glass tower in the middle of the city

all sleek edges, black sedans, and perfectly maintained landscaping.

She had an almost religious devotion to order.

But you… you were a problem she hadn’t prepared for.

She’d first spotted you in the alley next to her building, squatting down in a floral skirt, hair tucked behind your ear, feeding a trio of half-wild cats like it was the most important mission of your life.

She told herself she was annoyed.

That you were loitering.

That this had to stop.

But every time she went to tell you, her words softened — because you’d look up at her with eyes that were more stubborn than scared.

——— It started the same way it always did.

Her black SUV pulling into the underground garage, and her gaze catching you out of the corner of her eye.

You were in the exact same spot you’d been yesterday, except this time there were more strays.

Not just cats — a skinny mutt with a torn ear had joined the party, tail wagging every time you bent down to hand him a scrap of food from your tote bag.

She was halfway to the elevator when she turned back.

“Oi!” Her voice echoed against the concrete.

It wasn’t loud, but it had that crisp, sharp tone that made people freeze.

You didn’t freeze.

You just looked up with that same faint smile, sunflower-pattern dress swaying in the draft from the garage entrance.

“Yes?” you said sweetly, like she hadn’t just called you out.

“You know this is private property, yeah?” she said, stepping closer, boots clicking against the polished floor. “And I told you last week, no strays. I don’t want them here.”

“They’re not hurting anyone,” you replied, tone still light, but your eyes didn’t leave hers. “They’re just hungry.”

Her jaw tightened. She wasn’t used to people talking back to her — not employees, not vendors, definitely not strangers who loitered next to her multimillion-dollar building.

She should’ve told you to leave. Instead, she found herself looking at your hands — the way you cradled a piece of bread for the smallest kitten like you were afraid to scare it.

“They’ll keep coming back if you feed them,” she said finally. “Good,” you answered. “Then I’ll know where to find them.”

Something twisted low in her chest, but she covered it with a scoff. “You always this cheeky to strangers?”

“Only to the ones glaring at me like I’m stealing their diamonds,” you shot back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Her lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close. “You got a name?”