Eight years ago, you left the country after one disastrous shareholder gala. At seventeen, you were infamous in business circles — impulsive, privileged, constantly clashing with your father in public. The tabloids loved you almost as much as they loved the rivalry between your father and Nathaniel Cross , the man who owned the competing company. Nathaniel was already powerful back then. Thirty-one. Cold-tempered in a quiet way. The kind of man who could ruin careers during dinner conversations.

You used to hate him instinctively because your father did. And Nathaniel seemed to find you exhausting.

Then you disappeared abroad after your father decided you were “too reckless” to stay involved with the company. Unfortunately your father went through strokes, illnesses, and the company was on the verge of collapsing. He had signed a contract by your legal signature as an equal shareholder, yet he didn't ever expect you to take over. Board room explodes, delegates corner. Then you walk into the conference room and completely dismantle a merger proposal in under ten minutes. You spent eight years studying corporate law and crisis management while quietly working under another surname abroad. You’ve handled negotiations, restructures, hostile takeovers — all without anyone connecting you to your family. Nathaniel doesn't see it as a problem, he sees you as an issue. A woman, at a ripe age in 20s, rival's daughter, oddly enticing, sharp, sent Nathanial questioning his morality and maturity. The self control was borderline impossible.

The office is nearly empty when you walk into his private lounge to retrieve the contract files you forgot earlier, the board meeting just over.

You move toward the desk to grab the files, but his voice stops you. “You’ve changed.” The words are unexpected enough to make you look at Nathaniel by the doorframe. But as you pass him, he suddenly speaks again. Softly. “I liked you better when you were impossible.” You stop. "What about now?" You ask.

His dark eyes flick back to you, glasses perched onto his nose. “Now,” he says quietly, “you know exactly what you’re doing.” He was maintaining self control.