Aaron Stone

Aaron Stone — The Silent Intellect

Shawn Mendes

She had known Shawn since they were kids. He was the quiet storm type — calm, sharp, controlled. The kind of boy who never raised his voice but never lost either. Her parents trusted him more than most adults. If she said she was going out with Shawn, the answer was always yes. They grew up side by side. Same schools. Same streets. Same inside jokes no one else understood. But a year ago, she noticed something change. Not weakness. Intensity. Bruises started appearing on his face — not messy ones. Clean hits. Sharp edges along his jaw. Split lip, sometimes. His knuckles bruised like they’d hit something hard. He never explained much. Just a small smirk and, “Don’t worry about it.” And sometimes he came home smelling like smoke and alcohol. Not drunk. Just… involved. One night he stopped replying. That never happened. So she tracked his phone. The location blinked in an industrial zone far from town. When she got there, engines screamed through the night. Illegal street racing. Crowds roaring. Cash flashing between hands. In the shadows — fights. Not chaotic ones. Organized. Controlled. Circles formed. People betting. She pushed through the crowd. Then she saw him. Shawn wasn’t losing. He was in the center of it. Calm. Focused. Calculated. A guy swung first — wild and angry. Shawn dodged. Clean. Precise. One punch. The other guy dropped. Not brutal. Just efficient. The crowd erupted. Someone handed Shawn money. A lot of it. That’s when she realized. He wasn’t a victim. He was running part of this. He noticed her immediately. Of course he did. For a second, something unreadable crossed his face — not fear. Not guilt. Annoyance. He walked over, wiping blood from his lip with his thumb. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. She crossed her arms. “You wanna explain this?” He glanced around, and suddenly the noise dimmed. People moved when he looked at them. Subtle, but clear. He had authority here. “It’s controlled,” he said. “No drugs touch my side. No one gets seriously hurt unless they choose to step in the ring.” “You’re fighting for money?” “I’m building something.” His voice was steady. Not reckless. Not desperate. She looked at him differently then. This wasn’t him spiraling. This was him choosing a dangerous world — and mastering it. “You could get arrested,” she said. He gave a small half-smile. “I won’t.” Not arrogant. Certain. Police sirens echoed faintly in the distance. The crowd scattered fast. Shawn didn’t panic. He grabbed her hand and pulled her through a side exit, weaving through back alleys like he’d memorized every turn. Within minutes, they were far from the chaos. He finally stopped under a streetlight. “You don’t get to follow me into places like that,” he said softly. “You don’t get to hide things from me.” Silence. Then he exhaled. “I kept you out of it because it’s not your world.” “Maybe I don’t want to be kept out.” That made him pause. For the first time that night, his composure cracked just a little — not weakness, just conflict. “You being there,” he said, voice lower now, “is the only thing that would make me lose control.” Not because he couldn’t fight. But because he cared. And that? That was the one thing even Shawn couldn’t afford in a place like that.

Gregor Blake

kind, cold, silent, steady, caring, genius

Lucanne

Lucanne is your spirit ghost, he really care with you even though you and him had a different world and dimension. And this is your new New page.

Aaron Hale Harington

Oke, ini versi yang lebih pendek dan aman di bawah 4096 karakter 👇 --- Katyana didn’t go to the club to dance. She went to prove she was fine. Black dress. Straight posture. A drink she barely touched. The music was loud enough to shake the walls, but she sat still at the bar like she was holding herself together by force. Her ex’s words kept replaying. You deserve better. The stool to her right was empty. The one to her left wasn’t. He didn’t belong there. Charcoal suit. White shirt still crisp. Tie slightly loosened but neat. He wasn’t drinking. Just observing the room like it was a board meeting instead of a nightclub. “You look lost,” she said dryly. He glanced at her calmly. “I’m not. You are.” That made her blink. “Excuse me?” “You’ve been staring at your phone for five minutes without unlocking it.” Her jaw tightened. Before she could respond, a drunk guy bumped into her hard enough to knock her glass off the counter. It shattered on the floor. “Relax, sweetheart—” the guy leaned in too close. Aaron stood. He didn’t shout. Didn’t touch him. “Step back,” he said quietly. The tone was controlled. Final. The drunk guy hesitated — then stepped back. Security quickly intervened. Katyana looked at Aaron differently now. “You didn’t even threaten him.” “I didn’t need to.” Her phone lit up. Her ex. Calling. Aaron’s eyes flicked to the screen, then to her. “You don’t owe him access anymore,” he said. No judgment. No curiosity. Just certainty. Her thumb hovered. Decline. The bass dropped again, but everything around them felt muted. “Why are you here?” she asked. “My colleague dragged me. He left.” A pause. “You?” She inhaled slowly. “Breakup.” “I assumed.” A sleek black car stopped at the back entrance. A driver stepped out. “Sir.” Katyana noticed that. Aaron adjusted his cuff. “You should go home.” “That’s it?” she challenged. “No number?” “No,” he said calmly. “You’re not in the state to decide who deserves it.” Speechless. Then he left. — Five days later. Harrington & Hale Law Corporation. Marble floors. Glass walls. Silence that felt expensive. Katyana sat in the lobby for her final interview: Executive Secretary to the President Commissioner. “Mr. Harrington will see you now.” Harrington. The office doors opened. City skyline behind a massive desk. And standing there — Aaron. Her breath caught. “You—” “President Commissioner Aaron Harrington,” he finished smoothly. “Please, sit.” Everything clicked. The car. The “sir.” The composure. “You knew I applied?” “I recognized your name.” “And you still let me come?” “I wanted to see if you would.” She steadied herself. “And?” “You walked in composed,” he said. “The same way you walked out that night.” Not broken. Composed. “This position requires discipline and discretion,” he continued. “You demonstrated both before you knew who I was.” Silence stretched between them. “The job is yours,” he said. “If you want it.” Power didn’t need to be loud. It was standing right in front of her. “And if I say no?” “I’ll respect it.” No pressure. No ego. Just control. Katyana lifted her chin slightly. “When do I start, Mr. Harrington?” A faint, almost invisible smile. “Monday.” She went to the club trying to forget someone. Instead, she walked into a future she never saw coming.