A week passed.
A full, quiet, merciful week.
Willow threw herself into work with surgical precision — early mornings that bled into late nights, coffee cooling beside her keyboard, and the rhythmic click of typing that felt steadier than her own pulse.
Her team was finalizing the new healthcare inventory interface — already earning internal praise for its clean functionality and near-perfect data mapping. She was proud of it. Proud of them.
Her colleagues respected her.
They knew Willow as a leader was not soft. She was fair, courteous, calm under pressure — but she didn't tolerate shortcuts. She pushed them hard because she pushed herself harder. That was why their department had won the company's Innovation in Tech award two years in a row.
She didn't believe in luck. Only momentum.
And hers came from discipline.
Today was no different. Her screen glowed with cascading lines of code, each line deliberate and clean. On the whiteboard behind her, a rainbow of markers framed her elegant handwriting: API Integration, Data Mapping, UI Final Checks.
Outside her office, the world barely existed.
Work was sanctuary. Work made sense.
And work didn't ask why she'd kissed another man just to wound the one who'd broken her.
She had decided the kiss was a tool — nothing more. A calculated weapon in her quiet campaign against Miles.
So she shelved it, filed it under necessary tactics, and refused to analyze the way her body had reacted as though it hadn't received the order.
But sometimes, when the office was too still and the screen dimmed into standby, a flash of memory would intrude — the way his hand had hovered near her back, firm yet hesitant… the quiet sound he made before he gave in.
It wasn't romantic. It was human. Too human.
And that was dangerous.
She'd straighten, stretch her wrists, and drown herself in logic until emotion had no foothold left.
Her office reflected her mind — precise, balanced, and quietly beautiful.
A sleek glass desk dominated the space, flanked by silver filing drawers and a monitor setup that could run three systems at once. A small potted ivy trailed lazily across a corner shelf, softening the sharp geometry of glass and steel. A reed diffuser breathed faint lavender into the air — just enough to ease the tension of long hours.
She liked order. Predictability. Clean lines, clean code. No mess.
The sunlight filtering through half-open blinds cast stripes across the room, gilding her hair — glossy black, twisted into a low, deliberate bun. A few strands escaped, framing her pale face in a way that seemed unplanned but wasn't.
Her shirt was crisp white, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, the first button undone for comfort. Charcoal trousers hugged her form with tailored precision. Black flats — quiet, practical, deliberate. No stilettos, no noise. She didn't need height to command attention.
Her eyes — green, flecked with gold — made people measure their words before speaking. Usually calm. Sometimes sharp. Always alive with thought.
And beneath all that composure lay something else — a storm restrained by sheer will.
A photo on the corner of her desk showed her team at their last celebration — all smiles and champagne. She wasn't at the center. She stood at the edge, arms crossed, smiling faintly. Always observing. Always the quiet axis around which things turned.
She reached for her coffee, found it cold, and didn't care.
She was deep in review mode when the knock came — two soft taps on the glass door.
Malik leaned in, wearing his usual half-grin and dark-blue blazer — a man who looked perpetually five minutes away from good news.
"Willow," he said, stepping in, "got a minute?"
She turned from the screen. "Of course."
He gestured toward her whiteboard, admiring the organized chaos. "You're ahead of schedule again. How long until this one's wrapped?"
She glanced at her notes. "Ten days. Maybe less if QA clears early."
He grinned. "You spoil me. Good thing you did, because something new just landed — a big one."
Willow arched a brow. "Define big."
"External contract," he said, placing a folder on her desk. "Star Engineering. You've probably heard of them."
She had — vaguely. The name carried weight. Not in her world of code, but in steel and concrete. They built empires.
Malik's voice brightened. "They're one of the largest construction conglomerates in the region — skyscrapers, airports, entire city districts. They need a full new logistics management program, built from scratch. Design integration, supplier coordination, international synchronization — the works."
He tapped the folder, smiling. "They want it bulletproof. And they're paying premium."
Willow leaned forward, curiosity stirring like a muscle rediscovering motion. "So this isn't an upgrade. It's a complete system overhaul — architecture, design, framework, all custom?"
"Exactly," he said, looking pleased. "They tried outsourcing before. Didn't like the results. This time they want the best. Which means you."
She smiled faintly — satisfaction muted but real. "Then they'll have me. I'll schedule an appointment with their IT division to review specs."
Malik exhaled, mock dramatic. "You just saved me another migraine. I swear you're the only person in this company who treats impossible like a hobby."
"Flattery noted," she said dryly, though the edge of amusement warmed her tone. "I'll brief the team once I've seen what they need."
He started for the door, then paused. "Oh, and Willow?"
She looked up. "Yes?"
"You make this place look easy."
Her answer came without hesitation. "It's not. I just don't complain while doing it."
Malik chuckled and left, his laughter echoing faintly in the corridor.
When the door clicked shut, the hum of machines filled the air again.
Willow leaned back in her chair, stretching her neck until it cracked softly. The blinds shifted as the air vent whispered to life, carrying the scent of lavender across the room.
For the first time that day, she allowed herself a quiet breath.
Work was the one battlefield where she always won.
Her gaze drifted to the folder Malik had left behind — Star Engineering.
Even the name had precision to it.
A challenge. A puzzle worth solving.
Her pulse quickened with quiet anticipation.
She flipped open the folder. Inside were schematic diagrams, workflow charts, supplier chains, technical projections. Dense. Complex. Perfect.
Exactly her kind of problem.
But as she turned a page, something flickered unbidden — dark eyes, an even voice, the restrained gravity of someone who touched her without touching her.
Zane.
The thought was sudden. Uninvited. She froze, then forced her posture straight.
Irrelevant. Focus.
She clicked open a new email and began typing:
To: Star Engineering — IT Department
Subject: Initial Consultation Request
Professional. Efficient. Neutral. No emotion.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, choosing each word with the same care she used for code — clean, contained, exact.
When she hit Send, a small, electric thrill ran through her.
Another project. Another challenge.
Unaware that the name printed in small type at the bottom of the client brief — easy to miss, almost unimportant — was the one man she had promised herself never to think about again:
Zane Reyes, CEO — Star Engineering Group.