ELIZABETH'S POV
The café empties slowly around us as the sky outside dims into evening blue. The window beside our booth fogs a little from the warmth inside brushing against the cold seeping in from the glass. Rose finishes her hot chocolate, scraping the last of the whipped cream from the rim of her mug with a tired-looking finger.
I watch her for a moment, memorizing the way her brows pinch when she's overwhelmed. She tries so hard to seem put together, the same way I do. Maybe that's why I recognize her tells better than anyone else.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask.
She nods but looks away. "I just… I hate disappointing you."
"You don't," I say immediately. "You never have."
"I know," she whispers. "But sometimes I feel like you had to grow up so fast, and now you're still doing it. You're the adult for all of us. And I'm just… trying to keep up."
My chest tightens. "Rose, you don't owe me perfection."
She swallows hard, blinking back the threat of tears. "I know. I just wish I could give you something other than stress."
"You do," I tell her softly. "Every day."
She looks back at me with a fragile, grateful smile that makes my heart ache.
The server stops by with the bill. I slide my card into the little leather wallet before Rose can protest.
"You said you were saving money," she reminds me.
"I am."
"You keep saying that, but then you pay for everything."
"You're my sister."
"Liz."
"Fine," I say with a small smile. "You can pay for fries next time."
She laughs and wipes her eyes with a napkin. "Deal."
I hand the server the bill, and while she walks away, Rose leans forward, her voice dropping.
"Your day sounded… intense."
"It was."
"You've never talked about a CEO making you nervous before."
"I wasn't nervous."
Her eyebrows rise. "That's not what it sounded like."
I fiddle with the edge of my napkin. "He's just… different."
Rose grins instantly, too amused for her own good. "Different how? Like mysterious-man-in-a-dark-hallway different? Or tall-bad-boy-you-know-is-terrible-for-you different?"
"Neither."
"Liar."
I sigh, leaning back. "He's intelligent. Intense. And he doesn't let anything slide. He made half the room sweat today."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It's just… whenever he looks at someone, it feels like he's seeing through them. Like he's trying to understand what they're hiding."
"And when he looked at you?"
I inhale slowly. "It felt like I needed to stand straighter."
Rose's grin widens. "Oh, wow. You have a crush."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I don't."
She snorts. "Liz, I've only heard two things today: statistics is going to ruin my life and a billionaire CEO stared at you like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve."
I cover my face with my hand. "Please stop."
"Nope. Not happening. This is my new favorite topic."
When I peek through my fingers, she's giggling like a child who just discovered a secret she shouldn't know.
The server returns with the receipt. I sign quickly and grab my bag.
"Can we go home before you start planning my wedding?" I ask.
"Too late," she says, sliding out of the booth. "You're walking down the aisle in a silk gown. He's brooding in a tux. I'm the world's hottest bridesmaid."
"Rose."
"Liz."
"Let's go."
She laughs the whole way out of the café.
The cold air hits us as soon as we step outside, crisp and almost biting. I zip up my coat and tuck my hair behind my ears. Rose loops her arm through mine as we walk toward the bus stop.
"Will you help me study tonight?" she asks.
"Of course."
"Even though you're tired?"
"Especially then."
She rests her head against my shoulder. "You're too good to me."
I don't respond because I don't know how to. I don't feel good. I feel stretched. Overworked. Holding our lives together with the thin threads of schedules and spreadsheets.
But I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.
We reach the bus stop. A few people stand scattered along the sidewalk—a man scrolling on his phone, two girls whispering about something dramatic, an elderly woman clutching a woven shopping bag.
Rose shivers. "I should've brought a scarf."
"You can take mine."
"You'll freeze."
"I'll survive."
"No," she sighs dramatically, "because if you get sick, the world ends, Starlight collapses, and my future depends on you staying healthy."
"Rose—"
"I'm just saying the facts."
I wrap the scarf around her neck anyway. Rose looks smug but grateful.
The bus arrives with its usual wheeze of brakes. We climb in, sit near the back, and I rest my head against the window. The city lights blur into long streaks of yellow and white as the world outside moves faster than I can process.
My phone vibrates in my coat pocket. I pull it out and see an email—from Global Legacy.
From him.
From: Liam Smith
To: Elizabeth Williams
Subject: Transcript
Miss Williams,
Send the transcript before eight.
— L. Smith
That's it. No greeting. No expression. No signature block. Just instructions delivered like a blade.
I swallow hard.
Rose peeks over my shoulder. "Is that him?"
"Yes."
She whistles. "Wow. He's efficient."
"That's one word for it."
"What's another?"
"Intimidating."
Rose bumps my shoulder. "You like that."
"I don't."
"You do."
I glare at her, but she's immune.
"Do you need to work when we get home?" she asks.
"I already have it drafted. Just need to polish it."
"Okay. Then after that, we're burying ourselves in statistics until I want to cry."
"Deal."
We ride in silence for a moment. I tuck my phone away and stare out at the passing streetlamps.
My reflection stares back in the window—tired eyes, small frown, hair pulled into a neat bun I'm ready to tear apart. I look like someone who carries more than her body is built for.
The bus hits a bump, and my reflection shakes.
I close my eyes.
Liam's voice from earlier drifts through my mind.
"Try to keep everyone on schedule."
It wasn't a compliment. But it wasn't dismissal either.
It was… acknowledgment.
That's all.
And yet…
It stuck with me.
At home, Massie stands by the stove stirring a pot of soup. The aroma fills the house—garlic, tomato, herbs. Comfort in a bowl. She turns when she hears the door.
"There you two are," she says. "Dinner's almost ready."
Rose rushes forward, steals a spoon from the drawer, and dips it into the pot for a taste.
"Rose!" Massie scolds.
"It's good," Rose says through a grin.
I slip my shoes off, hang my coat, and drop my bag on the couch.
"You look exhausted," Massie says, coming closer.
"It was a long day," I admit.
"How did the meeting go?"
"Not great."
She studies me, waiting for details.
I lean against the counter. "Mr. Smith wasn't easy on us."
Massie snorts. "Billionaires never are."
I manage a small smile. "He's… intense."
"In a good way or a 'you need therapy after meeting him' way?"
"Somewhere between."
Rose emerges from behind me with another spoon. "Liz thinks he's handsome."
I whip my head toward her. "I did not say that."
Massie gasps dramatically. "Elizabeth Williams."
"Oh my God," I mutter, covering my face. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to," Rose says. "Your face said everything."
I'm going to strangle her. Lovingly.
Massie laughs and pats my cheek. "You're twenty-five, sweetheart. You're allowed to think someone is attractive."
"I don't," I insist.
They both stare at me like I've just announced I plan to become a nun.
I roll my eyes. "It doesn't matter anyway. He's… him. And I'm me. Different planets."
Massie gives me a thoughtful look but doesn't push.
"Dinner in fifteen," she says, turning back to the stove.
"Okay."
I escape to my room, shutting the door behind me before my cheeks fully combust.
I sit on my bed, open my laptop, and pull up the transcript. The words blur for a moment as my brain tries to refocus. I take a breath and start editing, polishing every sentence until it reads clean and professional.
When I'm done, I attach it to an email.
To: Liam Smith
Subject: Transcript
**Mr. Smith,
Please find the full meeting transcript attached.
Let me know if you need anything further.
Elizabeth Williams
Personal Assistant
Starlight Enterprises**
I hover over the send button longer than necessary.
It's ridiculous. It's an email. It shouldn't make my heart race. But my finger hesitates anyway.
Then I press send.
It's done.
I close the laptop and lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, I'll see him again.
Not for long—not directly.
But enough.
Enough to feel that quiet shift in air again.
Enough to feel that peculiar awareness settle under my skin.
Enough to know this story has already begun moving in a direction I can't predict.
I close my eyes.
Sleep doesn't come easily.
Not with a mind that won't quiet.
Not with a sister who needs me.
Not with a company hanging on by threads.
Not with a man in a dark suit occupying too much of my thoughts.
Not with everything about to change.