Aria sat in her new office, a minimalist glass cube two floors below Kai's, with a view that overlooked the skyline and his private elevator. Of course she could've stayed quiet, worked behind the scenes, kept her distance like a good little assistant but she wasn't here to follow rules. She was here to unmake him.
And this morning? She was dressed for destruction. Her pencil skirt rode high on her waist, hugging every curve. Her blouse was nearly sheer, tucked into the band so tightly it felt like a corset. And her heels clicked a rhythm down the hall that made heads turn including his.
She passed Kai's floor just before his 9 AM board meeting. She didn't knock. She didn't pause but she felt his eyes on her like heat through glass.
Let him wonder.
Let him burn.
Kai stared at the closed door long after she passed. He wasn't in control. And that infuriated him. He'd tried to push her out of his mind, buried himself in contracts, emails, calls but she lived in the cracks between thoughts.
The sway of her hips. The scent she wore vanilla and something darker.
He'd slept with dozens of women. He'd never fixated like this. It was dangerous. Illogical. And familiar in a way that made his chest ache. "Aria St. James," he muttered under his breath. "Who the hell are you?"
By noon, Aria had made herself indispensable. She'd rewritten a marketing proposal in twenty minutes, charmed two board members over lunch, and managed to rebrand the company's outdated anniversary logo into something sleek, modern, and hauntingly elegant much like herself.
She could feel him watching from the shadows. From the balcony. From his glass-walled office above.
Every time she moved, Kai looked like he wanted to stop her.
Touch her.
Shake her.
Ask her what she was doing to him.
He hadn't yet but he would. The first confrontation came at 2:07 p.m. She'd just come back from lunch, a power walk through the sculpture garden with an espresso in hand when his assistant appeared.
"He wants to see you."
Her pulse didn't skip. She was prepared for this. Waiting for it but still, something coiled low in her belly as she stepped into his office, heels silent on the imported wood floors.
Kai didn't look up from his desk.
Not at first.
Then: "Close the door."
She did.
He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit."
She didn't. "If this is about the rebranding, I already emailed my rationale."
His eyes lifted to hers — dark, dangerous, amused. "Sit."
She did.
He stood slowly, walking around the desk to lean against it directly in front of her, arms crossed.
"Let's get something clear," he said. "I don't like surprises in my office."
Aria crossed her legs, one slow glide over the other. "Then maybe you shouldn't hire women you can't stop thinking about."
His jaw tightened.
Her smile deepened.
"I'm not playing games," he said quietly.
"You're not playing well," she replied, just as quiet.
Kai stared at her, the space between them charged and suffocating. "There's something about you. I can't explain it. I don't trust it."
"Your instincts have always been good," she murmured. "Haven't they?"
He pushed off the desk, now pacing in front of her. "Who are you?"
"Your employee."
"That's not what I asked."
"Then maybe you should try asking the right question."
Silence.
The kind that trembles with heat.
Then, suddenly he was right in front of her. Hands on the arms of the chair. Face inches from hers.
"You're going to ruin me," he said, not a question.
She exhaled, slow. Controlled.
"You don't remember, do you?"
His eyes flickered. "What?"
She leaned up, lips almost grazing his. "You don't remember anything about me. Not yet."
He didn't answer because he didn't understand why her words felt like truth.
That night, he dreamed of her.
Not Aria.
But her.
The girl in a yellow sundress, twirling barefoot through a sunlit room. Laughing like he'd made her forget every bad thing that had ever touched her. Her mouth met his like it was home. He woke hard. Breathless. Drenched in sweat.
And the name on his lips?
"Ariella…"
Aria stared out the window of her apartment that night, watching the city sparkle. She could still feel the phantom echo of his breath on her mouth. Still smell him that cool, masculine scent she once buried herself inside.
This wasn't how she'd planned it. He was supposed to be cold. Gone. Easy to break. Instead, he was unraveling.
And the worst part?
So was she because when she looked at him, she didn't just see betrayal.
She saw the boy who once carried her home when she twisted her ankle. The man who memorized the pattern of her freckles. The lover who kissed her like she was the only thing that had ever made sense in his life.
You weren't supposed to forget me, Kai.
But I can make you remember.