An Unexpected Collision

The morning sunlight poured weakly through the tall glass windows of Ashford Enterprises, glinting off polished marble floors and the sleek steel of the elevators. Every sound—the soft click of heels, the low hum of computers, murmured greetings—blended into a rhythm that seemed to pulse through the building itself. And amid all that, a new presence appeared.

Vanya Vale.

She moved through the early morning air, wrapped in a coat of rich, buttery camel wool. The coat’s tailored lines gave her an immediate silhouette of quiet power and sophistication, the collar crisp against her neck. Beneath it, a simple black mini-dress provided a dramatic, dark contrast, its short hemline balanced by the height of her black suede over-the-knee boots.

The boots were sleek and form-fitting, creating a long, uninterrupted line that added to her confident stride. A delicate gold pendant, catching the faint office light, was the only flash of jewelry against the high neck of the dress. The look was completed by a structured black leather bag swung easily from her hand—an outfit that spoke of classic style, a confident urban edge, and a sense that she was perfectly poised for whatever the day, or her first impression, might bring.

Every element of her appearance whispered the same truth: Vanya wasn’t here to blend in—she was here to be remembered.

Yet beneath the polished surface, her heart pounded relentlessly. Her hands tightened around the folder she carried, as if its edges alone could anchor her courage. It’s just a job. Just an interview. I can do this.

She stepped into the lobby. The high ceiling seemed endless, sunlight glinting off the marble, reflecting a world that was bigger than her, yet she felt an odd hum in her veins, a strange pull she couldn’t explain, as if the building itself acknowledged her presence.

> “Miss Vale, Mr. Ashford will see you now,” an assistant called, breaking her thoughts.

Her pulse skipped. Mr. Ashford—the CEO, the man whose name carried weight, fear, and reverence all at once. She nodded, straightened her shoulders, and followed him down the corridor. Each step echoed like a countdown in her ears.

When the doors to his office slid open, the air seemed to shift.

Riven Ashford stood near the window, his back straight, gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. Every line of him—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, dark hair grazing the collar of his shirt—radiated control, power, and an intensity that seemed almost unnatural. He turned slowly, and in that single, electric motion, his gray eyes—cold, piercing, unreadable—met hers.

Vanya froze. Her pulse thudded, her fingers tightening around the folder. She had prepared herself, told herself she was ready, but looking at him… she felt small, yet drawn to him in a way she couldn’t understand.

> “Miss Vale,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “Welcome.”

> “T-thank you, sir,” she managed softly. Her words came out quieter than intended, a slight tremor betraying her nervousness. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

He gestured to the chair across his desk, and she stepped forward, placing the folder down carefully. The moment her fingers brushed the polished wood, a jolt of energy shot through her—a warmth that made her pulse race. She blinked rapidly, staring at the folder, pretending nothing had happened.

> “You’ll be assisting the creative head,” Riven said calmly, walking around the desk with measured precision. “Your work will be under my direct review for the coming weeks.”

> “Of course,” she replied, forcing her voice to steady. “I’ll… I’ll do my best.”

> “See that you do,” he said, eyes sweeping over her. The gaze was intense but unreadable, the kind that could make anyone shrink or stand taller. “Carelessness is not tolerated here.”

Vanya swallowed, glancing down at her boots, then back up. “Understood, sir.”

A brief silence followed, charged and heavy. Then his lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

> “You’re nervous,” he observed, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Her breath caught. “I… maybe a little. It’s my first day.”

> “Good,” he said quietly. “It means you care about doing things right.”

The way he said it made her pulse flutter unexpectedly, and she found herself daring to smile slightly.

> “You may go now, Miss Vale,” he added, voice firm but softened at the edges.

> “Thank you, sir.” She turned to leave, but just before reaching the door, she froze.

> “Vanya,” he said, quietly, with a tone that carried a weight she couldn’t explain.

She looked back, startled. He hadn’t used her title.

> “Y-yes?”

> “Don’t let anyone here make you doubt yourself,” he said.

Her chest tightened. A soft warmth spread in her chest, not fear, not joy—just… a pull she couldn’t name. “I… I won’t. Thank you.” She smiled faintly before stepping out.

When the doors closed, Riven remained by the window, his hand brushing the faint burn at the small of his back—the mark that had flared the moment she entered. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore.

Later that night, Vanya sat by her window in her small apartment, city lights glittering like scattered stars. Her mind replayed every moment of their encounter—the way he had said her name, the intensity of his gaze, the warmth that had brushed her fingertips when she touched the folder.

> Why does it feel like I… know him? she wondered silently.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, lighting up her lap.

Unknown: You shouldn’t have gone there, Vanya.

Unknown: He’s not what you think he is.

Her eyes widened. “What the—” The screen went black.

Somewhere outside, under the pale moonlight, a shadow shifted, watching, silent and deliberate.

Meanwhile, back at the Ashford mansion, Riven stood on the balcony, the night air brushing against his skin. Kabir, his closest friend, leaned casually against the railing.

> “You’re quiet,” Kabir said, smirking. “That’s new.”

> “Something caught my attention,” Riven replied, not turning.

Kabir raised an eyebrow. “Care to explain? Or is it one of those secret ‘I’m too powerful and mysterious’ moods?”

> “You wouldn’t understand,” Riven said simply.

Kabir leaned closer, voice softening, teasing but perceptive. “Try me. You’ve never been quiet for no reason.”

Riven finally glanced at him, eyes dark, searching. “Her energy… it’s different. I’ve felt it before, but… not like this. Not with anyone else.”

Kabir whistled low. “So… she made you lose your composure? Riven Ashford, CEO, master of all things controlled, and a girl did this in five minutes?”

> “It’s not just a girl,” Riven muttered, gripping the railing. “It’s… something else. I can’t explain it. And I don’t know if I should let it happen.”

Kabir’s grin softened. “Ah, the famous Ashford warning signs. You’re fascinated, aren’t you?”

> “Curiosity doesn’t begin to cover it,” Riven admitted.

Kabir nudged him playfully. “Just be careful. Humans aren’t supposed to do what she’s doing to you.”

> “She’s not just human,” Riven said quietly. “There’s something beneath it… some pull I can’t ignore.”

Kabir studied him for a long moment, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. “Then maybe fate has a sense of humor—or maybe something much older is at play.”

Riven’s lips curved into a thin, knowing smile. “Old powers, old rules. She doesn’t even know yet… and I can’t risk showing her.”

Kabir shook his head, laughing softly. “Always so dramatic. But… I’ll watch your back, Riven. Even if this gets messy.”

Riven nodded silently, gaze fixed on the city lights, the memory of her presence igniting something deep in him—a pulse that wasn’t entirely his own.

Somewhere, hidden, a shadow shifted. Silent. Patient. Watching. Waiting.

The next morning, Vanya arrived early, trying to calm the flutter of nerves that refused to die. She ran a hand down her coat, smoothing the camel fabric, adjusted her boots, and inhaled deeply. Every element of her appearance—the polished outfit, the quiet posture, the golden pendant catching the light—was a mask of confidence she hoped would convince the world she belonged.

And yet, as she entered the building, a faint pulse beneath her skin whispered the truth: she already didn’t belong. Not entirely.

Somewhere in the corridors of Ashford Enterprises, eyes followed her, calculating. And the quiet tension between them, unspoken, thickened with each step she took.

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