Soraya clasped her hands gently in front of her, the subtle shimmer of her diamond bracelet catching the light as she straightened her posture.

“Now,” she said, her voice settling the room like silk over stone, “let’s get into the business for today.”

She tapped a button on the sleek digital tablet in front of her, and a soft chime followed by a screen projection lit up behind her—clean graphs, sharp bullet points, and the company’s signature gold-and-black branding.

“We’ve received strong interest from a group of English investors,” she began, her tone shifting into one of controlled enthusiasm. “They’re impressed with our growth, especially in property development and asset diversification. They see THE SOUTH as a brand with global potential.”

Milo tried to focus, shaking himself out of his trance as he watched her move with deliberate poise. Every word out of her mouth was clear, confident, and strategic.

Soraya continued, “They’re currently in the proposal review stage, and they’ll be flying in soon to close a deal. We need to prepare a detailed portfolio that reflects not only our achievements but our long-term value. That’s where each of you will play a role.”

She glanced briefly at Milo. “And our new asset manager will be working closely with the strategy and finance teams to help structure the pitch materials.”

Milo blinked, sitting up a little straighter. “Of course,” he said, trying to regain composure, though his voice still carried a slight edge of nervous awe.

Soraya gave him the smallest nod of approval—subtle, yet it landed like thunder in his chest.

The meeting was officially underway.

After the meeting concluded, board members began to file out, chatting lightly as they exited the room. Milo stood from his seat, still catching his breath from the whirlwind of it all, when Lily appeared quietly by the door.

“Mr. Butera,” she said with a polite smile, “Ms. Reigns would like to see you in her office.”

Milo swallowed, his nerves kicking back in as he nodded. “Thank you.”

He followed Lily down a long corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling windows and framed art, each step echoing slightly in the quiet luxury of the executive floor. At the end stood a tall black door with a gold nameplate that read:

Soraya Reigns – Chief Executive Officer

Lily opened it for him.

Inside, Soraya stood by her window, the cityscape glowing behind her. Her red dress still commanded attention, but now there was a calm intensity about her—less performance, more precision.

“Milo,” she said, turning to him with that soft, confident voice. “Come in. Close the door.”

He obeyed.

“I wanted to personally brief you,” she began, walking slowly to her sleek glass desk. “The English investors’ portfolio is one of the most important projects we are to handle this quarter. And I’ve decided you’ll be in charge of it.”

Milo’s eyes widened slightly. “Me?”

“Yes,” she said simply, folding her arms. “I’ve read your background. You’ve got sharp instincts, international perspective, and a good eye for asset growth. That’s exactly what this deal needs.”

Milo nodded, the weight of the responsibility settling in—but so did something else: purpose.

“You’ll work closely with McKay on strategy and with Christine on client positioning,” Soraya continued. “But the asset plan? The structure? The core financials? Presentation of the pitch? That’s on you.”

She stepped closer, holding his gaze.

“Don’t let me down, Mr. Butera.”

Milo nodded, this time without a stammer.

“You have my word, Ms. Reigns.”

She smiled faintly. “Good. Welcome to the big leagues.”

As soon as Milo left Soraya’s office, he walked briskly—almost too fast—back to his own. His heart was racing, his mind spinning, and he could still smell the faint trace of her perfume lingering in the air like a spell.

He stepped into his office, shut the door, and collapsed into his chair.

“god,” he whispered, running a hand through his curls, still feeling the aftershock of being in her presence. The way she spoke, the way she moved—her elegance, her control, her beauty. She wasn’t just powerful—she was magnetic.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and opened Instagram.

@SorayaReigns.

He found her immediately. Her profile was clean, curated, bold.

1.5 Million followers. Verified. Of course.

He began scrolling—first slowly, then almost obsessively. Each photo was more captivating than the last.

A shot of her in Paris, standing at a balcony in a sleek black dress.

Another of her at a charity gala, wearing emerald green, smiling for the camera with effortless poise.

One from a beach in Puerto Rico—barefoot, glowing, alive.

And then… a casual one. No makeup, coffee cup in hand, wearing an oversized shirt on her rooftop. Still breathtaking.

Milo leaned back, staring at the screen.

How is she real?

He zoomed in slightly on one photo where her eyes seemed to look right through the camera. His heart thudded in his chest.

Every curve, every smile, every glance—she radiated power and sensuality without even trying.

He smirked to himself, embarrassed but too far gone.

Milo Butera, confident, charming, untouchable—was officially crushing.

Hard.

Milo was so deep into Soraya’s Instagram that he didn’t notice the door quietly creak open behind him. The hallway outside had gone quiet, but someone had stepped in—light on their feet, like a cat.

McKay Stacy stood just inside the office, arms folded, watching with growing amusement as Milo sat hunched in his chair, eyes locked on his phone, wearing the dumbest, dreamiest smile he’d probably ever worn.

McKay tiptoed in, leaned over Milo’s shoulder, and caught a full glimpse of Soraya’s Instagram feed.

One perfectly curated, breathtaking photo after another.

Then—

“HAHAHA!” McKay burst out laughing, loud and sharp like thunder in the quiet room.

Milo jumped so hard he nearly dropped his phone. “Shit!”

He turned, eyes wide, flushed red like a guilty teenager caught red-handed.

McKay clutched his stomach, still laughing. “On your first day, bro? You’re already crushing on the boss?”

Milo groaned, sinking deeper into his chair. “I wasn’t—okay, I was—but it’s not what it looks like.”

McKay chuckled, sliding into one of the guest chairs. “Nah, it’s exactly what it looks like. Stalking Soraya Reigns on Instagram like a love-sick intern.”

Milo rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you blame me? She’s… unreal.”

McKay nodded with a knowing smirk. “She is. I mean, yeah—Soraya fione. Like capital-F Fione I’ve worked with her for years, and still… sometimes I walk into a room and forget what I was gonna say.”

Milo smiled awkwardly, still a little embarrassed.

“But,” McKay added, pointing a finger, “she’s also bossy as hell. Brilliant, no doubt. Ruthless when she needs to be. Don’t let the beauty distract you too much—Soraya runs this place for a reason.”

Milo sighed. “Yeah, it shows.”

McKay leaned back, chuckling again. “Look, man. It’s normal to crush a little. Half the building probably has a thing for her. But stalking her Instagram like she some pop star? That’s where it gets a little weird.”

Milo laughed despite himself, burying his face in his hands. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

McKay grinned. “Not a chance.”

At exactly 5:00 p.m., the office began to quiet down. The sun dipped low over Hillsburgh, casting a golden hue through the tall glass windows of THE SOUTH.

Christine popped her head into Milo’s office, already holding her bag. “Night, handsome. Don’t stay too long,” she said with a wink.

McKay followed right after her, loosening his tie. “Go easy on that pitch, Romeo. Day one isn’t the Super Bowl.”

They both laughed, waved, and exited the building, leaving Milo alone with the soft hum of the air conditioning and his thoughts.

From 5:30 to 9:00 p.m., Milo was glued to his screen—spreadsheets open, design mockups scattered, market analysis notes pinned across his desk. His brow furrowed in focus, his jacket tossed over the back of his chair. The city buzzed outside, but inside, it was all strategy and perfection.

He didn’t notice the subtle sound of heels approaching.

At the far end of the corridor, Soraya walked past the row of offices. She paused when she saw Milo still working, his face lit by the glow of his laptop, eyes fixed in determined concentration. Her lips curved into a soft, approving smile.

Soraya leaned against the doorframe, her tone charming and low, admiring Milo’s drive.

His office door was ajar,

Soraya leaned against the doorframe, gave a slight knock her tone charming and low. “Still working, Mr. Butera?”

Milo looked up, surprised—and a little breathless when he saw her.

“Still working, Mr. Butera?”

Milo straightened, slightly embarrassed. “Yes…yes I am”

Her gaze softened as she stepped just slightly into the doorway. . “Even machines need rest.” She smiled gently. “Go home. Don’t break down before the real race starts.”

Their eyes locked for a moment—warm, curious, and lingering.

Milo let out a small, sheepish smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Soraya turned to leave but glanced back one last time with a smile that lingered just long enough to make his heart skip.

Then she disappeared down the hall, her heels clicking softly into the night.

Milo sat back in his chair, heart pounding again—not from work this time, but from her.

The next morning, the atmosphere at THE SOUTH carried a subtle buzz—one that hinted at the arrival of someone important.

And then, he stepped in.

Franklin South, the legendary founder and owner of the company, entered the building with quiet authority. In his late sixties, Franklin was a tall, proud man with a solid build that age hadn’t diminished. His silver hair was slicked back neatly, and his weathered face bore deep lines of wisdom, time, and experience. His steely blue eyes missed nothing—they held the sharpness of a man who had built an empire from the ground up.

He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal grey three-piece suit with a navy pocket square tucked into his breast pocket and a matching silk tie. His shoes were black Italian leather, polished to a gleam. A gold watch peeked subtly from under his cuff—classic, old money elegance. Every part of him screamed legacy, power, and discipline.

Inside her office, Soraya stood to greet him.

She looked striking in a fitted black blouse tucked into a sleek knee-length pencil skirt, her look sharp yet graceful. Her hair was styled in a center part, cascading in rich wavy, bouncy curls that framed her face with elegant softness. She was the picture of poised professionalism, as always.

Franklin smiled warmly as he approached her. “Soraya,” he said with a deep, gravelly voice, “I heard you brought in Giorgio Butera’s son. That was a bold move.”

Soraya nodded, her expression calm and confident. “Yes. Milo Butera. He’s smart, driven, and sharp with numbers. But more than that—he’s a big investment. The kind you don’t pass up. When I saw his résumé, I knew instantly—he was meant for The South.”

Franklin chuckled, clearly impressed. “You’ve got a gift, Soraya. For spotting brilliance before anyone else does.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you—for everything you’ve done for this company.”

She smiled softly, humbled but steady. “Thank you, Mr. South. That means a lot.”

Two titans of The South—one built the legacy, the other carried it forward.

Soraya’s eyes glimmered with quiet pride as she continued, standing across from Franklin.

“And beyond his instincts,” she added, “Milo has the credentials to back it up. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Corporate Finance and a master’s in Project Management. He’s not just talented—he’s built for this.”

Franklin raised his brows, clearly impressed. “Smart and well-trained,” he said with a nod. “That’s a rare combination these days.”

Soraya gave a soft smile. “Exactly why I didn’t hesitate. I knew he’d bring real value to The South.”

Franklin looked at her, a rare warmth in his usually stoic expression. “You never miss, Soraya. And you’ve taken this company further than I could’ve imagined.”

She held his gaze and replied sincerely, “I just want to honor what you built—and take it even higher.”

He nodded once, firmly. “You’re doing exactly that.”

Soraya smiled gently, her voice composed yet warm.

“Thank you, Mr. South,” she said sincerely, her eyes reflecting both respect and gratitude.

Franklin gave her a small, approving nod, the kind that spoke volumes.

“You’ve earned it,” he replied, then turned to glance out the window of her office, hands clasped behind his back. “And I know The South is in the best hands.”