Kyren

Mornings in New York are brutal, but at least I look better than everyone else stumbling through them.

I strolled into the office, my newest regret in life, and dropped into my seat. Too early, too many faces, and not enough caffeine. People trickled in, one by one, dragging their little lives with them.

They say first impressions matter—good thing I don’t care what anyone looks like before my morning coffee. Because if I really did, Robert would already be on a bus back home to burn those shoes. God help us if he wears them to the presentation.

Speaking of the presentation… let’s pray Manon has something decent, because I sure as hell don’t.

And just like that, the devil herself walked in.

Manon.

She looked like she’d fallen out of one of those glossy magazines I’d never admit to flipping through. She had on this cropped cream jacket tweed, or tweed-adjacent, whatever makes women instantly look like they charge five figures for a Zoom call.

Underneath, she wore a simple ivory tank—soft, and low-key the kind of thing that looked effortless but definitely wasn’t. Her trousers were high-waisted, wide-legged, in some shade between beige and caramel, swishing around like she owned the room.

A slim brown belt cinched everything neat, and those cream loafers finished off the look.

Her hair was different from yesterday. Sleek, center-parted, soft waves brushing her shoulders instead of those little curls. Dark skin glowing, lips glossy enough to daze a man. Simple, classic, annoyingly put-together. She makes neutral colors look like a damn power move.

Manon has always been beautiful. Yesterday, when she tapped my shoulder and I turned, she knocked the breath right out of me. Not that I’d ever admit it. Not with the way things stand between us.

I cleared my throat as she approached, leaning back in my chair. “Oh look who’s here—the life of the party.”

She sat down with a smile far too sweet to be trusted. “Why, thank you, Kyren. You’re so kind. A very good morning to you. I hope you had a really great night filled with good dreams.”

I squinted. That was suspiciously polite. Manon was many things, but “nice” wasn’t one of them. Especially to me.

“Your pants make you look like a camel,” I shot back, waiting for her usual glare.

Instead, she burst out laughing, swatting my arm. “Ah! What a great joke. You know, I was also thinking the same thing.”

My suspicion deepened. Something was off.

Before I could push further, Yadav’s voice cut through the moment. “Okay interns, gather round.” He shook a tiny carton box in his hand, the sound rattling like a warning bell.

We all gathered as Yadav cleared his throat.

“Alright. Good morning, everyone. Your official intern ID cards are ready. These will grant you access to certain areas—not all. Once you become permanent staff, which I hope you will, you’ll get the upgraded version.” He began passing them around.

The others grinned and compared theirs like kids trading baseball cards. Great. Now everyone’s going to know my surname and start connecting dots.

When Yadav handed me mine, he slipped me a wink no one else noticed. My brows furrowed, but then I saw the name. Kyren Xantheus.

Of course. My father, pulling strings from the shadows. I should’ve known. The man never misses a detail. For a second, a reluctant smile tugged at my mouth—half pride, half irritation.

“Okay,” Yadav continued. “Now that you all have your cards, settle down and rehearse for your product presentations. Ten minutes from now, we’ll gather in the meeting room.”

As he walked off, my ears caught something that snapped my focus.

“Tobi, good morning. And thank you… for yesterday.” Manon’s voice. Warm. Smiling. Too smiling.

Yesterday?

“Anytime,” Tobi said before strolling away, casual as anything.

I wasted no time closing the distance. “Yesterday? What happened yesterday with Tobi?”

She glanced at me, amused. “Caught that, didn't you?” Sliding into her seat, she added, “What happened yesterday is none of your business, Kyren. What you should be concerned about is whether we actually have something worth presenting.”

I leaned against her desk. “No, seriously. What happened with Tobi? Do you… like him or something?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and instant regret burned in my chest.

Her lips curled. “Is the manchild jealous?”

“Manchild? Me?” I scoffed, maybe too quickly. “And why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know,” she said sweetly, tilting her head. “You tell me.”

“I am definitely not jealous,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

“Good.” She tapped her pen against her notebook, eyes twinkling. “Then let’s aim all that energy at our presentation, shall we?” She said it slowly, like she was training a puppy.

I took a steadying breath. “Alright then. What did you prepare for the presentation?”

“Me?” Manon tapped her chest like she was shocked. “Why on earth would you think I prepared something?”

“You didn’t?” My voice jumped, halfway between disbelief and panic.

“Why should I? Since you’ve made freeloading an art, I figured I should try it too.” She smirked.

Damn. She was annoyingly good at comebacks.

“You’re kidding. I know you have something. You’d rather walk barefoot through Times Square than fail.”

Her lips curved. “Well, you’re right. I don’t like failure, unlike some people.” She pulled a folder from her bag and shoved it against my chest. “Here.”

“Nice,” I said, grinning, but her scowl told me I’d pushed the wrong button.

I flipped it open. The grin evaporated. “This is… bad. It falls short of everything 404 has ever greenlit. If you present this, Harry will reject it before you even finish your first sentence.”

She yanked the folder back, eyes flashing. “And you know that because… why? You’ve been here what, twenty-four hours? How do you suddenly know what Harry will or won’t like?”

“I just do. Trust me, it’s better to admit we’re not ready than to present something half-baked. The idea isn’t terrible, but it could be stronger.”

Her jaw clenched. “Maybe try pulling your own all-nighter. Maybe try actually coming up with something before you start critiquing my work.” She snapped the folder shut and stormed toward the others.

I stayed rooted in place, heat crawling up my neck. She had no idea. No idea who I really was. I wasn’t just some random intern—I was the son of the owner. I have been the brain behind three of 404’s most successful products. But none of that could ever leave my lips. Not with her. Not with anyone.

“Alright, let’s move to the meeting room,” Yadav said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Five minutes later we were seated around the long table. Six nervous interns. Five very important faces staring back at us.

“First up, Manon and Kyren,” Yadav announced.

We both stood. Manon passed folders around, sliding one to me last, keeping the final copy for herself.

“Tell us about your product,” Yadav prompted.

Manon cleared her throat. “Our product is the Mood-Adaptive Office Chair. A chair embedded with sensors that monitor heart rate, temperature, and—”

“No.” Harry’s voice sliced across the table.

Oh boy. Here it comes.

Manon faltered. “What? Sir, you didn’t even let me finish.”

“There’s nothing to finish,” Harry replied, calm but sharp. “It has no future here.”

Her knuckles whitened against the folder. “Why? What exactly isn’t working for you? You haven’t even gone through the full concept.”

“I don’t need to read more to know it’s bad.”

Yadav shifted awkwardly. “Well, it’s not all that bad—”

Harry turned on him. “This is exactly the problem. This is why low quality products slip through. Tell me, who is going to buy a chair that tries to manage their mood? Offices do not want gimmicks. They do not want intrusive furniture breathing down their neck. This is the most pointless, overdesigned idea I have heard in months.”

The words hit harder than the table when he finally slapped his palm against it. I glanced at Manon. Her face was crumbling, her hands trembling against the paper, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Is this what the two of you thought was worth presenting?” Harry’s glare snapped to me.

I straightened in my stand. “For the record, sir, I told her it wasn’t worthy of 404.”

Harry’s eyes flicked back to Manon. “And you still went ahead with it?” He stood, anger rolling off him. “How do I know you four will not keep wasting our time with half-baked nonsense? A minus two for everyone. You have three days to bring something better. This presentation is over.”

He slammed his hands against the table again, the sound echoing in the room. Every intern flinched. Then he stormed out, the four executives trailing after him without a word.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

It was just us interns now. The room felt smaller with the silence. Manon took a breath and stepped forward. Her eyes shone, heavy with tears that didn’t fall.

“Gu-guys, I’m… I’m really sorry.” Her voice cracked.

No one answered. Chairs scraped. A shuffle of feets and sighs. They walked out one by one.

“Thanks a lot, Manon,” Jasmine muttered flatly, brushing past her.

Only Tobi paused. His hand rested gently on her shoulder. “I’ll talk to them. It wasn’t your fault.”

She managed a small nod, but her throat burned with everything she couldn’t say.