Chapter 2
Monday morning in Manhattan was full of buzz and life.
The city groaned to life in a mixture of car horns, sirens, and impatient steps, all trying to make ends meet. Adele stood in front of the mirror in her tiny Queens apartment, researching on what not to say to a billionaire CEO at nine in the morning.
“Result found: What to say to a CEO” was what she could find on the internet.
However, she did find some things on how to act before higher authority.
Don’t ramble.
Don’t stare.
Don’t fall apart.
Her hands were trembling slightly as she pulled her curls into a low bun. The blazer she wore was crisp, a gift from Zoe down the hall, she wondered if she had anything that was originally hers and the blouse beneath was barely wrinkled—small wins you see. Her eyes looked tired. Always tired.
Still, she whispered to her reflection, “You got this.”
She didn’t believe it. But she needed the reassurance.
The elevator ride to the 50th floor felt longer than usual, like time had decided to play games with her nerves. As she stepped into the sleek corridor, she could already feel it—that tension in the air. As if this floor breathed a different kind of oxygen that made her so nervous.
Adele wasn’t sure what she expected from the BelleVie pitch meeting, but she was shocked to walk into a room with only one other person in it.
Liam Lancaster.
He stood near the window, back to her, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a slim tablet as the rays of the sun made him look like a demigod. The early morning light poured through the glass behind him, casting a sharp outline around his tall frame, making him look like a model.
“Someone is early,” he said, still facing away.
“Habit,” she replied quietly.
He turned then, his gaze landing on her with precise intensity. She always forgot how fierce his stare could be until it was aimed directly at her.
“You look… different today.”
She blinked. “I… hope that’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s not.” He turned and gestured toward the long, black table. “Sit.”
She obeyed, carefully placing her notes in front of her. Liam walked to the head of the table and sat across from her. Not beside. Across. Like this, she was an opponent and this was a game of chess
“No executives are joining us,” he said, placing his tablet down. “You are here to pitch your idea. I’m just listening.”
She was caught off guard “Wait—you’re not presenting?”
“I don’t pitch half-baked campaigns to clients. I pitch clarity, innovation, and results. You have one shot. Don't mess it up.”
Adele swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe.
She launched into her concept, her voice gaining strength as she outlined her idea of repositioning BelleVie as not just a luxury skincare brand but a lifestyle rooted in self-redemption and confidence after emotional setbacks. She spoke about authenticity, vulnerability, and inclusivity, and how people—especially women—craved brands that saw them, not just sold to them.
Liam didn’t speak once..
When she finally finished, her chest tight from the buildup of confidence, she was surprised by her own burst of energy. He tapped his fingers once on the glass surface.
“That was… unexpected.”
Her heart sank. Unexpected. Not brilliant. Not good. Just… unexpected, she felt like she had totally ruined the pitch.
“Seems you're talking out of personal experience”, he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Adele stared at the table. “Yes.”
“Which part?” he asked, voice quieter now.
Her pulse skipped. She didn’t want to answer. But something in his tone—less commanding, more curious—pulled it out of her.
“There was someone,” she began, eyes still on the surface in front of her. “A few years ago. My college boyfriend. We lived together. I thought we were building a future.”
She paused. Liam didn’t move.
“Then he decided he needed something ‘less complicated.’ That I was too much. Too intense. Too sensitive. He left me with the lease, the furniture, and his credit card debt.”
Finally, she glanced up.
“BelleVie’s messaging reminded me of how lost I felt. But also how I clawed my way back. Piece by piece.”
There was a silence that stretched, but not uncomfortably. Like he was considering her words with the weight they deserved.
“That pitch wasn’t written by an intern,” he said eventually. “It was written by someone who’s lived through loss and found a way to redeem herself,” he said.
She stared at him, unsure whether it was a compliment or a subtle warning.
Then he said, “You just secured us an exclusive meeting with BelleVie’s CEO.”
Adele blinked. “Wait, what?”
“I emailed the deck during your presentation. They want to meet on Wednesday.”
Her jaw dropped. “You didn’t even wait to hear the whole thing.”
“I didn’t need to.”
The air shifted between them. Slower. Heavier.
“You have something most people here do’, and I don't think I do too,” he added. “You feel.”
Adele didn’t know what to say. His praise wasn’t soft. It was exacting, almost surgical. And somehow it felt more intimate than anything she’d heard in months.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Liam stood, straightening his cuffs. “Don’t thank me. You earned it.”
He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “You ever wonder why people like us bury ourselves in work?”
She hesitated. “Because it’s safer?”
He looked at her over his shoulder.
“Because it hurts less than remembering what we lost.”
Then he was gone.
That night, Adele didn’t sleep. Not like she had, had a good night's sleep since she started this work.
She stared at the ceiling, mind spinning with fragments—his words, his stare, the flicker of something almost vulnerable in his voice. Was it her imagination?
She closed her eyes and let herself remember Nathan, her ex. The way he used to laugh at her anxiety, call her “too much” when she cried during movies, how he accused her of overthinking everything.
But Liam didn’t look at her like she was “too much.” He looked at her like he was trying not to fall into something he didn’t understand.
