Chapter 2: The meeting
1166 Words
Crowds of paparazzi flooded the front of the towering Donovan Group building, cameras flashing relentlessly as voices overlapped in excited chaos. The air buzzed with anticipation, thick with rumors and curiosity. After four long years of silence, the world was finally about to witness the return of the youngest billionaire alive—Dylan Donovan.
A man whose name alone could move stock markets.
A man ranked among the top seven most handsome men in the world.
A man whispered about in awe and fear alike.
Black-clad bodyguards formed a tight perimeter just as a sleek limousine rolled to a smooth stop in front of the company entrance. The car door opened, and time seemed to slow.
Out stepped a man who looked as though he had walked straight out of mythology.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably composed.
Dylan Donovan was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that clung perfectly to his powerful frame, paired with matching trousers and a crisp white shirt beneath. His sharp features were sculpted to perfection—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and eyes so cold and piercing they seemed to look straight through people.
A Greek god in human form.
The paparazzi erupted.
“Mr. Donovan!”
“Over here!”
“Why did you return to California after four years?”
They surged forward, cameras flashing wildly, but his bodyguards immediately stepped in, pushing them back with professional efficiency.
One female reporter managed to shout above the noise. “Mr. Donovan, what brings you back to California after four years of silence?”
Dylan paused briefly, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was calm, deep, and edged with authority.
“I wanted to assess the growth of my company here,” he said coolly. “As you all know, this is only a branch. The headquarters remains in New York. I decided to stay long enough to observe its progress before returning.”
His tone was icy, detached—yet it only enhanced his charm. Cold never dulled beauty; it sharpened it.
Without another glance, Dylan walked forward, shielded by his guards as they guided him through the crowd and into the building.
The moment the doors slid shut behind him, the noise of the paparazzi faded into distant echoes.
“William,” Dylan said, his voice cutting through the quiet lobby like a blade. “Send a memo to the board of directors. The meeting has been moved forward by one hour.”
“Yes, sir,” William replied instantly.
William was more than an assistant. He was Dylan’s right-hand man—trusted, efficient, and perhaps the only person Dylan allowed close enough to understand him. Without hesitation, William headed toward the executive office, a space untouched by Dylan’s presence for years yet meticulously cleaned every single morning.
Dylan initially intended to wait at the reception, but the idea irritated him. He changed course and headed toward the elevators instead.
The Donovan Group building rose sixteen stories high, sleek and imposing. The board meeting was scheduled to take place on the fourteenth floor—a trip that would take nearly twenty-five minutes due to security checks and restricted access.
The elevator doors were about to slide shut when—
“Stop! Please stop the elevator!”
A feminine voice echoed down the hallway.
Dylan raised an eyebrow faintly, a glint of amusement flickering across his face before vanishing just as quickly. Without a word, he stretched out his hand, stopping the elevator doors from closing.
A young woman rushed inside, slightly breathless.
“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I need to get to the fourteenth floor.”
“No problem,” Dylan replied smoothly. “I’m heading there as well.”
He pressed the button.
For a moment, silence filled the elevator—thick, awkward silence. The woman shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable. After nearly two minutes, she finally spoke.
“Hey… do you want to hear a secret?”
Dylan didn’t turn to look at her. “Sure,” he replied indifferently. “What is it?”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Can you believe I’m the only person in this company who doesn’t know Dylan Donovan?”
That caught his attention.
He turned to face her, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.
“Oh?” he said softly.
“Yes,” she continued, warming up. “Everyone says he’s handsome, rich, powerful… practically a Greek god. But honestly? I don’t believe it.”
A spark of interest flashed in Dylan’s eyes.
“And why is that?” he asked.
She shrugged lightly. “Because I don’t think anyone can be that beautiful.”
Then she paused, glanced at him, and added honestly, “Well… except someone I just saw. Today. Right now.”
For the first time, Dylan smiled—a genuine, amused curve of his lips.
“It seems you’re in a hurry,” he said. “Are you heading to the board meeting?”
“Oh no,” she replied quickly. “I’m not at that level yet. I’m just the general secretary.”
She sighed softly. “But I’ve been planning for today for a long time.”
“Why?” Dylan asked, curiosity sharpening his tone.
“I’d really love it if Dylan Donovan noticed my hard work,” she admitted. “Maybe even appreciated it.”
“And what’s your motive?” he asked calmly.
She smiled again, though sadness lingered behind it. “I want a promotion. I’ve worked here for three years. When I joined, I was told hard work would earn a raise and advancement. I’ve worked harder than anyone—but nothing ever changed.”
Her smile trembled slightly.
“I would’ve quit,” she continued, quieter now. “But this job pays well… and I need it. My sibling’s hospital bills aren’t cheap.”
Dylan studied her silently.
“I think you’ll be recognized today,” he said finally.
Her eyes widened. “How can you be so sure?”
“I just know,” he replied with a faint smile.
Ding.
The elevator stopped.
“That’s my cue,” she said, stepping out. Then she paused. “Wait—what’s your name?”
“I don’t think we’ll meet again,” she added thoughtfully. “So does it matter?”
“You never know,” Dylan said, stopping the door. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Snow.”
“And you?” she asked.
“Dylan,” he replied smoothly.
Her smile froze.
Seeing her reaction, he chuckled softly. “Relax. I’m not Dylan Donovan.”
That calmed her.
“Well then, Mr. Dylan,” she said lightly. “Goodbye. Until we meet again—if we ever do.”
She turned and walked away.
Inside the elevator, Dylan watched the doors close slowly, his smile deepening.
“Oh, my dearest Snow,” he murmured softly, eyes dark with certainty.
“We’ll meet again. We will definitely meet again.”
- Writer
