Three Weeks
1101 Words
Aston’s Apartment – Sleepless Stillness
His high-rise apartment. City lights flicker far below. Midnight cloaked in quiet. A record spins in the background—old jazz, crackling.
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Aston stood at the window, his shirt unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand.
Below, the city sprawled like a living thing—blinking, restless, impatient. Like him.
He hadn't slept in two days.
Not because of work. Not because of insomnia.
Because of her.
Aanya Darlington—or whatever name she goes by when she’s not wearing the empire like a crown.
He'd replayed the café moment too many times. Her expression hadn’t changed when she caught him staring. Most women either looked away too fast or played into it. Not her. She held his gaze like it was a challenge.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Made her dangerous.
His eyes flicked to the center table where the black velvet box sat—still unopened. He didn’t need to look inside to know what it was. A custom-made necklace. Blood-red garnet. One of a kind.
He didn’t know why he bought it. Just like he didn’t know why he hadn’t sent it.
Maybe because he knew she’d burn it.
Or worse… wear it.
He turned away from the window, walking past the untouched food on the kitchen island, the three missed calls from his assistant, the unsigned contract folder he’d abandoned just to follow her out of that coffee shop days ago.
His phone buzzed once on the counter. He didn’t check it.
Instead, he sat down at his grand piano. Ran his fingers over the keys.
Paused.
And then played something soft. Something unfinished.
It wasn’t for anyone.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was the only language he trusted anymore.
*********
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Boardroom – 72nd Floor, Virex Holdings
A glass-walled boardroom overlooking the skyline. Rain taps against the windows. Inside, silence stretches thick—waiting for one voice to break it.
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Aston adjusted his cufflink with a deliberate slowness that made everyone in the room more uncomfortable than if he had shouted.
Seven men in tailored suits sat across from him—each with their own empire, but right now, they were in his. And they knew it.
“Let me be clear,” he said, voice low, calm, and perfectly controlled. “I don’t negotiate with men who blink first.”
A subtle glance around the table.
“I offered you a clean buyout. You countered with arrogance and paperwork. Now I’m offering you something else—irrelevance.”
The CEO of Levane Tech shifted uncomfortably, his lawyer whispering in his ear. Aston didn’t bother listening. His eyes were on the shares projection rotating slowly on the screen behind them.
He already owned 48%. By tomorrow morning, it would be 51%.
“Mr. Volvo,” the CFO tried, clearing his throat. “We understand your terms now, and—”
“You didn’t understand anything,” Aston cut in, his tone suddenly razor-sharp. “You underestimated me. That’s your first mistake. The second was thinking I care about a fair deal.”
Another beat of silence.
Then he stood.
“That’ll be all.”
They didn’t dare argue. One by one, they filed out—less like men, more like shadows folding under pressure.
As the doors closed behind them, Aston poured himself a glass of water. He didn’t drink it.
He stood still, eyes on the skyline. Rain smeared the windows, blurred the city lights like a painting just beginning to bleed.
His phone vibrated on the table beside the untouched contract.
He didn’t look.
Because for this moment, he was exactly what the world had built him to be.
Aston Volvo – the tycoon who didn't blink first
Not a man chasing a woman.
Not a boy unraveling.
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Aanya & Noel — Quiet Power Moves in a Rooftop Garden
Late afternoon. A hidden rooftop terrace in the city — green, quiet, with a view of the financial district towers. The kind of place one wouldn’t expect to find two people planning a corporate takeover.
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Aanya crossed her legs and sipped from the chilled tea Noel had placed in front of her.
"You sure this place is private?" she asked, scanning the garden.
Noel gave her a lazy smile as he propped his feet on the bench opposite her. “Please. I own the café downstairs. And the guy who manages this floor owes me a favor or two. You’re safer here than in your own apartment.”
She raised a brow. “Comforting.”
He leaned forward, pulling a sleek black folder from the bag at his side. “Let’s talk strategy.”
The second she opened it, her breath caught.
Inside were financials. Emails. Names. Screenshots of encrypted conversations between her stepmother and a private legal firm in Prague. Drafts of documents tied to an early succession trigger — a clear attempt to force her father's hand and rewrite the will.
Aanya's eyes narrowed. “How the hell did you get this?”
“Let’s just say the legal firm’s firewall was overrated. Also, your stepmother uses the same three passwords for everything. Rookie move.”
“You hacked them?”
“I prefer the term leveraged my access,” he said with a wink. “But yes.”
Aanya leaned back, absorbing it all. “So the clock’s ticking.”
“They want the will signed over to Jeffrey before your father’s next board appearance — which, by the way, was moved up without public notice. Three weeks.”
Her jaw clenched.
Noel studied her a moment before adding, more gently, “You don’t have three months, Aanya. You barely have three weeks.”
“And you want what, for helping me?” she asked, arms folded.
Noel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat and placed a small metal coin on the table between them. It had a wolf stamped into it.
“I don’t want your money. I want your trust.”
Aanya tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because sooner or later, you’ll have something no one else in this city will — power, legacy, loyalty. And I want to be on the side of the storm. Not in its path.”
She picked up the coin and weighed it between her fingers. “That makes you sound dangerous.”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
Their eyes locked. And for once, Aanya felt something that wasn’t rivalry, fear, or obsession.
It was potential.
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- Writer
