CHAPTER One
1999 Words
Mira
The elevator smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions.
Mira adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and stared at the floor numbers ticking upward. Her palms were sweaty against the manila folder she’d been clutching since 6 AM. Inside was her portfolio, her resume, and three hours of sleep.
“Blackwell Industries. 45th floor. Intern, Marketing Division. Don’t mess this up,” she muttered to herself.
Her aunt Selene would kill her if she messed this up. Not literally—Selene was more of the “I’ll curse your coffee to taste like regret” type. But this internship was Mira’s shot at getting out of temp work and into something stable. Something that didn’t involve her aunt side-eyeing her every time she paid rent late.
The elevator dinged. Doors slid open to a lobby that didn’t look like an office. It looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel that had decided to cosplay as a tech company. Marble floors, glass walls, a water feature that probably cost more than her car. And people. Too many people, all moving fast, all wearing suits that fit better than anything she owned.
“Miss? You’re blocking the door.”
Mira jerked aside, cheeks burning. The woman behind her was early thirties, heels clicking, phone to her ear, and an expression that said she hadn’t slept since 2019.
“Sorry,” Mira mumbled
“Check-in is to the left. Don’t wander. Security’s jumpy today,” the woman said, already moving past her.
Right. Don’t wander.
The reception desk was a slab of black stone with the Blackwell Industries logo etched into it in silver. Behind it sat a guy who looked like he’d been grown in a lab to look competent.
“Name?” he asked without looking up.
“Mira Vale. Intern, Marketing. First day.”
He glanced up, did a quick once-over, and nodded. “ID and sign in. HR’s in 45C. Ms. Chen expects you at 9 sharp.”
Mira handed over her student ID. The clock on the wall said 8:47.
She was early. She was always early. Being late felt like inviting disaster to sit down and make itself comfortable.
“Elevator to 45 is on the far end. Use the visitor panel. Don’t take the executive lift.”
“Got it. Not the executive lift.”
“Good.” He stamped her visitor badge and slid it across. “Welcome to Blackwell.”
The executive lift was right behind him. Sleek, gold-trimmed, with a keypad that required a fingerprint. It looked expensive and forbidden. Mira made a mental note not to even look at it too long in case it reported her to HR.
She found the right elevator and rode up in silence with two other interns who were already talking about SEO metrics like they’d been born in Google Analytics. Mira just nodded and smiled. Fake it till you make it.
45th floor. HR was a glass-walled room with minimalist furniture and a woman who looked like she’d never missed a deadline in her life.
“Ms. Chen?” Mira asked, stepping inside.
The woman looked up, and her expression softened a fraction. “Mira Vale. Right on time. I like that.”
Ms. Chen was brisk, efficient, and surprisingly kind once she realized Mira wasn’t going to waste her time. She handed over a tablet with the onboarding packet, walked her through the basics, and introduced her to the Marketing team lead.
“Jason will show you to your desk. You’re on the Blackwell rebrand project. It’s high-profile. Don’t screw it up.”
“Got it. Don’t screw it up,” Mira repeated.
Jason was a 26-year-old with a man bun and the energy of someone who ran on espresso and anxiety. He led her through the open office, past rows of desks, past meeting rooms with glass walls, past people who all seemed to know exactly what they were doing.
“This is you,” he said, stopping at a desk near the window. “Computer’s set up. Slack’s on. Your mentor is…” He checked his phone. “Caius Blackwell.”
Mira blinked. “Sorry, what?”
“Caius Blackwell. CEO. He’s mentoring the top two interns this cycle. You’re one of them.” Jason said it like it was normal. Like having the billionaire CEO as your mentor wasn’t the equivalent of being assigned to be mentored by Elon Musk and Bruce Wayne’s lovechild.
Mira’s stomach dropped. “There’s been a mistake.”
“Nope. You scored highest on the case study. Congrats.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “He’ll swing by this afternoon. Try not to pass out.”
Jason walked off, leaving Mira staring at a desk that suddenly felt too big and too exposed.
Caius Blackwell. She’d seen his face on Forbes, on Bloomberg, on the massive billboard downtown. 34 years old. Self-made. Cold. Ruthless. The guy who’d turned a failing tech startup into a 12-billion-dollar company in five years.
And now he was her mentor.
Great. Just great. Her aunt was going to have a field day with this. “You’re working for a vampire, Mira. I told you.”
Selene didn’t actually think Caius was a vampire. But she did think all billionaires were emotionally stunted and probably had a secret lair.
Mira sat down, logged into the computer, and tried not to hyperventilate.
At 1:03 PM, the office got quiet.
Not silent. But the kind of quiet that happened when everyone suddenly remembered who paid their salaries.
“He’s here,” someone whispered.
Mira looked up just as the doors to the executive wing opened.
Caius Blackwell didn’t walk into a room. He entered it.
Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a charcoal suit that fit like it had been tailored to his body specifically to make people feel underdressed. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes that were an unnerving shade of gray. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. The room adjusted to him.
He was flanked by two people: a woman in a pantsuit who was clearly his COO, and a man with a tablet who was probably his assistant, his bodyguard, and his therapist all in one.
He moved through the office like he owned it. Because he did.
Mira’s breath caught.
It wasn’t just that he was attractive. It was that something about him felt… familiar. Like a song you heard once as a kid and forgot, until it played again years later and suddenly you remembered every word.
Stupid. She’d never met him before. She’d remember meeting a guy like that.
He stopped at the edge of the Marketing section. His eyes swept over the interns, assessing, calculating. When they landed on her, they paused.
Mira straightened, fighting the urge to fidget.
“Ms. Vale,” he said. His voice was low, controlled. The kind of voice that didn’t raise, because it didn’t have to.
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell?”
“You’re my 2 PM. My office. Bring the rebrand notes.”
And then he walked off, like that was a normal way to start a mentorship.
Jason appeared at her desk a second later. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” Mira lied.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I just met my boss. It’s fine.”
Jason patted her shoulder. “Good luck. Don’t die.”
At 1:58 PM, Mira stood outside the doors to Caius Blackwell’s office.
The doors were dark wood, taller than her, with no nameplate. Just power and silence.
She knocked.
“Enter.”
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
His office was bigger than her apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a view of the city that made her feel small. A desk that looked like it had never seen a paperclip. No personal photos. No plants. Nothing soft.
Caius stood by the window, looking out over the city. He didn’t turn when she entered.
“You’re early,” he said.
“Two minutes,” she replied.
He turned then. And when his eyes met hers, something shifted in the air.
Recognition. Not the polite kind. The kind that felt like a punch to the gut.
Mira swallowed. “Here are the notes.”
She held out the folder. He took it, his fingers brushing hers.
The contact was brief. But it felt like static electricity. Like lightning before a storm.
He opened the folder, scanned the pages, and frowned. “This is good. Too good for an intern.”
“I worked hard on it,” Mira said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“You did.” He closed the folder and set it down. “Tell me, Ms. Vale. Why did you apply to Blackwell?”
“Because it’s the best,” she said. “And I want to be part of building something that matters.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You’re not lying.”
“Should I be?”
“No.” He walked around the desk and sat down. “Sit.”
Mira sat. The chair was too comfortable. It felt like a trap.
“I don’t do this,” Caius said. “Mentoring. PR move. Board wanted it.”
“I appreciate it anyway,” Mira said.
He leaned back, watching her. “You have a familiar face.”
Mira’s heart stuttered. “I get that a lot.”
“No. Not like that.” His gaze was intense, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Have we met before?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly, but he didn’t look convinced. “Fine. Let’s start with the project. Walk me through your strategy.”
Mira launched into her presentation, grateful for something concrete to focus on. She talked about brand identity, target demographics, digital engagement. She kept her hands steady, her voice level.
Caius listened. He didn’t interrupt. But his eyes never left her face.
When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment.
“You think like someone who’s been doing this for ten years,” he said finally.
“I read a lot,” Mira said.
“Liar.”
Mira blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re hiding something.” He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather. “I don’t know what. But it’s there.”
Mira’s mouth went dry. “I’m a college student, Mr. Blackwell. What would I be hiding?”
“I don’t know.” He stood up. “Meeting’s over. Send me the revised deck by Friday.”
She stood up, clutching her folder. “Yes, sir.”
As she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
“Ms. Vale.”
She turned.
“If we’ve met before, I’ll remember.”
Mira nodded and left before her hands started shaking.
---
*Caius*
She was lying.
Not about the project. That was solid. Impressive, even. But there was something else. Something in the way her eyes flickered when he asked if they’d met before.
Caius didn’t believe in coincidence. He didn’t believe in fate. He believed in data, in patterns, in control.
And Mira Vale didn’t fit the pattern.
He’d felt it the moment he saw her. A pull he couldn’t explain. A sense of déjà vu so strong it made his teeth ache.
It was irrational. He was 34 years old. He didn’t get déjà vu. He got results.
He opened the folder again and looked at her notes. Clean. Strategic. Human. Not the kind of thing you learned in a classroom.
He picked up his phone and called his assistant.
“Pull everything on Mira Vale. Background, family, school records. I want to know what she’s hiding.”
“Anything specific, sir?”
“Yes. Look for anything that doesn’t fit.”
He hung up and looked out at the city.
Mira Vale.
He didn’t know why, but he was going to find out
- Writer
