Trapped in Hate, Drawn to Love

Chapter 4

-ARIA-

It’s been almost two weeks since I started at Mars Logistics, and it’s nothing like I expected. The hours are brutal, and my boss is a control freak. But the assignments? Surprisingly exciting.

Logan keeps tossing one challenge after another my way. I’m pretty sure he’s waiting to see if I crack.

He thinks I’m nothing more than a porcelain doll.

I’m a diamond, though. I may shine and look fragile.

But I cut glass.

"Aria?" Marie’s face appeared in the doorway, and I quickly closed the page on my monitor. "Logan asked you to come to his office."

"Thanks, Marie."

She left, and I slid the pendrive in to save the file I’d copied from Logan’s computer.

I’ve been digging for proof of his role in my parents’ ruin. So far, I’ve only managed to copy a handful of files to read at home. Most opened easily, but a few are locked behind a passcode. After Logan nearly caught me once, I made it a rule to copy everything instead of lingering. He hasn’t suspected a thing.

I couldn’t find anything useful yet. Just numbers showing how Mars Logistics devoured the market after my parents’ company went bankrupt.

I hid the pendrive in a drawer and locked it before heading to his office.

The door was ajar when I arrived. Logan sat behind his computer, hard eyes fixed on the monitor. In a black suit and a burgundy tie, he looked like he owned the world.

"Did you want to see me?" I asked, stepping inside.

Logan’s gaze flicked up for a millisecond before dropping back to the screen. "I have a meeting with a new client tomorrow, and the presentation is trash. I want you to fix it."

I glanced at the windows behind him. Darkness pressed against the glass. Late November meant shorter days. It had to be past seven.

I sighed. Another night of overtime. Logan hadn’t lied; the work was brutal. And I was running on less and less sleep.

Eyes on the prize, Aria.

"At what time is the meeting?" I moved closer to his desk.

"Eight," he said, fingers tapping across the keyboard.

The giant monitor on the wall mirrored his computer screen. The first page of the presentation appeared, and I walked toward it. Logan stepped up beside me, his cologne brushing the air like a caress.

"There’s a typo right on the front page," I said, pointing. "They wrote Logistics without the middle S."

"Jesus!" he huffed. "You’d think people would know how to spell the company’s name by now, but apparently not."

"A simple mistake, Logan."

"You caught it in less than a second, Aria," he said gruffly.

We began revising the pages. Working with Logan wasn’t as unbearable as I’d imagined. He was controlling, dominant, obstinate—yet undeniably intelligent, with a sharp instinct for business.

Smart enough, in fact, to sabotage my parents’ company without ever being caught.

We kept moving through the slides, upgrading the presentation, side by side on the sofa. The office was quiet; most of the staff had already gone.

How long had we been at it?

"What do you think of this photo?" Logan asked, tilting the screen toward me. It showed stacked containers, steel boxes rising like a fortress.

"Huh?" I blinked. What’s he talking about?

"You're hungry," he said, checking his watch before pulling out his phone.

I was. But I hadn’t complained. Did my stomach growl?

"You zoned out," he added, like he could read my thoughts. "I asked Marie to order us some food, but I guess she forgot."

"It’s her son’s birthday. She had a lot to do," I said while he tapped on his phone.

Logan would never snap at her for that. He wasn’t an asshole.

Just a criminal.

He typed something and slid the phone back into his pocket. "The food will arrive in fifteen minutes."

I leaned back against the leather sofa, the fabric rustling behind me. Closing my eyes for a beat, I savored the pause while massaging my temples.

"Headache?" His voice was closer than I expected.

"A little. After the food, it will go away." I sighed. "I forgot to pack my lunch today and didn’t have time to grab something downstairs."

"You should’ve eaten, Aria," he scolded, like I’d done something wrong.

I wanted to snap that he had me dancing like a circus monkey, and I barely had time to pee. But I stayed quiet until the food arrived.

Logan met the delivery boy and set the bags on the glass coffee table in front of me. "This is yours," he said.

Inside the sleek container, I found grilled fish with vegetables. From a top restaurant, no doubt. The butter and herbs made my mouth water.

Logan stabbed his steak when I turned to him. "Why did you order this for me?"

"You don’t eat meat, do you? I thought you were a vegetarian, but you ate a ton of sashimi the other day. If you don’t want the fish, we can order something else," he offered, before stuffing a mouthful of roasted potatoes into his mouth.

The cold screen light clung to his skin, intimate as a lover’s touch. God, he was infuriatingly handsome.

"No, it’s perfect. Thank you," I said with a smile, surprised he’d paid attention to that detail. A strange warmth filled my empty stomach.

I’d turned vegetarian after moving to Berlin. With so many incredible meat-free restaurants, the decision had been easy. But California had excellent seafood, and I couldn’t resist. So I guess I’m pescatarian now. Is that even a word?

"How does a Midwest girl end up vegetarian? Was your family not shocked when you refused to eat Grandma’s beef stew recipe?" Logan mused, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Not really. My mom died young, like my grandma. Breast cancer. I got tested, and I don't share their chromosome," I tilted my head to him. "Anyway, Dad was all about bread. You know that." The lie slipped out, painful this time. I was born and raised in Cali. My dad loved to grill meat on weekends. Mom hated cooking, but bought the dessert, and I was always in charge of the salad.

Logan stole my time with my parents. I needed proof of his involvement in their deaths.

Urgently.

I looked at my half-eaten fish, the hunger gone. I was sure it would taste like cardboard now.

"Are you finished?" I closed the lid of my container, setting it aside. "We'd better go back to the presentation. I need my beauty sleep, Logan."

"As if you needed help in that department," he muttered under his breath.

Heat crept up my neck, and I grabbed the soda to cool it down.

It was past eleven when we finished. Logan asked his driver to take me home. I didn’t complain—I lived far away, and the bus ride was awful.

"Are you still staying longer?" I asked when I saw him heading back to his computer.

"I want to finish something before going home," he said, his voice gravelly.

"Are you sure? You look pale, Logan." I protested.

"Don’t worry. Go." His eyes dropped back to the screen before he added, "I want you sharp tomorrow. You need to revise the contract with the diesel provider."

"Okay, okay." Boy, he was such a workaholic.

I went home, showered long, and collapsed into bed like it was the only place I belonged. The next day, I woke up early. I wanted to arrive at the office before everyone else to help Logan with his presentation.

He’d been giving me more and more responsibilities, trusting me more.

I crossed the empty desks to our floor. The door to Logan’s office was open. He was asleep on the sofa, still in the same clothes as yesterday.

"Boss?" I whispered, crouching beside his face. He looked even paler than yesterday, his skin tinged with a grayish hue. I pressed my hand to his forehead. The heat jolted me back. "Logan—you’re burning up."