LOVE HAS NO OBJECTIONS

PROLOGUE There are moments in life that don’t announce themselves. They don’t arrive loudly, don’t demand attention, don’t warn you that everything is about to change. They slip in quietly—in glances that last a second too long, in silences that feel heavier than words, in choices you think are small until they aren’t. Athena Ortaliz never meant to fall in love like this—not in the middle of complications, not in between expectations, and certainly not with a man whose life was built around rules, logic, and the kind of order that didn’t leave space for something messy… something real. Because love—real love—doesn’t follow rules. It doesn’t ask for permission, and it doesn’t care how complicated things get. It simply happens. And when it does, it doesn’t matter how many reasons there are to walk away—it only matters that you don’t. Chapter 1 The elevator doors opened with a soft, almost polite chime, the kind that suggested efficiency without urgency. Athena Ortaliz stepped inside as though she already understood the rhythm of the place, her heels landing in quiet, deliberate beats against the polished floor. She pressed the button for the upper levels and shifted slightly to the side, a gesture born of habit rather than deference. Space, to her, was neither offered nor taken—it simply existed, and she respected its boundaries. The doors began to close, smooth and inevitable, until a hand slipped between them. They parted again without protest. He entered like interruption wasn’t something he experienced often, as if time adjusted itself around him rather than the other way around. “Thanks,” he said, easy and unbothered, though his attention had already flicked toward her with quiet precision. Athena acknowledged him with a small nod, nothing more. A sound barely formed at the back of her throat, neutral and sufficient. Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty. It had shape, weight. It settled between them with intention. Robert “Bobby” Carrero glanced at the panel. The same floor lit beneath both their selections. Of course. He leaned back slightly, hands slipping into his pockets as though this were just another moment in a day that rarely surprised him. “First day?” he asked. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she let the question exist for a second, then turned her head just enough to look at him. The glance was quick, but it carried intent—measuring, cataloging. “Yes.” Her voice was calm, even. It didn’t invite conversation, but it didn’t shut it down either. It simply existed, much like everything else about her—precise, controlled. A faint smile touched his mouth. “You’ve got that look.” Her gaze sharpened a fraction. “What look?” “The kind that says you’ll have everyone figured out before lunch.” This time, she looked at him properly. Not with irritation, not with amusement, but with a quiet consideration that suggested she was deciding whether he was worth engaging with at all. “And?” she asked. “And I feel slightly judged already.” “You should,” she replied, her tone unchanged. For a moment, he simply looked at her. Then a low, genuine laugh slipped free, unforced and brief. That, more than anything, registered. Most people shifted when met with that kind of directness. They softened, overcompensated, or retreated. She did none of those things. She held her ground without effort, as though it had never occurred to her to do otherwise. The elevator climbed steadily, numbers lighting one after another in quiet progression. He glanced at her again, more subtly this time, taking in details without lingering too long. Clean lines, deliberate choices, nothing excessive. There was no attempt to impress in the way she presented herself. If anything, it suggested the opposite—that she had no need to. “Let me guess,” he said. “You’re not easily impressed.” “I’m not.” No pause. No performance. Just fact. “Good,” he murmured, almost to himself. “That would’ve been boring.” She didn’t respond, but there was the faintest shift in her expression—something small, almost imperceptible, that suggested she had heard him and chosen not to acknowledge it. The elevator chimed again as it reached their floor. The doors opened, and they stepped out at the same time, their pace aligning without discussion. They moved in the same direction, an unspoken synchronization that neither of them commented on. It clicked almost simultaneously. He glanced at her again, curiosity threading more openly through his expression now. “Sales?” “Rotational,” she answered. He nodded. “Ah.” “Legal?” she asked, though there was already certainty behind it. A smirk tugged at his mouth. “That obvious?” “You carry yourself like you argue for a living.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It wasn’t one.” That stopped him—not fully, but enough to register. Then his smile widened, something more genuine slipping through the practiced ease. “Robert Carrero,” he said, offering his hand. She looked at it for a brief moment, as if assessing the gesture itself, before placing her hand in his. “Athena Ortaliz.” There it was again—that name. It lingered. “Ortaliz,” he repeated, testing its weight. “I’ll remember that.” “You don’t have to.” “I know,” he said lightly. “I want to.” Before she could respond, a voice cut through the moment. “Miss Ortaliz. There you are—we’ve been looking for you.” She stepped forward as a small group approached, led by a man in his late forties whose presence carried authority without effort. “Victor Sevilla. Head of Sales.” “Athena Ortaliz. It’s a pleasure.” Their handshake was firm, deliberate. A quiet exchange of evaluation. His grip tested. Hers answered. No hesitation. No adjustment. Just equal pressure held steady. Sevilla held her gaze a fraction longer than necessary, something unreadable passing through his expression before he gave a small nod. “We move fast here,” he said. “I learn quickly.” A pause followed. Something unspoken registered in that exchange. Then he smiled, just slightly. “Good.”