When the heavy oak doors of the Brights' manor finally closed behind Xavier that night, the silence of the house felt suffocating. Usually, the quiet was his sanctuary, but tonight it felt like an empty void. He was bone-tired—a deep, cellular exhaustion he hadn't felt in years. He didn't even bother with his usual nighttime routine of reviewing the midnight stock indices or checking the server pings for the Asian markets.
With a weary groan, he threw his jacket onto a chair and flung himself onto the expansive, silk-sheeted bed. As sleep began to pull at his consciousness, his mind drifted back to the dinner. "My mother should never have steered me toward such a woman," he thought bitterly. "Bianca Sterling has both fame and pride tangled in her head like a crown of thorns. She doesn't deserve a place in this house, let alone in my life." A spark of defiance flickered in his chest. "My mother shouldn't be choosing my wife for me. Her rights as a parent do not extend to the ownership of my heart." With that final, rebellious thought, the Ghost of London dozed off into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
The sun was high over the Thames when Xavier's eyes snapped open. He glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand: 07:00 AM.
He bolted upright, a cold spike of adrenaline hitting his system. In ten years, Xavier Brights had never been late. He was the heartbeat of the company; if he was late, the machine stuttered. "That fake face caused this," he growled, blaming the lingering mental exhaustion from Bianca's performance the night before.
He took a hurried bath, the cold water doing little to soothe his foul mood, and raced toward the office. When his black sedan pulled up to the Brights Global Tech tower at 8:30 AM, the atmosphere in the lobby shifted instantly. The security guards looked at their watches in disbelief. The receptionists whispered behind their hands. The Boss was late. The sun had risen, but the Ghost had only just appeared.
While Xavier was battling London traffic, Smiling Peters had already been at her desk for over an hour. She had arrived as the "early bird," but she wasn't alone. In her hand was a bouquet of fresh, white roses—petals still damp with morning dew—and a small, brightly colored strawberry lollipop.
She had crept up to the 60th floor, her heart dancing a frantic tango in her chest. She knew the rules about "restricted zones," but her gratitude was louder than her fear. She placed the flowers in a simple glass vase right in the center of Xavier's obsidian desk. Beside it, she tucked a small, hand-written note and the lollipop.
With a mischievous grin, she blew a kiss toward the empty CEO chair—a silent "thank you" to the man she thought was a hidden saint—and scurried back to the elevators before the sensors could log her presence.
When Xavier finally slammed his office door shut, he was prepared to fire the first person who looked at him sideways. He marched toward his desk, but his stride broke.
There, amidst the grey and black of his high-tech sanctuary, was a burst of pure, organic white. The scent of the roses hit him—sweet, earthy, and disturbingly alive. He sat down, his brow furrowed in fury. Who had dared to breach his inner sanctum?
He reached out and picked up the small, cream-colored note.
"Just want to say thanks for being kind. I hope these flowers warm your heart. :)"
For a moment, the fury peaked. Kind? No one called Xavier Brights kind. He was efficient. He was disciplined. He was powerful. But as he stared at the looped, cheerful handwriting, the ice in his chest didn't just crack—it felt like it was being hit by a ray of actual sunlight. A strange, unwanted warmth spread through his ribs.
He didn't realize it, but he was smiting—not a full smile, but a softening of his mouth that looked entirely foreign on his face.
"Marcus!" he barked into the intercom.
The manager ran in, breathless. "Yes, sir! I am so sorry for the security lapse, I—"
"Who brought this to my office?" Xavier asked, gesturing to the roses.
Marcus stared at the flowers as if they were a ticking bomb. "I... I don't know, sir. No one is authorized. I'll check the CCTV footage immediately. Give me one minute!"
Xavier couldn't wait. A restless energy pushed him out of his chair. He didn't wait for Marcus; he headed straight for the elevators and pressed the button for the 42nd floor.
He wasn't smiling when the doors opened. He looked like a storm cloud in a three-piece suit. As he walked onto the floor, the "clack-clack" of keyboards died instantly. Dozens of analysts stood up in unison, bowing their heads in a display of absolute discipline.
Except for one.
Smiling Peters was deep in a data set, her brow furrowed in concentration. When she finally felt the heavy silence, she raised her eyes. When she saw the CEO standing at the end of her aisle, looking directly at her, a massive, irrepressible blush flooded her cheeks. It started at her neck and raced to the tips of her ears.
She didn't look away. Instead, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled to herself, her eyes dancing with a secret. He saw them, she thought. He saw the flowers. 🤭
Xavier watched her. He saw the blush. He saw the way she didn't tremble like the others, but rather glowed with a terrifying, innocent warmth. He didn't say a word. He simply turned on his heel and marched back to the elevators, his mind a chaotic mess of variables he couldn't solve.
Back in the penthouse, Marcus was waiting, staring at a tablet with a look of pure horror.
"Sir," Marcus stammered. "The footage... it was the new recruit. Miss Smiling Peters. She bypassed the secondary lock during the shift change. And sir... it's worse than the flowers."
Xavier sat down, his heart doing something strange. "Go on."
"She dropped a lollipop on your desk, tucked under your tablet. And as she left... she blew a kiss to your office. Toward your chair." Marcus wiped his forehead. "I guess that girl is truly crazy. She has crossed every professional line in the handbook. Should I draft the termination papers? We should fire her at once for this level of disrespect."
Xavier looked at the white roses. Then he looked at the colorful lollipop sitting on his million-dollar desk. A small, genuine smile—one Marcus had never seen in five years of service—touched Xavier's lips.
"That lowly girl is really crazy," Xavier whispered to himself, a hint of amusement coloring his voice. He looked at Marcus, his expression returning to its usual sternness, but the fire was gone. "Don't worry. Let her be. We'll figure out what to do with her in time."
He leaned back in his chair, the scent of the roses filling his lungs. "She's a new recruit; she doesn't know the rules, and I suspect she wouldn't listen even if she did. I think she finds this place boring, Marcus. And perhaps... she's right. Get back to work."
As Marcus left, bewildered and shaking his head, Xavier Brights reached out and touched a single, soft petal. The Ghost was still there, but for the first time, he wasn't alone in the dark.