3. Everythings in place.
The Royal Crest never missed a detail.
Marble floors polished to a mirror finish. Discreet security at every entrance and exit. A lobby designed to impress without ever appearing to try. It was the kind of place where power felt natural, where deals were sealed over quiet handshakes and reputations walked in before people did.
I stepped out of my car as cameras flashed, the low murmur of voices rising as soon as I appeared. My assistant was already at my side, tablet in hand, eyes scanning the schedule one last time.
"Everything's in place," she said. "Delegates begin arriving within the hour. The private dinner is confirmed for tonight. Tomorrow's keynote setup has been tested twice."
"Good." I replied, adjusting my blazer as I walked inside.
The conference was ready. The partnerships negotiated. The announcements timed perfectly. Every variable accounted for.
Or so I thought.
As I crossed the lobby, my attention snagged on something—someone—entirely unexpected. And unknown.
I had never seen her before. Yet it felt like I had. Yet she caught my attention in the blink of an aye. Doing absolutely nothing but standing and simply... existing.
She stood near the reception desk, slightly apart from the crowd. No entourage. No performative confidence. Just quiet presence. Carrying an aura of softness and purity.
Her posture was composed but unguarded, hands folded loosely in front of her as she listened to the concierge. There was something steady about her, something that didn't demand attention yet drew it all the same. Not rehearsed. Not polished for cameras. Real.
I slowed without meaning to.
My gaze drank in her appearance from head to toe. Dark brown eyes, same colour as mine. Flushed cheeks. Plump lips painted a faint pink. A pretty, innocent face.
Why the hell did I feel like I knew her?
The world I operated in was loud in its own way. Ambition spoken through posture, dominance through presence. People wanted to be seen. Wanted to be known.
She seemed entirely content being neither.
Something in my chest shifted. Subtle. Controlled. Unwelcome. Indecipherable.
I had built my life around anticipating variables, around identifying patterns before they formed. This quiet pull, this unexpected awareness had no logic to it. No agenda. No explanation.
She finished speaking, accepted a keycard with a soft smile, and turned slightly, still not toward me, still unaware.
My chest tightened, the sensation unfamiliar enough to irritate me.
I didn't know her name. I didn't know her role. But instinct—the same one that had built empires and dismantled competitors—told me this was not a passing detail.
This was a disruption.
"Mr. Anderson." My assistant's voice cut through the moment, sharp and urgent.
I blinked.
"Sir, the delegation from Zurich just arrived. And the Health Ministry representatives are waiting."
I glanced at my watch. Right on schedule.
"Of course." I mumbled, nodding, tearing my gaze off the young girl I had no business staring at in the first place.
As I walked toward the private meeting rooms, shaking hands, exchanging measured words, I was acutely aware of one thing. That somewhere behind me, unaware and untouched by the shift she had caused, was a woman who did not belong to my world.
And yet, for the first time in a very long while, I had the distinct sense that my world had already begun to make room for her.
———
I smoothed my dress once more as I stepped out of the elevator, acutely aware of how out of place I felt despite the elegance wrapped around me.
Tonight, it would be just me at dinner. Possibly alone in one corner of the giant dining hall where dinner was served. But from tomorrow onwards? I'd have people to meet, my hospital to represent... and him to face.
Even though, coming face to face with him still felt like a long shot. Impossible. A fairytale that could never come true.
My heartbeat was steady despite the turmoil in my mind as I walked to the dining hall.
Until...
I stopped abruptly in my tracks, my eyes widening, pulse quickening instantly.
Daxton Anderson stood near the far end of the lobby, surrounded by a small cluster of people, listening to them speak. Dark suit. Crisp lines. Effortless authority. One hand in his pocket, posture relaxed in a way that suggested complete ownership of the space.
He was taller than I'd imagined.
I had forgotten how to breathe.
This was not the man from interviews. Not the face I had gawked at like a silly, lovesick girl for years.
His jaw was sharper in real life, the planes of his face more defined. His expression unreadable, composed, but not cold—focused. When he shifted slightly, the movement was unhurried, controlled, like he was never rushed by time or circumstance.
I'd never known that it was possible for a man to look that attractive. He was sinfully gorgeous.
I stood there, rooted to the marble floor, suddenly acutely aware of my hands, my breathing, the unfamiliar tightness in my chest.
I'd admired him from a distance for so long. Through screens, articles, whispered praise in hospital corridors. It had always felt safe. Abstract.
This wasn't. This was visceral.
I swallowed, my throat dry, forcing myself to inhale slowly like I did with anxious patients. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Get a grip, Ayra.
I glanced down, suddenly hyperaware of myself. Of the fabric of my dress, the way it hugged my waist, the exposed skin at my collarbone. I felt too visible. Too real. Like I'd stepped into the wrong world wearing the wrong armor.
What would I even say to him?
The thought alone sent another spike of nervous energy through me. I imagined standing in front of him—those dark, assessing eyes turned fully on me—and felt my palms grow warm.
Ridiculous.
He hadn't seen me. He wouldn't see me. He didn't know I existed. I was just another attendee in a hotel full of important people, where I was probably the least important one.
Still, the idea that I would eventually have to face him—to speak, to represent the hospital, to stand in the same room without my carefully curated distance—made my stomach flutter uneasily.
I took a small step back, instinctively putting space between us, even from afar.
He shifted then, turning slightly as someone spoke to him, his attention moving elsewhere. The moment fractured. The spell loosened just enough for me to breathe again.
Thank God.
I exhaled slowly and redirected myself toward the dining hall, my steps measured now, less shaky.
Seeing Daxton Anderson on a screen had been a harmless crush.
Seeing him in person was definitely going to be a problem. A huge problem.
This week was only just beginning.