Chapter 6 : Old Walls, New Cracks

The Emerald Heights construction site loomed like a steel skeleton against the morning sky, beams rising into the clouds, noisy with the hum of machinery and the steady clanking of metal. Mia stepped onto the dusty lot in her heels without flinching, striding past workers who knew better than to stop her. She was all fire and command—the kind of woman who could walk through chaos and bend it to her will.

Victor, her project manager, jogged over, clipboard in hand and anxiety written all over his face. "He's in a mood today," he said. "Inspector Kravitz. He's threatening to red-flag the entire south elevator shaft."

Mia didn't break her stride. "Did you pull up the revised architectural plans? The ones that show the clearance adjustment?"

"We did. He's saying it's not up to code."

"It is up to code. He just doesn't like being corrected by someone younger than him with better shoes."

Victor stifled a chuckle.

Mia climbed the temporary stair ramp to the second level, where the inspector stood with his hands on his hips, scanning the structure like it had personally offended him. His face was red, his hair thinning, his ego enormous.

"Mr. Kravitz," Mia greeted, offering a professional smile. "I reviewed the updated blueprints myself. The design complies with state vertical transport code, section 4.3, subparagraph C. We even went a step further to increase the shaft's tolerance by three percent."

He looked her over, unimpressed. "Miss Collins, building isn't a fashion show. There are lives at stake."

She gave him a smile that could have frozen lava. "And I assure you, this building is safer than your ego allows you to believe."

There was a moment of silence where no one breathed.

Then, with a grunt, Kravitz looked down at the plans again, mumbling something about "rechecking measurements," before waving a hand and stepping away.

Victor whistled under his breath as the inspector retreated. "How do you do that? If I spoke to him like that, he'd have shut down the site."

"I've learned to sound nice while threatening men's pride," Mia said with a smirk. "It's a skill."

They walked back toward the temporary office trailer, where the rest of the team was waiting for updates. She handed off instructions, assigned a second inspector liaison, and called her legal consultant about keeping everything documented. All in a morning's work.

But no matter how busy she was, her mind kept wandering.

Liam.

The way he'd looked at her in that café. Not like a man used to getting his way, but like a man surprised by how much he wanted something.

And God help her, she'd felt it too.

Still, she shook it off.

She didn't have time for distractions. Not now. Not when she was one city approval away from becoming the youngest female developer to break a billion-dollar property milestone in Manhattan.

And Liam Bennett? He was the definition of distraction.

---

That evening, Mia finally returned to her penthouse apartment—an open-concept luxury space with marble floors, tall glass windows, and a skyline view most people could only dream of. She kicked off her heels, poured herself a glass of wine, and sank into the plush cream sofa.

Her phone vibrated.

Liam: I'll trade you one ridiculously overpriced glass of red for 30 minutes of your time.

She stared at the message, lips twitching.

Mia: I just had a glass. Alone. Blissfully.

Liam: You're breaking my heart.

Mia: I'm sure you've got backup hearts in stock.

Liam: They're all waiting for yours to disappoint them.

She didn't reply right away. Instead, she scrolled through the earlier messages from last night—the teasing, the tension, the unexpected... connection.

It wasn't fair that he was charming and mysterious and gorgeous and apparently good with words.

Just then, a second message popped up.

Liam: You're scared of me, aren't you?

She stared at it.

No one ever accused Mia Collins of being scared of anything. She took risks for breakfast. She negotiated deals that made grown men cry. But this? This felt different.

And that scared the hell out of her.

So instead of answering, she set the phone face-down on the coffee table and marched into the bathroom. A hot shower would do the trick. Wash him off. Cleanse her curiosity.

But as the water poured over her skin and steam filled the room, she leaned against the cold tile wall, heart pounding harder than it should.

She was not scared of Liam Bennett.

She was scared of what she might feel if she let herself get too close.

---

The next morning, Mia was at her office early. Her assistant, Lauren, had already left a stack of files on her desk, along with a latte from her favorite place. She was mid-sip when Lauren peeked in.

"There's a delivery for you," she said. "From... Bennett Corporation."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Lauren shrugged and handed over a long, rectangular box wrapped in matte black paper and tied with a silver ribbon.

Mia unwrapped it slowly, half-curious, half-dreading what she might find.

Inside was a sleek leather notebook—Italian-bound, engraved in gold.

And on the first page, in his handwriting:

"For the woman who builds dreams from steel and glass. I hope someday you'll let me walk through one with you." — Liam.

Mia stared at it for a long moment, her fingers brushing over the words.

Then she smiled—just a little—and whispered, "Damn you, Liam Bennett."

And somewhere across town, Liam's phone buzzed.

Mia: You've got 30 minutes. Pick the place.