Aiden's POV.
The clock on my office wall ticked steadily, a constant reminder of the time slipping away. My desk was littered with paperwork—financial reports, partnership proposals, and meeting agendas. It was one of those mornings where my focus was razor-sharp, and I had no patience for distractions.
I flipped through a file, scanning the numbers, when a soft knock on my office door pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Come in," I called, not looking up.
The door opened, and I caught a whiff of an overpowering floral perfume. I didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Aiden," Amira's voice lilted, sickly sweet. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
I forced my expression to remain neutral, finally glancing up. She was standing there, dressed in a form-fitting cream-colored blouse and a pencil skirt, her makeup perfectly done as though she was attending a gala instead of working in an office. Her smile was bright, too bright, like she was trying too hard.
