Mia
Mia decided that if she treated Ace Laurent like a problem, she could solve him.
Problems were familiar. Problems followed rules. Problems didn't demand vulnerability.
Ace, unfortunately, refused to cooperate.
They were seated across from each other again three days later, this time in a neutral conference room downtown—glass walls, muted lighting, a long table that felt like a battlefield. Lawyers and advisors had filled the space earlier, but now it was just the two of them, surrounded by documents and unspoken tension.
Mia adjusted her pen, posture immaculate.
"This clause is unnecessary," she said, eyes on the page. "It complicates distribution."
Ace didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice was calm, detached. "It protects against misuse."
"You're assuming incompetence."
"I'm accounting for reality."
She looked up at him then, unimpressed. "Or control."
His gaze flicked to hers, sharp. "You say that like it's a flaw."
She leaned back slightly. "In excess? It is."
Silence stretched. Not hostile. Not comfortable. Just… tight.
They'd been circling each other like this for days—professional, efficient, cool. No personal conversations. No acknowledgments of the storm that seemed to follow whenever they shared a room.
And Mia preferred it that way.
"This section," Ace said, tapping the page, "needs restructuring."
"According to you."
"According to logic."
She smiled thinly. "Logic without empathy fails."
He met her gaze. "Empathy clouds judgment."
There it was again. The wall. Solid. Impenetrable.
Mia didn't argue further. She marked the page, moving on. She refused to let this become personal.
She was good at that.
Ace noticed everything.
He noticed the way Mia never fidgeted, never hesitated before speaking. The way she listened—really listened—before dismantling an argument piece by piece. He noticed how she kept the conversation strictly professional, like a line drawn in ink.
He told himself it was mutual.
He told himself he preferred it this way.
"You'll need to be present at the board review next week," he said, breaking the quiet.
Mia didn't look up. "So will you."
"Yes."
Her pen paused briefly. "Try not to dominate the discussion."
His mouth curved faintly. "Try not to control it."
She glanced up then, eyes cool. "You confuse leadership with intimidation."
"And you confuse caution with authority."
A beat.
"Meeting adjourned," she said crisply, closing her folder.
Ace stood as well. "You don't get to dismiss me."
She shouldered her bag. "I just did."
She walked out without another word.
Ace remained where he was, jaw tight—not because she'd left, but because she always left first.
The press noticed everything too.
The next morning, Mia found the headline before Lila could warn her.
HEIRS CLASH BEHIND CLOSED DOORS: POWER STRUGGLE OR SOMETHING MORE?
Mia closed the article without reading it fully.
"Don't," she said as Lila opened her mouth.
Lila frowned. "You didn't even see—"
"I don't need to," Mia replied calmly. "They speculate. It's their job."
"You and Ace do argue a lot," Lila said carefully.
Mia picked up her coat. "We disagree professionally."
"And personally?"
Mia paused, just for a second.
"There is no personally."
Lila studied her. "You're sure?"
Mia met her gaze. "Absolutely."
She left before Lila could say anything else.
Ace was equally unimpressed by the media.
"Smile less," his father said over breakfast, sliding the tablet across the table. "It reads as hostility."
Ace didn't look at it. "It's fiction."
"Perception matters."
Ace stood. "Then let them perceive."
His father's gaze lingered. "Do not let this collaboration become… complicated."
Ace's mouth tightened. "It won't."
He meant it.
The board review was a test of restraint.
They sat side by side this time, close enough that Mia was acutely aware of Ace's presence—his stillness, his focus, the way he spoke only when necessary.
She matched him perfectly.
They didn't interrupt each other. Didn't argue. Didn't look at each other longer than required.
It was almost seamless.
Almost.
When a board member questioned Mia's proposed safeguards, Ace spoke up before she could.
"The structure is sound," he said evenly. "It balances autonomy with accountability."
Mia turned to look at him.
He didn't look back.
The moment passed. The meeting continued.
Professional. Polished. Controlled.
Dangerous.
Afterward, they found themselves alone in the hallway, the hum of voices fading behind them.
"That wasn't necessary," Mia said.
Ace adjusted his cuff. "It was accurate."
"You don't usually defend my work."
"I defend good strategy."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't make this something it isn't."
He met her gaze then, expression unreadable. "I wasn't."
They stood there, neither moving, neither stepping closer.
Finally, Mia broke the silence. "We should maintain boundaries."
Ace nodded once. "Agreed."
She turned to leave.
"So," he added, voice calm, "we're clear."
"Yes," she said without looking back. "We're clear."
They walked in opposite directions.
No glances.
No regrets.
No realizations.
Just two heirs, standing firm behind walls they'd spent lifetimes perfecting.
And neither of them noticed how quiet the hallway felt once the other was gone.