Chapter 1 — Mia’s New Assignment

Mia

Mia Harper sat at her kitchen table, staring at the email on her laptop screen, a half-empty mug of coffee cooling beside her. She read the assignment again, the words blurring together as her mind raced.

Lucas Hale. Reclusive billionaire. Tragic widower. And now, her next project.

She leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her chestnut-brown hair, which was tied up in a messy bun—her go-to when she was thinking too hard. The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside the window. The familiar sounds of the city usually grounded her, but today, they felt distant, like background noise in someone else’s life.

The Hale memoir.

Her editor had been annoyingly vague about the details, but one thing was clear: this was a career-defining opportunity. A chance to prove herself after the mess of the last year. After him.

She glanced at the framed news clippings on the wall—reminders of the stories she'd uncovered, the truths she'd dragged into the light. But lately, those victories felt hollow. Her fingers unconsciously traced the rim of her coffee mug as the memory of her ex’s voice echoed in her head: “You’re wasting your time, Mia. No one cares about your little exposés.” The way he’d said it, like her work was a hobby, had sent her confidence crumbling.

Her jaw tightened. She had spent the better part of the last year trying to forget the sting of those words, the way they had chipped away at her, leaving her questioning whether she’d ever really had what it took to make it in this field. She remembered the night they had fought—his dismissive shrug as she tried to explain why her work mattered, how his words had left her feeling small, like she was chasing stories no one would ever care about.

But this—she glanced back at the email—this was her chance.

But why this assignment? Why him?

She stood abruptly, walking to the window to stare out at the street below. The world kept moving, indifferent to her internal storm. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her, as if the fabric could shield her from the doubts creeping into her mind. What was it about Lucas Hale’s story that tugged at her? The isolation? The tragedy? Maybe it was the fact that he’d vanished from the public eye, retreating into his fortress. A man who had everything, and yet, chose to live like a ghost.

A part of her wondered if it wasn’t just the story that drew her in, but something more personal. Isolation—that word echoed through her mind. Wasn’t she just as isolated, locking herself away in this cluttered apartment, pretending the world outside didn’t matter?

Lucas Hale.

She knew the name. Everyone did. The enigmatic billionaire who had made headlines years ago with his meteoric rise in the tech world, only to vanish from the public eye after his wife’s tragic death. The tabloids had feasted on the story—Car Accident Claims Life of Billionaire’s Wife—but the details had always been murky. And Lucas had never spoken publicly about it. Not once.

Now, after years of silence, he had agreed to a memoir. And somehow, Mia had been chosen to write it.

She should feel excited, but all she felt was a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. This wasn’t just another story she could dig into and expose. This was a man’s life—a man who had spent years shutting the world out. Why now? Why her?

And why a memoir at all? For a man who had spent so long avoiding the public eye, suddenly agreeing to open up now didn’t make sense. There had to be more to it. Mia’s journalistic instincts kicked in, always searching for the story beneath the surface. What could have driven a man like Lucas Hale to finally speak?

Mia shook her head, forcing herself to turn away from the window. It didn’t matter. She needed this. She needed to prove—to herself, if no one else—that she could handle this. That she was still the journalist who could uncover hidden truths and tell stories that mattered.

Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen.

Heather: Coffee tomorrow? You can tell me all about your new billionaire crush.

Mia couldn’t help but smile. Trust Heather to bring a bit of levity to the situation. Her best friend had always been the opposite of cynical Mia—light, optimistic, and ever the romantic. Mia typed a quick reply: Not a crush. More like a professional headache. But coffee sounds good.

She tossed the phone back onto the table and went to pack her bag. She had a train to catch in the morning, and the trip to the Hale estate wasn’t going to be short. Deep in the countryside, far from the prying eyes of the media, Lucas Hale had created his own fortress of solitude, and she was about to step right into the middle of it.

As she zipped up her bag, her gaze drifted to the small, worn leather notebook sitting among the stacks of papers on her desk. It had seen better days—the cover scratched and the edges frayed—but it had been with her through every major story she’d written. It was a gift from her father, back when she had first started out in journalism, though they hadn’t spoken in years.

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the notebook. It wasn’t just a tool—it was a reminder of where she’d come from, the roots of her drive, her instincts. Her father had always been distant, emotionally unavailable, much like Lucas Hale was rumored to be. Maybe that was part of why this assignment felt so personal. It was a chance to prove, to herself and to the world, that she could tackle a story this big. Just like she had always wanted to prove something to her father.

Mia grabbed the notebook and slipped it into her bag. No matter how this assignment turned out, she knew one thing for certain: she was going to need all the tools at her disposal. And this notebook—this reminder of her past, her drive, her instincts—was as much a part of her process as her laptop or recorder.

She glanced around her apartment one last time before heading to bed. The cluttered space—the books, the papers, the framed photos of past assignments—had always felt like a refuge, a place where she could retreat from the world and focus on what mattered. But tonight, it felt different. Smaller. Like the walls were closing in.

Tomorrow, she would leave this place behind. Tomorrow, she would step into Lucas Hale’s world.

And whatever secrets he was hiding, she would find them.

The train ride the next morning was long, the cityscape giving way to rolling hills and dense forests. Mia spent most of the journey staring out the window, her thoughts spinning as the scenery passed by in a blur of green and gray. She had done her homework, of course—read every article, every scrap of information she could find about Lucas Hale. But there was so little to go on. The man had been a ghost for years, his life shrouded in mystery. Wealth, tragedy, seclusion. That was the sum of what she knew.

Her fingers drummed lightly on the edge of her leather notebook, which rested on her lap. The rhythmic motion of the train did little to calm her nerves. This wasn’t just another assignment. It felt bigger. More personal. Maybe it was because she wasn’t just writing about a man—she was stepping into his world, his grief, his self-imposed isolation. And that felt all too familiar.

She could feel the unease creeping in again. What if she wasn’t ready for this? What if her ex had been right—what if she really was out of her depth?

Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced at the screen to see another message from Heather.

Heather: Don’t forget to smile! Even brooding billionaires can be charmed.

Mia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Heather doesn’t understand, she thought. This isn’t some romantic fantasy. It’s work. Serious work.

But as the train neared her destination, a knot of anxiety tightened in her chest. She could handle tough interviews. She’d grilled corrupt politicians and CEOs with no problem. But there was something about this assignment—about Lucas Hale—that felt different. More personal. Maybe it was the isolation of the estate, or the weight of the tragedy that still clung to his name. Or maybe it was her own lingering self-doubt, the voice in her head that still whispered, What if you’re not good enough?

The estate came into view as the car she’d hired rounded a bend in the road. Mia leaned forward, her sharp hazel eyes narrowing as the grand, ivy-covered mansion loomed in the distance. It was both beautiful and intimidating, its stone walls towering above the surrounding forest like a sentinel guarding a forgotten past. As they drove up the long, winding driveway, she noticed the overgrown gardens, the wild, untamed beauty that seemed to mirror the emotional wilderness she suspected Lucas Hale inhabited.

The car came to a stop, and Mia took a deep breath before stepping out, her boots crunching on the gravel. The air was cool, damp, and heavy with the scent of wet earth and pine. The mansion stood before her, silent and imposing, as if daring her to uncover its secrets.

A moment later, the massive front door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped out—Lucas Hale.

Her first impression was of sharpness. The sharp cut of his dark suit, the sharp angles of his features, the intensity of his blue eyes as they fixed on her with a gaze that felt more like a challenge than a welcome. There was something about the way he held himself—rigid, controlled, as though even his posture was a barrier between him and the world.

“Mia Harper,” he said, his voice low and clipped, not bothering with pleasantries. “I assume you’re here to work, not chat.”

Mia straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. “I’m here to write your story, Mr. Hale. If you’ll let me.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. Instead, he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. “Very well. But let’s be clear. This is about my son. Not me.”

Mia’s heart skipped a beat. She had known about Oliver, of course, but hearing Lucas mention him so bluntly sent a ripple of unease through her. There was more to this story than she had anticipated. Much more.

As she stepped into the dimly lit foyer, the heavy door creaking shut behind her, one thought echoed in her mind.

What had she just gotten herself into?