The lobby of Catalyst Innovations felt like a cathedral of industry.

Muted voices echoed across polished marble floors. Glass and steel rose in elegant lines toward a ceiling so high Kyro had to tilt his head back to see it. Everything gleamed—intentional, expensive, immaculate.

Even the air smelled curated, faintly of coffee and ambition.

Kyro approached the reception desk, his heart pounding.

“Kyro Bellamy,” he said. “Intern.”

The receptionist looked up, her blonde bob perfectly styled, her smile polite and practiced.

“Welcome to Catalyst Innovations, Mr. Bellamy. Mr. Sinclair is expecting you shortly. Please take a seat—Ms. Davies will be with you.”

Kyro thanked her and moved to one of the sleek chairs that looked more like modern art than furniture.

He pulled out his phone, pretending to scroll, but his eyes kept drifting around the space.

Everyone here looked like they belonged.

He felt painfully out of place.

You’re just an intern, a voice in his head whispered.
You don’t belong in Noah Sinclair’s world.

A woman approached—sharp eyes, tailored blazer, purposeful stride.

“Kyro Bellamy?” she asked.

He stood immediately. “Yes.”

“I’m Ms. Davies, Mr. Sinclair’s executive assistant. Follow me, please.”

Kyro fell into step beside her as they walked through a maze of glass-walled offices and humming workspaces. Screens glowed with charts and projections. Voices murmured in quiet urgency.

This was the heart of Noah Sinclair’s empire.

They stopped before a pair of dark wooden doors.

“Mr. Sinclair is finishing a call,” Ms. Davies said. “One moment.”

Kyro nodded, nerves buzzing through his veins.

This was it.

The doors opened.

Noah Sinclair stood by the window, phone to his ear, the city skyline glowing behind him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly composed in a tailored suit.

Power radiated from him.

Noah turned.

His grey eyes met Kyro’s.

For one impossible second, Kyro felt completely seen.

Noah lowered the phone and smiled—a subtle, warm curve of his lips that made Kyro’s chest tighten.

“Kyro,” Noah said. “Come in.”

His voice was deep and steady, sending a quiet shiver through Kyro.

Kyro stepped forward.

“Mr. Sinclair,” he said.

“Noah,” Noah corrected gently, extending his hand. “Please.”

Their hands met.

The contact was brief, professional—but Kyro felt it like a spark. Noah’s grip was firm and warm, grounding in a way Kyro hadn’t expected.

“It’s good to have Art’s boy here,” Noah said. “Your father speaks very highly of you.”

Art’s boy.

The words settled heavily in Kyro’s chest.

Of course.

That was all he was.

Noah released his hand, already retreating into professionalism.

“Ms. Davies will get you set up. You’ll meet your supervisor and receive your first assignment. Don’t hesitate to ask questions.”

“Yes… thank you, Noah,” Kyro said softly.

Ms. Davies gestured toward the door. “This way.”

As Kyro followed her out, he glanced back once.

Noah had already turned away, reaching for his phone again.

The moment was over.

And Kyro was painfully aware of just how far apart they truly were.