New beginning: Billionaire love story

Another week had passed, and Matthew was still in a coma. Claire visited him daily, and her routine now consisted of a blend of hospital visits and mountains of work. She'd ask the doctor about Matthew's condition every single time, hoping for some kind of miracle answer.

But the doctor would always give her the same calm but frustrating response: "Matthew is stable. However, when he will wake up... we really don't know."

The uncertainty gnawed at Claire, but she pushed through. Someone had to keep things running, and for the first time, she was doing it all on her own-no Matthew to lean on, no quick advice, no snarky remarks to make her laugh through the stress. It was just her against endless paperwork and the never-ending demands of Cryptonic. Sleep became a distant memory, replaced by coffee-fueled nights and power naps that lasted five minutes, if that.

One particularly grueling afternoon, Claire was sitting at her desk, surrounded by a fortress of documents. She was mid-sip of her fifth cup of coffee for the day when Sandra knocked on the office door and poked her head in.

"Claire?" Sandra said cautiously, knowing her boss was probably running on fumes.

"What now?" Claire groaned, not even looking up from the spreadsheet she was glaring at like it had personally offended her.

Sandra stepped inside, holding a tablet. "You've got to attend the opening night for one of our client's new stores. It's a big deal."

Claire dropped her pen, slumping back in her chair with a dramatic sigh. "You're kidding me. Can't I just send flowers or, I don't know, a life-sized cardboard cutout of myself?"

Sandra smiled faintly. "It's your client, Claire. You kind of don't have a choice."

Rubbing her temples, Claire gave in. "Fine. Book me a hair and makeup stylist, and find someone to picknoveldrama

an outfit because, trust me, I cannot even think about clothes right now."

As if the universe decided to intervene, a voice from behind Sandra chimed in, full of energy and unmistakably familiar. "Well, well, well! Look who's drowning in work!"

Claire looked up to see Talia, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. She was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Talia?!" Claire exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her exhaustion.

"In the flesh," Talia said dramatically as she stepped into the room. Behind her, a small entourage followed-two stylists, a makeup artist, and someone pushing a rack loaded with dresses.

Sandra, amused but relieved to let someone else take over, quietly slipped out of the room.

Claire stood up, staring at Talia in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"Obviously saving you from yourself," Talia said with a playful smirk. "I know you'd never make it back to your penthouse, so I brought the magic here."

Claire chuckled, shaking her head in defeat. "You really are something else."

The two hugged warmly. It had been far too long since they'd seen each other, and Talia's presence felt like a much-needed shot of energy in Claire's chaotic life.

Talia clapped her hands. "Alright, people! You know the drill. Let's get to work!"

The team sprang into action, wheeling the rack of dresses into position and setting up their makeup stations like they were about to shoot a movie.

Claire plopped back into her chair, watching the scene with mild amusement. "This feels excessive." "Excessive?" Talia repeated, already rifling through the dresses. "Honey, this is necessary. Look at you- stress wrinkles, tired eyes. You need me more than you know."

"Thanks for the reminder," Claire muttered sarcastically, though she couldn't help but smirk.

Talia held up a sleek black gown and eyed Claire critically. "What about this one?"

Claire waved a hand dismissively. "If you handed me a potato sack, I'd wear it. Just pick something and be done with it."

Talia gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "How dare you insult my process! You'll thank me later when you're the most stunning person in the room."

"Fine, fine," Claire said with a laugh. "Do your thing."

For the next two hours, the team worked their magic. Makeup brushes flew, hair tools buzzed, and Talia fussed over every detail of Claire's outfit, occasionally pausing to ask if something worked or not.

"Claire, I'm serious. Do you like this neckline?" Talia asked, holding up another dress.

"Whatever makes you happy," Claire replied dryly, sipping her now-cold coffee.

Talia rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you're impossible."

By the time they finished, Claire felt like she'd undergone a complete transformation. She headed to the bathroom to change into the dress Talia had finally chosen-a deep emerald green number that hugged her figure in all the right places. She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror and had to admit, that Talia outdid herself.

When she returned to her office, Talia grinned triumphantly. "Well? What do you think?"

Claire smiled and nodded. "You're the best, as always."

"Duh," Talia said, tossing her hair. "Now go knock 'em dead. You've got a client to impress, and I've got a spa appointment to get to."

Claire laughed, grabbing her clutch. "Thanks, Talia. I owe you one."

"More like ten, but who's counting?" Talia said with a wink.

As Claire headed out the door, she felt a tiny spark of confidence creeping back in. The night ahead still felt daunting, but at least she'd face it looking like she had everything under control-even if, deep down, she knew she didn't.

Claire's car rolled to a stop outside the grand venue, and even from behind the tinted windows, she could see the flashing lights of cameras and the throng of photographers lining the entrance. She let out a small groan, fixing her hair in the rearview mirror as the driver opened her door.

"Here we go," she muttered under her breath before stepping out with her best confident smile.

The moment her heels touched the pavement, the paparazzi erupted in shouts. "Claire! Over here! Look this way!"

Claire gave them what they wanted,

striking a few poised poses. She wasn't in the mood for any of this, but the art of keeping up appearances demanded it. After a few clicks of her camera-ready smile, she decided she'd had enough and gestured politely before making her way toward the entrance.

The moment she stepped inside, the noise of the outside world faded, replaced by the hum of classical music and the low buzz of chattering voices. The lavishly decorated room was already packed with people, and Claire couldn't help but feel the weight of their gazes.

Crowds. She hated them.

As she made her way down the staircase, Claire found herself thinking of

Sheetthew. He would've

cracked some dry joke about how these events were more about showing off than actually getting anything done. And even though he always claimed galas weren't his thing, he'd still show up to keep her company. Without him, the whole atmosphere felt heavier, more suffocating.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't see the man coming up the stairs until it was too late. "Whoa!" Claire stumbled slightly as he bumped into her shoulder.

"Pardon me, miss," the man said quickly, his deep voice smooth and apologetic.

Claire glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. He was tall, with dark brown hair that had a casual, tousled look. His sharp features and piercing gaze gave him an air of mystery, and Claire couldn't shake the strange feeling that she'd seen him before.

"It's fine," Claire replied, her tone polite but distracted.

The man nodded briefly and continued up the stairs, disappearing into the crowd.

Claire stood there for a moment, her gaze lingering on where he had gone. Her mind was racing, trying to place where she might have seen him before. Do I know him? she wondered, but no clear memory surfaced.