Mia stepped into the bustling newsroom of The Daily Post, her heels clicking against the polished floor in sync with her heartbeat. The scent of coffee and ink filled the air, a blend of ambition and chaos she'd grown used to and perhaps even enjoyed. Three years out of university, and she was still clawing her way up, attempting with her best efforts to carve out her name in the cutthroat world of journalism.

Ever since her uni days, Mia knew exactly where her life was headed. Her parents, both had been heavyweights in the journalistic world—her mother a tough editor and her father a prime-time TV reporter—had made sure of it. Everything was mapped out for her, and she had always been the good daughter who followed the plan. So here she was, dutifully walking the path laid out for her. She loved it—she told herself that every day.

She smoothed down her blouse as she reached her desk, trying to shake off the morning's rough start. Her routine was supposed to be the epitome of young professional life: a stroll to the artisanal coffee shop, a perfectly brewed cappuccino, and a flaky Danish while skimming the headlines. She had dreamed about this life as a university junior, picturing it with the clarity of a rom-com montage.

Reality, though, was more like a slapstick comedy. She had hopped over puddles of murky water, narrowly dodged businessmen glued to their phones, and endured a daily commute crammed against strangers with questionable hygiene. The lingering odor clung to her clothes, a stark reminder that reality often lacked the glossy finish of her dreams.

As she attempted to mask the hecticness of the morning by spritzing on perfume from a free sample she'd picked up the other day, she mentally prepared herself for the day.

"Hey, Mia!" called out Sarah, her best friend and confidante at the paper. "Big day today, huh?"

Mia smiled, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Yeah, today's the day I finally pitch my series on urban development. If they greenlight it, it'll be my biggest article yet."

As she made her way to the pantry, she caught sight of a familiar figure standing by her editor's office. Her heart skipped a beat, then thudded heavily in her chest. It was Andrew. Andrew Weston. The one person she had hoped to never see again.

Their eyes met, and she saw a flash of surprise in his piercing blue eyes. He looked just as she remembered—tall, broad-shouldered, with an infuriatingly charming smile that could melt even the coldest heart. But not hers. Not anymore.

"Mia," he said, his voice smooth and annoyingly pleasant. "Long time no see."

She forced a smile, her mind racing with memories she had tried to bury. "Andrew. What brings you here?"

"I'm the new senior correspondent," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Looks like we'll be working together."

Mia's stomach churned. Working with Andrew was the last thing she wanted. Their history was complicated, to say the least. They had been rivals in college, constantly trying to outdo each other. But there had been moments—fleeting, confusing moments—when she thought there was something more. Something real. Until he had left her hanging, making her feel like a fool.

"Great," she managed to say, her voice tight. "Just great."