The rhythmic clang of steel against steel echoed through the workshop, each strike sending a shower of sparks into the dimly lit space. Logan Vance wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles flexing as he worked a glowing piece of metal into submission. The forge was his sanctuary—a place where heat and force shaped raw material into something formidable, just as life had shaped him.
He had no patience for distractions, especially not the kind that walked through his door in six-inch heels.
"Excuse me?" A voice, smooth yet edged with authority, broke through the air.
Logan turned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing at the woman standing in his workshop's entrance. She was a stark contrast to his world—poised, polished, and carrying an air of impatience. Her black designer dress hugged her curves, and she clutched a sleek portfolio in one hand. Her dark brown eyes scanned the space with thinly veiled disapproval.
"Are you lost?" Logan asked, his tone as rough as the steel he worked with.
"Hardly." The woman stepped forward, unfazed by his attitude. "You're Logan Vance, correct?"
He gave a slight nod.
"I'm Emilia Royce. I need a custom piece for an upcoming fashion collection."
Logan exhaled, turning back to the anvil. "Not interested."
Emilia's brow arched. "You haven't even heard what I want."
"I don't do fancy accessories for rich people." He lifted the hammer and brought it down hard on the metal, sending a sharp clang through the room.
Emilia crossed her arms. "I don't do rejection."
Logan smirked. "Then you're in the wrong place."
She stepped closer, unbothered by the heat from the forge. "You don't even know what I need. It's not just an accessory—it's a centerpiece for my next collection. A handcrafted steel corset. Something raw, powerful, and unlike anything on the market."
Logan paused. That was… unexpected. He turned to her, meeting her gaze with intrigue. "A steel corset?"
"Yes," she said, her confidence unwavering. "I want strength and elegance combined. Like armor, but wearable art."
Something about her words stirred him. Strength and elegance. Steel and silk. A contradiction that felt oddly familiar.
Still, Logan wasn't one to be easily convinced. "Sounds like a lot of work."
"And I'm willing to pay well for your time." Emilia extended a sleek business card. "You come highly recommended, Mr. Vance. I wouldn't be here if I thought anyone else could do this."
Logan studied her, searching for a sign of pretense, but found none. She wasn't just throwing money at an idea—she believed in it. That kind of conviction was rare.
With a sigh, he took the card, tucking it into his pocket. "Fine. I'll think about it."
Emilia's lips curled into a smirk. "Good. Because I don't take no for an answer."
She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving behind the faint scent of jasmine and the lingering challenge in her words.
Logan exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair.
This woman was trouble.
And he might just take the job anyway.