By Friday evening, Ayanda Bennett had forgotten what it felt like to have an ordinary thought.
For five days, her mind had belonged to Veyronis.
Contracts. Meetings. Deadlines. Adrian Vale. Project Orpheus. Her father's name.
It was becoming ridiculous.
She sat at the edge of her bed that Friday night, staring at the half-unpacked suitcase beside her wardrobe. Six months ago, Munich had represented a new beginning. She had arrived with two suitcases, a degree in Business Administration from the University of Lagos, a postgraduate qualification in International Business and Corporate Management, and the stubborn belief that she was ready to build a life of her own.
At twenty-five, she had thought she understood what she wanted.
A good career.
Financial independence.
A quiet apartment.
New experiences.
Perhaps, eventually, a reason to call Munich home.
She hadn't planned for a mysterious CEO, confidential files bearing her father's name, or anonymous messages warning her to stop asking questions.
Her phone vibrated.
Maya:Are you alive?
Ayanda smiled.
Ayanda:Barely.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Maya:I knew that job was suspicious.
Ayanda laughed.
Maya Britney had been her closest friend since their university days in LOS Angeles. They had met during their first year at the University of California and somehow survived lectures, examinations, terrible group projects, heartbreaks, and the occasional argument that lasted exactly twenty minutes before one of them started laughing.
Maya had remained in LA after university, working for a media company and insisting that she would only move abroad if someone personally carried her suitcase.
Ayanda had teased her about it for years.
Now, ironically, Maya was the person Ayanda missed most.
Her phone rang.
She answered the video call.
Maya's face appeared on the screen.
"You look tired."
Ayanda raised an eyebrow.
"Good evening to you too."
"I'm serious. Look at your face."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
Maya laughed.
"Tell me everything."
Ayanda leaned against her headboard.
"There isn't much to tell."
Maya gave her a look.
"Ayanda."
"What?"
"You've been in Germany for six months. You've started working for a billionaire CEO who apparently treats employees like military personnel, and now you're telling me there's nothing to tell?"
Ayanda smiled.
"He's not a billionaire."
"That's what you took from that sentence?"
Ayanda laughed.
For a few minutes, they talked about ordinary things.
Maya's work.
Ayanda's apartment.
A mutual friend's upcoming wedding.
The weather in LA.
The ridiculous price of groceries in Munich.
For those few minutes, Ayanda felt normal again.
Then Maya's expression became serious.
"So tell me about the boss."
Ayanda groaned.
"Why are you so interested in him?"
"Because you mention his name every time we talk."
"I do not."
"You just did."
"I was explaining something."
"About him."
"Because he is my employer."
"What's he like?"
Ayanda hesitated.
"Difficult."
"Ugly?"
Ayanda laughed.
"No."
Maya's eyes widened.
"Oh."
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
Maya smiled.
"So he's attractive."
"That isn't the point."
"That's not a denial."
Ayanda looked away.
"He's thirty-one."
Maya's eyebrows rose.
"You know his age?"
"He's my boss."
"Of course."
"And I'm twenty-five."
"I know your age."
Ayanda narrowed her eyes.
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
Maya laughed.
Then her voice softened.
"But seriously, Ayanda. Are you happy?"
The question caught her off guard.
She looked toward the window.
Munich glittered beyond the glass.
"I don't know."
Maya became quiet.
"You can come home."
Ayanda smiled sadly.
"I know."
"You don't have to prove anything to anybody."
"I know."
"Then remember that."
Ayanda nodded.
"I will."
She didn't tell Maya everything.
Not about the photograph.
Not about her father's name.
Not about the message waiting on her phone.
Some things were too strange to say aloud.
Across the city, Adrian Vale was spending his Saturday with the only people who could still make him feel like something other than the man behind the Veyronis name.
His family.
At thirty-one, Adrian had spent almost a decade building his position inside the company.
But Veyronis had not been his beginning.
His family had been.
His mother, Elena Vale, was sixty-two and lived in the quieter outskirts of Munich.
His younger brother, Julian, was twenty-seven and lived in Berlin, where he had deliberately built a life far removed from the family business.
Julian had once told Adrian that he would rather spend his life painting terrible portraits than attend another Veyronis board meeting.
Adrian had laughed.
He secretly admired him for it.
That Saturday afternoon, Adrian sat across from his mother at the dining table.
"You look tired," Elena said.
"I work."
"You always work."
He said nothing.
She studied him.
"And the new secretary?"
Adrian looked up.
"How do you know about her?"
"Julian mentioned her."
"Why was Julian talking about my company?"
"He wasn't. He was talking about you."
Adrian frowned.
Elena smiled.
"You've been distracted."
"No."
"You have."
"I'm fine."
"You've been saying that since you were seventeen."
Adrian almost smiled.
His mother had an irritating ability to see through him.
She poured herself more tea.
"What's her name?"
Adrian hesitated.
"Ayanda."
Elena waited.
"Ayanda what?"
"Bennett."
Something changed in Elena's expression.
It was subtle.
So subtle Adrian almost missed it.
But he didn't.
"You know that name?"
His mother looked down at her cup.
"It's familiar."
"From where?"
"I don't remember."
Adrian studied her.
His mother's memory was excellent.
She remembered things he had forgotten.
People.
Dates.
Names.
Mistakes.
"Mother."
Elena looked at him.
"Sometimes," she said quietly, "people come back into our lives for reasons we don't understand immediately."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"What does that mean?"
She smiled faintly.
"It means you should eat your lunch before it gets cold."
He knew she was avoiding the question.
And for once, he let her.
Because somewhere beneath the polished walls of Veyronis, beneath the files and the photographs and the secrets that had survived sixteen years, Adrian had begun to suspect something himself.
Ayanda Bennett had not entered his life by accident.
He simply didn't know why yet.
And he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.