She opened her eyes to the smell of cheap coffee and burnt toast. Billionaire CEO Victoria Harrington wasn't in her glass penthouse. She was in a tiny, chaotic apartment wearing nothing but a faded men's flannel shirt. And the man cooking pancakes was her lowest-level employee. The annual Harrington Enterprises charity gala at the Waldorf Astoria was a symphony of forced smiles, clinking crystal, and predatory networking.
For Aiden Dempsey, a 31-year-old mid-level supply chain manager, it was an agonizing mandatory obligation. He stood near the towering ice sculpture of the company logo, tugging at the collar of his rented tuxedo, constantly checking his phone. His 6-year-old daughter, Chloe, had a slight fever when he left her with Mrs. Higgins, their elderly neighbor. Aiden wanted nothing more than to slip out the side door, catch the subway back to Queens, and check her temperature. But leaving before the CEO gave her keynote address was a guaranteed way to stall a career that was barely keeping his family afloat.
From his vantage point, Aiden watched Victoria Harrington. She was 29, heir to a global tech and logistics empire, and possessed a reputation so icy she was routinely referred to as the Valkyrie of Wall Street. Tonight, she wore an emerald green silk gown that caught the chandelier light with every movement. She was surrounded by a phalanx of executives, but Aiden's sharp eyes, honed by years of identifying discrepancies in complex freight manifests, noticed something was terribly wrong. Victoria wasn't moving with her usual predatory grace.
Her posture was rigid, almost brittle, and her eyes were glassy. She swayed slightly, catching herself on the edge of a cocktail table. Beside her stood Tristan Hayes, the company's chief financial officer and according to the tabloids, Victoria's on again, off again fiance. Tristan's hand was gripping Victoria's elbow just a fraction too tightly. Aiden frowned, taking a step closer.
The string quartet played a lively waltz, masking the hushed, urgent conversation happening across the room. Tristan was leaning in, speaking sharply into Victoria's ear, his face a mask of false concern. Victoria shook her head, her movement sluggish, like she was swimming through wet concrete. She reached up to rub her temples and the cocktail glass in her other hand slipped, shattering against the marble floor. The sound drew a few glances, but Tristan quickly waved off the wait staff.
He wrapped his arm entirely around her waist, effectively propping her up and began steering her aggressively away from the main ballroom and toward the secluded service corridors, not the main exit, not toward her usual private security detail. Aiden's gut twisted. He had seen that kind of heavy, uncoordinated stumbling before, when his ex-wife had struggled with prescription painkillers. He had learned to recognize the terrifying, hollow gaze of someone who was chemically no longer in control of their own body. Victoria Harrington was not just tired, she was severely impaired and she was being isolated.
Without thinking about the consequences, Aiden set his mineral water on a passing tray and followed them. He slipped through the velvet draped doorway just in time to see Tristan pushing Victoria toward a set of heavy fire doors that led to the underground parking garage. "Tristan, stop." Victoria slurred, her voice devoid of its usual commanding edge. She tried to pull away, but her knees buckled. I need to give the speech, my father's speech.
You're in no condition to speak, Victoria, Tristan said, his voice cold and echoing in the empty, dimly lit concrete stairwell. You're a mess. I'm taking you to a private clinic upstate. It's for your own good. By the time you wake up, the board vote on the merger will be over and you'll be safely removed from the equation.
Aiden froze in the shadows. A board vote? A merger? Whispers had been circulating the warehouse floor for weeks about a hostile takeover, one that Victoria Harrington was fiercely opposing because it would mean liquidating thousands of lower-level jobs, including Aiden's. Tristan was orchestrating a coup and he had drugged his own CEO to get her out of the way.
Hey. Aiden's voice boomed down the concrete stairwell, much louder and steadier than he actually felt. Tristan spun around, his tailored suit shifting as his eyes narrowed at the intruder. Victoria slumped against the cinder block wall, fighting to keep her eyes open. Who the hell are you?
Tristan demanded, taking a step up the stairs, trying to use his height and authority to intimidate. This is a restricted area. Get back to the ballroom. Aiden Dempsey. Supply chain management, Aiden said, forcing himself to walk calmly down the steps.
Ms. Harrington sent me an urgent message 20 minutes ago. She asked for the Q3 freight analysis right before her speech. I've been looking everywhere for her. Tristan scoffed, a sneer twisting his handsome face. She's intoxicated and unwell, Dempsey.
I am handling it. Turn around and walk away, or I guarantee you won't have a job tomorrow morning. Aiden reached the landing. He was an inch shorter than Tristan, but a decade of hauling freight before earning his degree had given him a solid, immovable build. He looked at Victoria.
She was pale, her breathing shallow, her eyes pleading silently as she slid further down the wall. "With all due respect, Mr. Hayes, her security detail is at the front entrance," Aiden said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. "I'm sure they'd be happy to help you escort her to her car. Should I call them down here? Or better yet, the police to report a potential medical emergency?" Tristan's jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched.
He looked at Aiden's phone, calculating his odds. If security came down, or worse, the police, the drug in her system would be documented. His pristine corporate coup would turn into a criminal investigation. "You are making a massive mistake, Dempsey," Tristan hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. He let go of Victoria, stepping away as if she had suddenly caught fire.
"She's an unstable addict. If you want to carry her bags, be my guest, but don't expect to ever work in this city again." Tristan shot one last, calculating look at Victoria, then turned and pushed through the heavy metal doors leading to the garage, his footsteps echoing away into the dark. Aiden immediately dropped to his knees beside Victoria. "Ms. Harrington, can you hear me?" She blinked, her unfocused eyes slowly finding his face. "You're You're the guy from the warehouse.
The one who fixed the routing error in Chicago." Aiden was stunned she remembered him, but there was no time to dwell on it. We need to get you out of here. Can you stand? No, she whispered, her head lolling against his shoulder. He gave me something.