Amayra Blackwood was not just any reporter. She was a force to be reckoned with—a fiery whirlwind of determination and charisma. The only daughter of Thomas Blackwood, a man known for his stoic authority, she had inherited his uncompromising honesty but none of his restraint. Bold, direct, and often brash, Amayra's enthusiasm was matched only by her occasional outbursts of temper.
She had lived her life by a simple creed: the more challenges a person faces, the stronger they become. It was this belief that propelled her to embrace the world of journalism, where every day brought a new hurdle, a new puzzle to solve. For Amayra, reporting wasn't just a job—it was a mission. She lived to uncover the truths buried beneath the surface, to tear away the curtains of secrecy, and to deliver the facts to the world.
Now, with Joseph squarely in her sights, she saw the perfect opportunity. The enigmatic man seemed to hold all the answers to the mysteries swirling around recent events. The headlines practically wrote themselves.
But first, she needed to corner him.
The break room was calm, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air, the soft hum of the vending machine filling the silence. David took a slow sip from his cup, relishing the rare moment of peace. But peace, it seemed, was never meant to last.
BANG!
The door slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls, sending a sharp echo through the room. The sudden noise was enough to make David jolt, nearly spilling his coffee. Joseph, who had been standing by the coffee machine, barely lifted his gaze, but his jaw tightened—a telltale sign of brewing irritation.
Then she appeared.
Amayra Blackwood stormed in like a hurricane in heels. The golden glow of the setting sun streamed in behind her, casting her silhouette in a fierce radiance, making her presence feel larger than life. She strode in with purpose, her heels clicking like a countdown to trouble.
David turned to the doorway, blinking rapidly. His breath hitched.
She was stunning.
Hair flowing like liquid gold, confidence radiating from every step—she looked like a goddess descending upon mere mortals. The moment their eyes met, something inside David snapped. He swore he could hear a symphony playing in the background, as if fate itself had just orchestrated his downfall.
"Is this what love at first sight feels like?"
His mind clouded with daydreams before he even had time to stop them. But before he could even dream of an introduction, she spoke—directly to him.
"Hello, handsome," she purred, tilting her head with a teasing smirk. "Are you single?"
David's world tilted. His pulse skyrocketed. His mind, his logic, his years of composure—all shattered in an instant. He stared at her, completely dumbfounded, struggling to form words.
And then…
SPLASH!
"ARGHH!"
In his daze, his hand slipped, and hot coffee spilled all over his fingers. He yelped, shaking his hand wildly. The searing heat snapped him out of his trance, but it was already too late. His moment was ruined and so for his dream.
Scrambling to regain his dignity, David straightened his back, cleared his throat, and tried to channel his best charm. "Ahem… Hello, I'm David. May I know who you are?"
But Amayra had already moved on.
Without so much as a second glance, she strode past him, her attention locking onto someone else—her real target.
JOSEPH.
David's heart plummeted. He watched as Amayra's gaze sharpened, her lips curving into a triumphant smile as she closed in on her prey. A hunter who had finally cornered her prey.
Joseph, still pouring himself a cup of coffee, exhaled sharply. He knew. He felt her presence before she even spoke. Trouble had arrived.
"You're Joseph, aren't you?"
Her voice was brimming with excitement, but Joseph didn't flinch. He simply brought the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and let a deliberate silence stretch between them.
David, slumping into a chair, muttered to himself, "Am I invisible?" before sighing dramatically. "Why even bother…"
Joseph finally set his cup down with an audible CLINK, his patience already hanging by a thread. He turned slightly; his tone as cold as steel.
"No."
Amayra's grin widened. She loved a challenge.
"Oh, come on! You can't fool me. I know it's you. I'm from Fast News! I've got the perfect proposition for you."
Joseph turned fully now; his expression unreadable. The air in the room shifted—tense, charged. The once casual atmosphere had become something else entirely, a silent battlefield.
Joseph's gaze drifted downward, his sharp eyes landing on the nametag pinned to her lapel. The elegant yet bold lettering read: Amayra Blackwood-- SENIOR REPORTER. His mind flickered with recognition. He had heard that name before, and not in a pleasant context.
A nuisance. A relentless force of nature. A storm wrapped in a reporter's disguise.
The weight of exhaustion settled over him like a thick fog. His fingers tightened around the coffee cup before he finally exhaled a slow, measured breath. This was going to be a headache.
He lifted his gaze back to her, his expression unreadable, his voice carrying an edge of biting sarcasm. "I wasn't aware that reporters had unrestricted access to this building."
Amayra's lips curled at the corners; her eyes gleaming with mischief. Instead of being deterred, she puffed up with pride, chin raised like a queen surveying her kingdom.
"Well, I'm not just any reporter," she countered smoothly, her voice dripping with amusement. "I'm the REPORTER." Trying to tell whose daughter she is by pointing the Surname on her nametag.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Unspoken tension crackled in the air like static before a storm. The room, once filled with the hum of idle conversation and the soft clinking of cups, now felt like a battlefield where neither side intended to retreat.
Then, something in Joseph snapped. His patience, already fraying, finally gave way.
His next words came out clipped, each syllable sharpened to a blade. "Listen, Miss… Whoever-You-Are, I don't know what exactly you're hoping to get from me, but I suggest you find someone else to badger. And next time—" his eyes darkened slightly, voice lowering to a near growl—"try not to interrupt my break."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked past her, his rejection as swift and unceremonious as a slammed door.
David, who had been silently absorbing the entire exchange like a front-row spectator to a war he hadn't signed up for, winced visibly. Even he felt the sting of that dismissal. If words could wound, Joseph's had cut deep.
But Amayra? She barely flinched.
For the first time, the confidence on her face wavered—just for a fraction of a second. A tiny twitch of her brow, a slight falter in her smirk. She wasn't used to being brushed off, let alone with such cold finality. People didn't ignore Amayra Blackwood.
Her fingers briefly curled into a fist at her side, but just as quickly, her composure returned. The slight pout on her lips transformed into something else.
A SMILE. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.
She watched Joseph retreating, her expression filled with something between amusement and raw intrigue.
Unwilling to concede, Amayra strode toward the chair across from Joseph, her presence an unshakable force of nature. With a deliberate motion, she sat down, leaning in as if proximity alone could break through his defenses. Her eyes gleamed with a relentless fire, an almost childlike fixation—the look of someone who refused to let go of a prize just out of reach.
Joseph felt the weight of her gaze pressing against him, an intensity that coiled around him like an unrelenting tide. Sighing audibly, he took another sip of coffee, as though caffeine could somehow grant him the patience he sorely lacked.
"What do you want?" His voice carried the sharp edge of exasperation, cutting straight through the tense air.
Amayra's lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "Finally, we're getting somewhere!" she declared, seizing the opening like a hunter catching prey in its sights. "I'm Amayra Blackwood, Senior Reporter at Fast News—"
Joseph didn't even let her finish. His words came like a steel trap snapping shut. "Let's skip the introductions. Just say what you came here for and leave."
Undeterred, Amayra only leaned in closer, her confidence unwavering. "Alright, I'll cut to the chase! Mr. Joseph, I'm inviting you for an exclusive interview on our channel. It'll be groundbreaking!"
Joseph didn't hesitate. "No."
A single, flat rejection. No room for negotiation.
For a moment, the air stilled. Amayra blinked—caught off guard—but only for a heartbeat. She recovered quickly, shifting tactics like a seasoned player in a high-stakes game.
"Wait! This isn't just about you. You can use this opportunity to clear up all the misconceptions floating around. Think about it— a good person like me helping someone in need—"
Her words grew more animated, her voice taking on the self-assured lilt of someone convinced they were the hero of the story. She closed her eyes in a dramatic display, gesturing to an imaginary audience, revealing in her self-proclaimed noble cause.
When she opened them again…
Joseph was gone.
She froze mid-sentence, her confident grin fading. He had walked out without a single word.
David, still nursing his own wounded pride, glanced up at her with the weary look of a man who had already lost too much today.
"If you want help, I can—"
Before he could finish, Amayra was already gone.
She bolted toward the door, heels clacking like gunfire against the tiled floor. Determination burned in her chest, fuelling her pursuit. This wasn't just about an interview anymore—this was about winning.
Down the corridor, Joseph sensed the disturbance before he even turned around. The thundering footsteps, the sheer force of someone charging toward him with a singular goal. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.
Sighing, his shoulders sagged. "Why does this always happen to me?" he muttered under his breath.
And then—fate decided to have its fun.
A sharp misstep. A sudden twist of the ankle.
The world seemed to tilt for Amayra as she lost her balance, gravity yanking her forward. Time stretched, thick and slow, turning every fraction of a second into something almost surreal.
Joseph barely had a moment to react before—she crashed into him.
For one absurd, fleeting instant, it looked like something straight out of a romance novel—Amayra, caught in his arms, breathless, looking up at him like fate had orchestrated this moment.
And just like that, the hallway plunged into stunned silence.
A presence stirred nearby. From behind a corner, Miss Mary peeked out, her eyes wide with sheer horror.She could already sense the storm brewing.
"Sir Thomas, please don't come out right now…" she whispered desperately to herself, clasping her hands as if prayer alone could change the course of fate.
And then—the door creaked open.
Out stepped Thomas Blackwood.
A man of measured steps and piercing eyes, wrapped in an air of effortless authority. He held an elegant ceramic coffee cup, its surface barely disturbed—as if not even fate itself dared spill a drop in his presence.
He didn't react at first. Didn't speak. Didn't frown. Didn't raise a brow. He simply… observed.
Joseph. Frozen, arms locked around Amayra.
Amayra. Still grinning up at him like she'd just won the jackpot as she caught him. More like opposite, but least she has him in grasp.
David. In the background, glaring into his ruined coffee, muttering something about"My hopeless love life."
And Thomas?
He took a slow, exaggerated sip of coffee.
Then—finally—he spoke.
"Well," he mused, his voice steeped in amusement, "it looks like the break room drama has officially spilled into the hallway."
The corners of Amayra's lips curled even further as she tilted her head, utterly unbothered. "See? We're already making headlines together."
Joseph's grip tightened—not out of affection, but out of sheer, bone-deep frustration. His jaw clenched, his patience thinning to a thread.
"Get. Off. Me."
With a light chuckle, Amayra stepped back, dusting herself off, her confidence completely unshaken.
"Fine," she said with a casual shrug,"I'll leave for now. But you're missing out on a golden opportunity." She threw him a wink—a silent promise that this wasn't over.
Joseph exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that could somehow dull the headache pounding behind his eyes.
Thomas, still watching the whole spectacle like an amused spectator at a grand play, tilted his head slightly.
Thomas, taking in Joseph's suffering with unmistakable amusement, tilted his head slightly, the smirk on his lips sharpening.
"Joseph," he drawled, his tone practically dripping with mock sympathy,"I didn't know you were such a charmer. Not even some celebrities have been able to capture her attention."
The words hit like a final nail in Joseph's coffin.
Joseph groaned. David sighed. And Amayra?
She walked away, her victorious smile lingering like a whisper of trouble to come.