404: Love Not Found

Manon

I never knew how good I was at taking risks until I packed up my life, left my two-bedroom apartment, and moved to New York. The city that never sleeps, where everything seems to happen all at once.

The place where dreams are made.

New York is loud, crowded, and impatient… and somehow, it still felt like the only place my dream could survive.

And I’m hoping it will come true right here at 404 Group of Companies. One of the top gadget producers in the city. I had applied for a position, and guess what? I passed the interview. But passing the interview doesn't mean instant employment at 404. It means starting as an intern, on probation. And that’s where I am now.

I just have to earn twenty points in six months to become a certified employee. Sounds simple, right? Except, at 404, nothing is ever simple. From what I’ve heard, getting even one point is like scuba diving in shark-infested waters.

But not for me. I’m a goal-getter, focus-oriented, and determined to become a permanent employee here. I’ll work until I’m sixty, make enough, then retire — just like Jenna from Accounting at my old job.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, because if Jenna from Accounting could do it, why can’t I?

I let out a deep breath and adjusted the strap of my handbag, smoothing down the sleeves of my blue-and-white striped shirt, not that it needed straightening. My nerves just needed something to do.

For five whole minutes, I’d been staring up at the skyscraper, all glass and steel, stretching so high it almost seemed to scrape the morning sky. Now or never. I checked my wristwatch as I pushed through the revolving doors. 7:30 a.m. Exactly on time. Early to bed, early to rise, I reminded myself.

Inside, the lobby was even more impressive — polished floors, bright lights, the kind of sleek minimalism that screamed tech giant. 404 didn’t just look like a company; it looked like the future.

I couldn’t resist. Out came my phone, a quick snap, and done. Of course I had to post it to Instagram. My five thousand followers were definitely going to eat this up.

Thank God I went with the striped shirt, black suit pants, and my trusty Doc Martens. Professional, but still me.

I was busy typing out a caption for my photo as I walked toward the elevator when, out of nowhere, someone’s shoulder slammed into mine. The jolt knocked my phone straight out of my hand, and it clattered to the floor with a sickening crack.

“No, no, no!” I gasped, dropping to my knees. My screen was spiderwebbed with cracks. Perfect. Just perfect. The man who’d hit me didn’t even bother to look back — just kept striding toward the elevator like nothing had happened.

How rude.

I didn’t have spare cash lying around to fix this. Most of my savings had already been swallowed up by that tiny apartment thirty minutes from here. Which meant… this stranger owed me.

Fueled by indignation, I marched after him and jabbed his shoulder. “Excuse me!”

He turned, and my words died in my throat.

Holy sweet potatoes.

The man was absurdly, unfairly gorgeous. Dark hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial, eyes so green they almost glowed under the lobby lights, a jawline that could probably cut glass. For a second, I forgot why I’d even chased him down. My heart was sprinting like it was in a marathon, and I had the sudden, ridiculous urge to check if Vogue was missing one of their cover models.

Of course, he just raised one brow at me, cool and unimpressed.

Right. Phone. Anger. Focus.

“You… you shoved me back there,” I managed, my voice sharper than I expected.

“So?” His brow furrowed, like I’d just interrupted something important.

I scoffed, planting a hand on my hip. “So? So-r-r-y. The word is sorry. You owe me an apology.”

He gave a low, humorless chuckle. “Don’t ever touch me again.” With that, he turned as if I were nothing more than a buzzing fly.

My jaw dropped. Did that just happen? I glanced around, half-expecting someone else in the lobby to confirm that I wasn’t hallucinating.

Oh, no. No way in hell he was walking away after that. Nobody talks to me like that and gets away with it.

I strode after him, cutting him off before he reached the elevator. “Excuse me, Mr. Overlord, but you literally broke my phone.” I held up the cracked screen for emphasis.

His eyes flicked down at it, then back up at me. “And?”

“And you’re going to pay for the damages.” My tone was fierce, even if my pulse was doing backflips.

That earned me a laugh — loud, sharp, like I’d just told the best joke of his life. My stomach knotted. What the hell was funny about this?

“I guess you’re new here,” he finally said, his smirk dripping with disdain. “If you want to keep your place, you’d better learn to keep your mouth shut.”

Wow. Such audacity should be on display in a museum, right next to the dinosaurs.

“Just who the hell do you think you are?!” I yelled after him, my voice echoing through the lobby as he strode into the elevator. I was ready to storm after him when a hand caught my arm.

I spun around, scowl loaded, only to find myself staring at a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a popular anime. Curly red hair, amber eyes, and a smile so beautiful it could probably calm a crying baby.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said, her tone calm but edged with warning.

“Do what?” I yanked my arm free and folded both across my chest.

“Whatever you had in mind.” Her lips twitched in something close to amusement. “Let me guess, you’re new here.”

Suspicion narrowed my eyes, but I gave a small nod.

“Thought so.” She tilted her head toward the elevator. “That’s Kyren Zale. Son of the owner. Future heir. Around here, getting on his bad side is… let’s just say, career suicide."

My stomach dropped, but I forced my shoulders to square. “Well, too late. He’s already on my bad side. Look, he cracked my phone.” I shoved the shattered screen between us like evidence in court.

She glanced at it, lips pressing together in sympathy. “File it with HR. Don’t poke the bear.”

“Bear? Please. Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he gets to walk around acting like everyone else is disposable. I mean, he told me never to touch him. Have you seen me? I’m at least a ten!” I waved a hand down my outfit for emphasis.

Her brows arched, and she scratched her ear like she was debating honesty. “Mmm… girl to girl? You’re more of a nine.”

I blinked, then smirked. “Fine. Solid seven on a bad day.”

That cracked her. She laughed, dimples flashing, and before I knew it I was laughing too.

She caught her breath, still smiling. “Trust me, it’s better to let it go. By the way, I’m Elysia. And you are…?”

“I’m Manon. Manon Dezerai,” I said, extending my hand.

Elysia took it with a warm smile. “It’s nice to—”

“Ely!” A voice cut her off.

I froze. The sound hit me like a jolt to the spine. Familiar. Impossible. My pulse stumbled, then raced ahead, wild and uneven.

I looked up. At first, he was just a figure in the distance. But as he came closer, the details sharpened: blonde hair catching the lobby lights, those sharp, icy blue eyes I’d memorized in another lifetime. And the scar—God, that scar—etched across his jaw, the one secret only he and I shared.

My breath caught. My chest ached. No. No, it couldn’t be.

“Harry!” Elysia lit up, throwing her arms around him as he reached her.

The world tilted. My Harry. The man I had mourned. The man I had searched for, cried for, prayed for. Three years of grief, and he was here. Alive. Whole. In New York. Fate wasn’t just playing games with me. She was laughing in my face.

Manon

I thought New York would be a clean slate. Turns out, it’s a cruel joke, more tangled with my past than I ever imagined.

My eyes stayed locked on him, searching for some proof I was wrong. A flaw, a detail out of place. Anything that could tell me this wasn’t the face I’d carried in memory like a scar.

“Did you finally find a place to park?” Elysia’s voice cut through my thoughts, bright and casual, as if the ground hadn’t just shifted under me.

“Yeah,” he replied, gaze fixed on her. “Almost every spot was taken. What’s going on?”

Look at me, Harrington Matthew. Just look at me.

“Today’s the start for the new interns, remember?” she explained.

“Ah.” He nodded, the sound too normal, too easy for the storm that was building inside me.

And then, at last, he turned.

Those ice-blue eyes met mine, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. The scar along his jaw—undeniable. My chest tightened so sharply I thought I’d fold.

“