The office was unusually quiet for a Monday morning. The type of quiet that made Amara Zainal suspicious.

She adjusted her navy blazer, took a sip of her lukewarm coffee, and tapped her fingers on the desk. Something was off. The creative floor of Z&E Marketing was rarely this calm. Usually, someone would be yelling about deadlines, laughing over weekend gossip, or arguing over font sizes on a billboard ad.

Not today.

“HR said someone new’s joining the team today,” Sara whispered, appearing at her desk like a gossiping ghost. “Rumour is—he’s from the Singapore branch. Big brain. Big ego.”

Amara arched an eyebrow. “That narrows it down to… every strategist we’ve ever met.”

Sara leaned in. “Apparently, he’s good. Really good. Like, ‘the regional director personally recommended him’ kind of good.”

Amara didn’t look up from her screen. “Let me guess. Man in a suit. Thinks buzzwords are a personality trait?”

Sara smirked. “You’ll see.”

Before Amara could respond, the glass doors at the end of the hallway slid open with a soft whoosh.

And in he walked.

Tall. Confident. Perfectly pressed charcoal suit. Designer laptop bag slung over one shoulder. Hair styled with the kind of effort that looked effortless. He had the kind of walk that belonged to people who had never been told no.

Then she saw his face.

Her breath caught.

It couldn’t be.

Ethan Lee.

No. Freaking. Way.

The same Ethan Lee who had humiliated her during a cross-branch strategy workshop last year. The man who had taken one look at her pitch casually said “Bold idea. A little messy, though. Maybe next time.”

The same man who smiled through every condescending comment like he was doing her a favour.

Her fingers curled tighter around her mug. “Unbelievable.”

Ethan handed something to HR, then glanced around the room—and his eyes landed on her.

His expression shifted from neutral to amused in under a second.

“Good morning,” he said, flashing that infuriating half-smile as he approached.

“Well, well,” he drawled, stopping at her desk. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Amara.”

She rose slowly to her feet, every movement calm and controlled. “Trust you to show up uninvited. Again.”

He chuckled, and the sound made something twist in her stomach—whether from annoyance or something else, she didn’t want to examine too closely.

“I wasn’t uninvited. I was transferred. Surprise.”

Her stomach dropped further when she saw him place his laptop bag on the desk opposite hers.

No. Surely not.

“You’re joining my team?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

He leaned casually on the edge of the desk. “It’s our team now. Guess we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

Sara, who had been silently observing, grinned like she’d been waiting her entire life for this kind of drama. “Ooooh, that’ll be fun.”

Amara sat down and opened her laptop without another word, trying to ignore the storm swirling in her chest.

She had worked too hard to let Ethan Lee—Ethan freaking Lee—waltz into her workspace, her territory, and act like he belonged here. Like they hadn’t spent three hours arguing in front of a regional director last year over campaign ethics and brand tone. Like he hadn’t smirked every time she opened her mouth.

“You look good,” he added casually, taking his seat. “Same fire. New blazer.”

“Still charming, I see,” she replied dryly. “Let me guess—you brought your own coffee machine?”

“No need,” he said, stretching. “I’ll just borrow yours.”

Amara turned her chair slightly away from him and stared at the wall for a moment, breathing deeply. There were worse things than having to work with an arrogant ex-rival… right?

Probably.

Maybe.

She glanced sideways. Ethan was already setting up his screen, acting like he hadn’t just upended her entire week.

Or month.

Or sanity.

---

Ten Minutes Later

“Okay, team,” came Puan Liyana’s voice, loud and commanding from the hallway. “Briefing room in five. Bring your brains.”

Amara stood and grabbed her notepad. Ethan followed a moment later, hands in his pockets, utterly unbothered.

They entered the meeting room side by side—yet worlds apart.

As the team filed in, Liyana gave them a tight smile. “Big news. We’ve just landed Aurora as a client. Regional skincare brand. High expectations, tight deadlines.”

A ripple of excitement buzzed through the room.

“And,” she continued, “I’ve assigned two leads for the campaign. A strategic duo.”

Amara already felt the dread forming in her chest.

“Amara Zainal,” Liyana said, smiling.

And then—

“Ethan Lee.”

The room went silent.

Amara blinked.

Ethan just smiled.

“I trust you two to bring firepower and finesse,” Liyana added, oblivious—or maybe very aware—of the tension. “You’re both brilliant. Just try not to kill each other.”

Someone snorted. Probably Sara.

Amara didn’t move.

Ethan leaned closer and whispered, “Looks like we’re partners now, Zainal.”

She didn’t look at him. “This won’t end well.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, too softly. “I think this might be the beginning of something... explosive.”

The air in the meeting room thickened as soon as the rest of the creative team filed out, leaving only Amara and Ethan behind with the campaign brief and the echo of Puan Liyana’s “Don’t kill each other” lingering in the air.

Amara sat stiffly in her chair, reading the Aurora rebranding brief like it personally offended her. Ethan, seated across the table, spun a pen between his fingers like this was just another casual Monday morning and not the beginning of her professional nightmare.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Do we start with the messaging or the visuals?”

“We start with the objectives,” Amara replied curtly. “Not the fluff.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t call brand identity fluff. Especially not for a company like Aurora.”

Amara looked up sharply. “That’s not what I meant.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy. Just clarifying. After all, I wouldn’t want to misinterpret the great Amara Zainal.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re still just as irritating as I remember.”

“And you’re still just as fiery,” he shot back, grinning. “It’s kind of comforting.”

Amara stood up and walked toward the whiteboard, grabbing a marker with slightly more force than necessary.

“Let’s just get something straight,” she said, underlining the word Repositioning on the board. “Aurora wants a fresh identity that appeals to younger women. We’re not going to get that by using the same recycled aesthetics they’ve already overused.”

Ethan joined her at the whiteboard, arms crossed. “I agree. But they also don’t want to alienate their existing base. You go too edgy, and you risk losing the very audience that’s kept them afloat.”

“So what’s your big idea?” she challenged. “Soft-focus photography and models with perfect, glowing skin who’ve clearly never had a single pimple in their lives?”

He smiled. “Actually, yes. But with elegance. Understated power. Clean lines, minimalistic typography, muted pastels. Timeless beauty.”

Amara snorted. “Sounds like every beauty ad on Instagram.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Got something better?”

She stepped aside and began sketching on the board—concepts, colour bursts, a grid of diverse faces in raw, unedited detail. “Real skin. Real power. Women with scars. Freckles. Pigmentation. No filters. No lies.”

Ethan watched, quietly.

She looked over her shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s bold.”

“It’s honest.”

“It’s risky.”

“That’s what makes it good.”

He stepped closer, eyes scanning her work. “It’s not bad,” he admitted. “But it might scare the board.”

Amara smirked. “Good. If it scares them, it means we’re getting somewhere.”

There was a silence, a flicker of mutual understanding. And then the tension returned, bubbling just under the surface.

“So, we’re doing two proposals?” she asked finally.

“Apparently.”

“We present both, and let Liyana and the client choose?”

“Winner buys the loser coffee for a month,” he said, smirking.

She narrowed her eyes. “Make it two months.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, hands locking in a firm grip that lingered just a little too long. Her pulse jumped.

She pulled back first. “We’ll build out our concepts today. Meet again tomorrow.”

“Unless you need help tonight,” he offered, tilting his head.

Amara laughed, dry and short. “I’d rather brainstorm with a whiteboard marker and a locked door.”

“Your loss,” he said with a wink as he walked out.

She rolled her eyes—hard—but the smile tugging at her lips stayed.

---

Later That Afternoon

Back at their shared desks, Amara typed furiously, adjusting campaign taglines and brushing off unsolicited comments from passing team members.

Across from her, Ethan was sketching mockup layouts. Their screens glowed like opposing galaxies: her version bold and loud, his sleek and minimal.

Sara stopped by, sipping a green smoothie. “You two haven’t strangled each other yet. I’m impressed.”

“Give it time,” Amara muttered.

Ethan glanced up. “We’re getting along surprisingly well. Aren’t we, partners?”

She didn’t answer. Mostly because she wasn’t sure what was more irritating—his sarcasm or how quickly he was getting under her skin again.

---

6:47 PM

The office had mostly cleared out.

Only a few lights remained on, casting a golden hue over their desks. Amara stretched her arms above her head and caught Ethan watching her.

“What?” she asked.

He blinked. “Nothing. Just… you’ve changed.”

“In a year?” she scoffed. “Not likely.”

“I think you have,” he said softly. “You’re sharper. More confident.”

She paused. “You used to think I was messy.”

He smiled faintly. “Messy doesn’t mean weak. Sometimes chaos leads to brilliance.”

The compliment landed harder than she expected.

“Don’t try to butter me up now,” she warned, grabbing her bag.

“Too late,” he called after her. “I already have plans to destroy your pitch.”

She glanced back, half-smiling. “Then I hope you’ve got something better than pastels and poetry, Lee.”

As she stepped into the elevator, heart racing and head spinning, she wondered when exactly she’d stopped seeing him as the enemy.

And started seeing him as... something else.

Amara didn’t like surprises. Not in her coffee, not in her inbox, and especially not in the form of HR announcements that could derail her entire professional trajectory.

But there it was.

Subject: Aurora Campaign – Project Lead Assignment

From: Puan Liyana

To: Amara Zainal, Ethan Lee

CC: Regional Management

Dear Amara & Ethan,

As discussed, both of you are now officially assigned as co-leads for the Aurora Rebranding Campaign.

This is a career-defining opportunity with strong visibility. I trust your ability to collaborate and execute.

Deadline: 3 weeks.

Presentation to Aurora board: July 19th.

No excuses. Only results.

– Liyana

Amara stared at her screen, letting the words sink in like poison slowly entering her bloodstream.

Co-leads.With Ethan.

Of course.

She barely registered Sara sliding into the seat beside her. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I might’ve preferred a ghost,” Amara muttered.

Sara leaned closer and read the email on her screen. Then she let out a low whistle. “Oof. Intense. You and Ethan as co-leads? That’s either going to end in an award... or an HR intervention.”

“He’s going to drive me insane,” Amara whispered, rubbing her temple.

As if summoned by name, Ethan appeared beside their desks, coffee in one hand, swagger in full effect.

“Got the email?” he asked casually, sipping his drink.

Amara didn’t look up. “Unfortunately.”

“I’m honored,” he said with mock sincerity. “To be partnered with the legend herself.”

“Careful,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “Flattery this early in the project makes me suspicious.”

He smirked. “Then I’ll pace myself.”

---

The Project Kick-Off

By 3:00 PM, the project room had been prepped: two long whiteboards, one giant moodboard, and a shared Google Drive folder already brimming with initial assets.

Amara entered first, notebook in hand, hair tied back in a low bun—the bun she wore when she meant business.

Ethan was already inside, typing something rapidly on his laptop, sleeves rolled up like he was ready for war.

“We need to divide responsibilities,” she said without preamble, taking a seat at the far end of the table.

He didn’t even flinch. “Sure. You take creative messaging. I’ll handle visual direction and client comms.”

She frowned. “Why would you handle visuals? I’ve led three major visual strategy projects this year.”

He looked up. “And I’ve handled six regional rollouts. One of them for Aurora.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Pulling the seniority card already?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head. “Just the experience card.”

“I don’t care how many campaigns you’ve handled in Singapore, Ethan. This isn’t your playground.”

“And it’s not yours either,” he replied, calmly but firmly. “We’re in this together. So how about we stop measuring egos and start making magic?”

That actually shut her up—for a second.

Because damn it, he was right.

“I’ll handle campaign voice and taglines,” she said finally. “You take lead on layout concepts.”

“Deal,” he said.

They held each other’s gaze a moment too long.

And then—back to business.

---

The First Brainstorm

By late evening, they were deep into sketching and debating.

Amara pinned a series of bold visuals onto the moodboard—unfiltered portraits, splashes of jewel tones, candid snapshots of women laughing, crying, living.

“This is what beauty looks like,” she said. “Not just the polished, curated perfection we see in ads. It’s real. Messy. Human.”

Ethan studied her work silently.

“It’s emotional,” he finally said.

“Exactly.”

“But also chaotic.”

She groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not judging,” he said, holding up his hands. “Just observing. This could work—but we’ll need balance. If we push too hard, the brand will panic.”

She turned toward him, arms crossed. “You think I’m reckless.”

“I think you’re passionate,” he said honestly. “It’s not a bad thing. But I’ve seen brands like Aurora before. They want change, but they also fear losing their luxury feel.”

“So what do you suggest?”

Ethan reached for the second whiteboard and began sketching—muted palettes, minimalist layouts, soft lighting with bold typography.

“Blend your fire with my structure,” he said. “We create something grounded but still brave.”

Amara watched him work, biting the inside of her cheek.

She hated that it made sense.

She hated more that he looked good doing it.

---

After Hours

By 8:00 PM, the office was mostly empty, save for the hum of printers and distant elevator dings.

Amara stood stretching at the window, looking out at the KL skyline. The lights twinkled against the navy sky like a reflection of her own scattered thoughts.

Ethan came up beside her, quiet for once.

“This might actually work,” she said softly.

He nodded. “It’s strange, but yeah. We don’t agree on much... but when we do, it clicks.”

She turned to him. “Still planning to outshine me?”

“Always,” he replied with a grin. “But I’ll try to make it look like an accident.”

She laughed—genuinely. The first time in days.

And for a fleeting moment, things didn’t feel so complicated.

Just challenging. Exciting.

Alive.