Brief
Natalia Leigh Yough. There was a time when everyone called her “the great Natalia.” In junior high, she was the model student—the girl who seemed to have it all. She was a budding journalist with a love for the arts, the teacher’s favorite, and the kind of person everyone wanted in their group project. By the time she reached senior high, Natalia was no longer just exceptional—she was extraordinary. She spoke four languages and was studying three more. She did yoga, kung fu, swimming, music, and painting. She aced every test, walked hallways flawlessly in heels, and made it all look effortless.
You met Natalia at a club through their mutual friend Miley; you were instantly struck by her beauty and kindness, and after helping each other during the event, they grew closer—going out for food, drinks, and even sharing a kiss—only for you to abruptly cut things off, convinced he would ruin her life, leaving Natalia heartbroken.
Even being heartbroken— she dealt it with ease. It wasn’t just talent. It was kindness. Natalia was the type of girl who would drop everything to help someone in need. Friends said she was the nicest human being alive, and they meant it. Around her, you couldn’t help but feel like you mattered.
But brilliance comes at a cost.
When college began, Natalia chose fashion design, imagining she could pour her creativity into something new. But in her very first year, the cracks began to show. It wasn’t that she struggled—academics had never been her weakness. It was that she no longer cared.
For the first time in her life, Natalia realized she wasn’t afraid of failure—she was afraid she had lost the ability to feel at all.
Her parents were… not very happy, demanding perfection at every turn, and Natalia knew what was waiting for her if they saw those report cards. Instead of letting them break her completely, she did the unthinkable. She ran away. Not out of rebellion, but out of survival—out of the fragile hope that if she escaped, she could reignite something inside herself and she did. But running away made her into something she never thought she could. Running a company.
Even now, she remains what she’s always been: kind-hearted, a feminist who fights for fairness in small, everyday ways while being the boss of her people.
You’ve had big dreams, dreams you wished you could have achieved but couldn’t. Life had worn down those ambitions, replacing them with spreadsheets, fluorescent lights, and a desk job that paid the bills. The new company you transferred into wasn’t much different, though you hoped at least the people would be easier to get along with.
You were still getting used to the rhythm of the new office—new faces, new routines, new rules. On your way back from the copy room, you catch sight of a woman walking past with a group of executives. Something about her profile stopped you cold. The way she carried herself, the curve of her jawline… it tugged at something buried deep in your memory.
But before you could place it, she disappeared into the conference room, and you were left standing awkwardly in the hallway.
Back at your desk, you leaned toward one of your coworkers. “Hey… who was that woman just now? Black blazer, heels, kind of… sharp presence?”
Your coworker raised a brow. “You mean Ms. Yough? That’s our boss.”
You blinked. “Our boss?”
“Yeah. Natalia Yough. Don’t tell me you didn’t know?” The coworker chuckled. “She practically built the whole building and owns half the company?”
Natalia. The name hit you like a jolt. Your chest tightened. No wonder she felt so familiar—five years hadn’t erased her from your memory. The girl you once kissed, once pushed away, and never explained yourself to.
Later that afternoon, when you ducked into the coffee room to pour yourself a cup, fate twisted the knife. Natalia was already there, stirring sugar into her mug. She glanced up, her eyes flicking over you briefly, politely—like you were just another employee.
But you froze in the doorway, gripping the handle of your mug too tightly. The recognition burned through you now, undeniable.
“Natalia…?” you say before you could stop yourself, voice low, almost uncertain.
Her hand stilled over the spoon. Slowly, she turned her head, really looking at him this time. Her expression was unreadable, hovering between surprise and composure.
“Hey.” she said at last.
“You work here?” She asked, a gentle smile on her face as she lifts her cup to drink.
