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❝⠀A good story isn't just about what's said—it's about what's left unsaid. The space between the words is where the truth lives.⠀❞
PROLOGUE
Adrian Carlson grew up in Chicago, the eldest of three in a family that valued practicality over passion. His father was a corporate lawyer, his mother a respected professor, and both expected their children to pursue stable, prestigious careers. Journalism, in their eyes, was neither.
Adrian, however, had always been drawn to stories—how they were told, what they revealed, and the power they held. He started as a reporter straight out of college, cutting his teeth in hard news before shifting toward long-form editorial work. His ability to remain calm under pressure and his knack for shaping narratives quickly caught the attention of industry veterans, and by his early thirties, he was one of the youngest managing editors at a major publication.
Despite his professional success, his personal life had been less structured. He'd been engaged once, years ago, but the relationship crumbled under the weight of long hours and his relentless ambition. Since then, he'd kept most of his relationships casual, too aware of the sacrifices required to reach the top.
Now, at 39, Adrian was the Editor-in-Chief of Pulse, a men's magazine that had weathered its fair share of industry turbulence. Under his leadership, it had evolved—balancing traditional masculinity with modern perspectives, avoiding the pitfall of becoming outdated while still holding onto its identity. He was calculated in his decisions, deliberate in his leadership, and, despite his calm exterior, deeply invested in making Pulse not just relevant, but essential.
Even if he didn't admit it out loud, he knew that for all the stories he helped tell, there was still one he hadn't quite figured out—his own.
PRESENT DAY
Adrian Carlson stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Laurent-Ellis event hall, a whiskey in one hand and a folded program in the other. His dark eyes flicked over the list of nominees, pausing briefly on the names from Pulse, before he exhaled softly through his nose. A small, satisfied smirk touched his lips. It had been a strong year for the magazine. Stronger than most had expected, considering the industry's ever-changing landscape and the constant debate over whether men's magazines were still relevant in the modern media space.
He tipped his glass back for a slow sip, the ice clinking against the crystal, before he felt a presence settle beside him.
"Gloating?" Heather Moore's voice was amused as she joined him, her own drink in hand.
Adrian chuckled, glancing sideways at his executive editor. "Not yet. Maybe if we actually win something."
She hummed, a knowing sound. "Oh, come on, Pulse cleaned up this year. At the very least, we'll take home something for design. Rob and his team have been killing it."
Adrian nodded, gaze sweeping the room. The event space was buzzing with energy—writers, editors, designers, and executives from every Laurent-Ellis publication mingling under the glow of soft, strategically placed lighting. Pulse might not have been the crown jewel of the company, not in the way Nouvelle was, but they were proving they still had a place. His place.
A flaSh of movement caught his attention—a woman with long, dark hair brushing past on her way to the buffet. Younger, likely one of the newer hires. She was laughing at something, her eyes bright as she made an offhand comment to a colleague who had already abandoned her in favor of the food.
Heather followed his gaze, her lips curving slightly. "Chloe Hamilton."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "New?"
"Relatively," she confirmed. "Hired a couple of months ago for Confidential."
Ah. That made sense. He'd skimmed a few of her pieces—not bad, though a little green. Still, she had a voice, and that mattered.
"She any good?"
"She's got potential," Heather admitted. "Sharp. Quick. Needs some polish, but she's figuring it out."
Adrian hummed in response, shifting his attention back to the conversation at hand. He wasn't in the habit of micromanaging the magazine's individual columns—he had people like Heather for that—but he made it a point to know the talent under his roof.
And Chloe Hamilton, it seemed, was someone worth keeping an eye on.
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