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Damien Blackwood never noticed interns. Especially not quiet, exhausted ones like Maya Thompson — the scholarship girl juggling three jobs, night classes, and a sick younger brother. He believed they were from different worlds. Though his eyes often fell uncontrollably on this hard-working girl, he brushed the strange feelings aside. Until the day he witnessed another man asking her to be his girlfriend. “You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” the ruthless CEO growled, caging her against the cold glass with his tall, powerful body. Maya's breath hitched. “Mr. Blackwood—” He swallowed her words with a fierce kiss. One large hand yanked her conservative blouse open while the other shoved her skirt up to her waist, pressing her bare breasts against the floor-to-ceiling window. The entire glittering city stretched beneath them. "No—The curtains aren't closed," she whimpered as his thick, hard length ground against her soaked panties. "Let them watch," he growled, freeing his heavy c*ck and thrusting deep into her in one ruthless stroke. "I want the whole f*cking city to know you're mine." ------------- Maya Thompson had been running on caffeine and hope for years. It was 5:30 in the morning, and the café where she worked was still dark when she unlocked the front door. The quiet hum of the machines, the aroma of roasted beans, and the familiar click of her name tag against her apron—these were the things that kept her grounded. By the time the sun broke through the city skyline, she’d already served a dozen tired professionals on their way to offices she could only dream of entering. But today was different. Today, for the first time in what felt like forever, she had something to look forward to. Her professor had pulled her aside after class the night before. Maya had expected a warning—maybe about her grades slipping, or her frequent absences. But instead, he’d smiled, handing her a printed letter with the university’s official seal. We are pleased to inform you… You’ve been selected for this year’s exclusive internship opportunity with Blackwood Enterprises… She couldn’t breathe at first. She’d blinked at the words, certain it was a mistake. Blackwood Enterprises. The most powerful company in the city. Some said in the country. A global empire built on dominance, discipline, and a reputation for absolute excellence. Every year, Blackwood Enterprises selected one top-performing university to receive a single internship spot. Just one. And this year, they’d chosen her school. Out of hundreds of applicants—many with more impressive résumés, fancier last names, or family connections—Maya Thompson got it. Her professor had smiled when she’d stared in disbelief. “Sometimes, hard work beats pedigree,” he’d said. “You earned this.” She had gone home shaking, tears welling up before the apartment door had even closed behind her. Jamie, her younger brother, had been waiting for her on the couch, pale but smiling, his hospital ID wristband still on from the day’s check-up. When she told him the news, he grinned the widest he had in months. “See?” he said. “You’re magic, May.” No. She wasn’t magic. She was desperate. And this… this was a miracle. ⸻ Maya checked herself in the mirror twice before leaving the next morning. Her blouse was secondhand but pressed. Her black slacks were one of two pairs she rotated for formal classes. She wore her only decent shoes and tucked her hair into a neat bun. She had no car, so she took the subway, her chest tight the entire ride. Everyone she passed seemed wealthier, more polished, more like they belonged at a place like Blackwood. But she had earned this. She whispered the words to herself as the elevator rose toward the sky, taking her to a world she’d never touched. The moment the doors opened into the Blackwood Enterprises lobby, Maya felt like she had walked into another universe. The reception area on the first floor was sleek and soulless, a cave of glass, chrome, and silent judgment. People in tailored suits glided across the polished floors like ghosts with million-dollar agendas. Maya approached the main desk slowly. The receptionist didn’t look up right away. “Yes?” the woman asked coolly, finally acknowledging her. “I—um—I’m Maya Thompson. I’m here to report for the internship program,” she said, her voice quieter than she’d meant. The receptionist’s gaze swept over her outfit like it had personally offended her. “One moment.” She picked up the phone, murmured something quickly, then set it back in place. “You’ll be reporting directly to the executive floor. Someone will meet you outside the CEO’s office.” Maya blinked. “The… CEO’s office?” The woman’s sharp smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Mr. Blackwood’s executive team prefers to meet with interns personally. You’re expected.” Maya nodded stiffly and turned toward the next bank of elevators, the private ones this time. Each step felt heavier than the last. The elevator dinged open into a space that looked nothing like the rest of the building. The upper floors were silent and cold, the walls a mixture of smoked glass and matte black finishes. Everything here whispered wealth and power. The carpet was so thick her shoes didn’t make a sound. Her breath caught as she took in the sprawling hallway lined with frosted doors and minimal gold-lettered signage. At the very end, she saw a pair of large glass doors etched with: D. Blackwood – CEO Her pulse kicked into overdrive. She wasn’t meeting him. Not yet. Just the secretary. Still, the knowledge of who sat behind that door—Damien Blackwood himself—was enough to make her knees weaken. Everyone had heard of him. 35. Billionaire. Untouchable. Damien was the man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make someone crumble. He’d turned a once-small logistics firm into a multinational beast through sheer vision and ruthless execution. He was rarely seen, never interviewed, and only photographed when absolutely necessary. The tabloids didn’t know what to make of him, and even his competitors feared him. The man was a ghost wrapped in steel. And she was about to be on his floor. A woman with a sharp bob haircut and stilettos that could kill stepped out from behind the reception desk. “Maya Thompson?” she asked, clipboard in hand. “Yes, ma’am,” Maya replied quickly. “Follow me.” The assistant didn’t wait, and Maya scrambled to keep up. They passed through a small corridor before entering a pristine private lounge just outside the CEO’s office. Low, leather couches. A coffee bar that looked untouched. A view of the entire city skyline. Maya stood awkwardly near the wall. “You’ll be oriented today by one of Mr. Blackwood’s executive aides,” the woman said, handing her a thick confidentiality packet. “For now, read this. He doesn’t tolerate leaks, and you’ll be expected to abide by internal silence policies immediately. Sign all of it.” The woman turned and left. Maya sat slowly, fingers trembling as she reached for the pen in her bag. Her gaze drifted to the office door. Behind that door was Damien Blackwood. The man who owned all this. The man she would soon work for. She swallowed hard. The internship was supposed to be the start of something good. A blessing. A lifeline. But sitting there, her signature halfway scrawled on the dotted line, Maya felt something twist in her chest. Hope… or warning. She didn’t know which. Chapter 2: The Ghost in the Glass Tower Maya showed up fifteen minutes early the next day, because late wasn’t even an option in a place like this. She hadn’t slept. Her mind kept replaying the elevator ride, the heavy silence outside Damien Blackwood’s office, and the assistant’s icy warning: “Sign everything. He doesn’t tolerate leaks.” It felt less like an internship and more like stepping into a lion’s den—with a blindfold on. Now, walking into the private lounge again, Maya smoothed her blouse and tried to breathe. There was no coffee shop hum here, no casual chatter. Just tension. Glass. Steel. Control. “Thompson?” a sharp voice called. Maya looked up. A woman—blonde, tall, sleek as marble—stepped out from a nearby door, holding a digital tablet. Her heels clicked like gunfire on the floor. “I’m Elle. Mr. Blackwood’s senior executive assistant,” she said. “You’ll be working under me.” “Yes, ma’am,” Maya said immediately. Elle arched a brow. “No need for ‘ma’am.’ Just do your job right.” Maya nodded, feeling like she was already failing. They moved down a long corridor lined with black-tinted glass. On the far right, she caught a glimpse of a closed door guarded by two silent men in suits. No signs. No labels. But she knew what—who—was behind that door. The air shifted there. Like the building itself knew who was sitting just beyond the glass. They didn’t stop. Instead, Elle led her into a smaller office on the next wing—sleek desk, minimalist décor, a corner with a round table stacked with marketing folders. “You’ll start here,” Elle said briskly. “You’ll help file, sort, review, and—if you prove you’re more than decorative—assist in prepping internal reports.” Maya’s face warmed. Decorative? “I’ll do whatever’s needed,” she replied carefully. Elle studied her with a flicker of something unreadable. Not quite hostility. Not quite approval either. “We’ll see,” she said. “Blackwood Enterprises doesn’t hand out gold stars for effort.” The morning flew by in a blur of names, passwords, documents, and near-constant corrections. Maya’s hands were trembling by the time she finally got into the rhythm of the database system. Elle never raised her voice, but her critiques were sharp. “Don’t highlight in red, that’s only for flagged deals.” “Always file CEO-level memos in the locked drive first.” “No coffee runs. This isn’t a sitcom.” Maya bit her tongue and nodded, absorbing every detail like a sponge. But what rattled her the most was how present Damien Blackwood felt, even without showing his face. Everyone referred to him with a hush, like he could appear at any moment. “Mr. Blackwood doesn’t like delays.” “Make sure the reports are uploaded by three—Mr. Blackwood checks them personally.” “Don’t block that hallway. That’s Mr. Blackwood’s route.” His name wasn’t spoken with admiration. It was reverence. Caution. Power made flesh. She saw glimpses of him, or thought she did—reflections in the glass, flashes of black suits and broad shoulders down distant hallways. Always surrounded. Always guarded. Never still. But she never saw his face. Not yet. At lunch, Maya sat alone on the rooftop terrace employees rarely used. She could see the city stretched endlessly below her—millions of lives moving forward, just like hers was trying to. She unwrapped a sad-looking sandwich from her bag and took a small bite. Her phone buzzed. A text from the hospital. Jamie’s levels stable today. Docs say we’re holding steady. She smiled in relief, exhaling for what felt like the first time in hours. That one text reminded her why she was here. This wasn’t about chasing some corporate dream. She wasn’t here to get a foot in the door of luxury. She was here for him. Her brother. The only family she had left. If working under people like Elle… in buildings like this… around ghosts like Damien Blackwood… could get her even one inch closer to a stable future — She’d take it. She’d take all of it. When she returned from lunch, there was a new tension in the air. People were whispering. Moving faster. Maya ducked into her assigned office, but Elle was already at her desk, tapping out emails furiously. “Something wrong?” Maya asked softly. Elle didn’t look up. “Mr. Blackwood’s returning to the tower today. Earlier than expected.” Maya’s mouth went dry. He’d been away? On business? She hadn’t known. Elle stood suddenly and smoothed the front of her dress. “Do not speak to him. Do not look directly at him unless spoken to. And whatever you do, don’t block the elevator corridor when he passes through.” Maya blinked. “I—I wasn’t planning to—” “I’m serious,” Elle snapped, suddenly deadpan. “He notices everything.” The next thirty minutes were chaos. The lounge was cleared. The hallway near the executive suite was roped off. Staff bustled like nervous birds. Maya stayed rooted behind her desk, eyes glued to her monitor—but her heart thudded loud in her chest. Some part of her knew… she’d feel it when he arrived. And she did. A sudden stillness. The way voices dropped. The faint thrum of elevator doors opening somewhere behind her. Footsteps. Heavy. Measured. Confident. She didn’t dare turn her head. But she saw Elle straighten, clipboard in hand. Saw the reflection of a tall, broad-shouldered figure flanked by two others pass by the tinted glass. She only caught the edge of a jawline. A cufflink flashing under the light. Then he was gone. Damien Blackwood. Real. Walking these halls. Breathing the same air. And Maya—just the intern—was officially in his world now. Chapter 3: A Flicker in the Periphery Damien Blackwood didn’t notice interns. He didn’t need to. Most interns weren’t even worth a glance—those rare few who managed to land the coveted spot at Blackwood Enterprises came through grueling university vetting, a token gesture from the company to maintain ties with elite academic institutions. Only one university was selected each year. Only one student given the opportunity. It was part PR, part power move. Let the schools brag. Let the students dream. It kept the illusion of outreach alive—while reminding everyone just how unreachable Blackwood truly was. They never lasted. They cracked under pressure, or folded the second they realized working for Blackwood wasn’t a fantasy. He didn’t tolerate weakness. He didn’t tolerate clutter. He didn’t tolerate noise. So he was confused—annoyed, even—when he noticed her. It happened by accident. He’d just returned from a two-week summit in Tokyo—exhausting, infuriating, profitable—and was storming through the 42nd floor toward his private suite when a flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye. He didn’t know why he turned his head. But he did. She was seated inside one of the auxiliary offices—what used to be a storage suite, if he remembered correctly. The glass was slightly fogged from the morning humidity, but he could see her clearly. A girl. Young. Slender. Head bent over a tablet, one foot nervously tapping beneath her desk. Her blouse wasn’t designer. Her hair wasn’t professionally styled. And the shoes—he caught them just as she shifted—were scuffed at the toe. Worn out, like they’d walked too many miles for too many years. She didn’t see him. But he saw her. And something about the image burned into his mind like a static shock. Inside his office, Damien shrugged off his coat and dropped it on the couch. Ellie didn’t miss a beat, continuing her rundown as she trailed in behind him. “The Zurich supplier issue could delay shipments by two weeks, but I’ve already escalated it to Calen’s team. Legal wants to revisit the indemnity clause on the Haven project. Oh—and the new intern arrived two days ago.” He was halfway through unbuttoning his cuffs when that last part made him pause—barely, but just enough. “Her name’s Maya Thompson,” Ellie added, scanning her tablet. “Twenty-five. On a full academic scholarship at Eastborough. Lives off-campus, no car, no known social media presence under her name. Coffee shop job in the mornings, night classes in business admin. Nothing flashy. No red flags. Just… quiet. Focused. I put her in one of the smaller rooms to keep her out of the way.” He didn’t look up. Didn’t say anything. Just moved around to the other side of his desk and sank into his chair like a man walking into battle. The laptop in front of him blinked to life. Numbers. Contracts. A dozen meetings lined up like dominoes waiting to fall. But he didn’t see any of it. Not really. His fingers hovered over the keys, but his mind—unwillingly, frustratingly—replayed the image of the girl in the glass room. Quiet. Focused. Scuffed shoes. His face remained cold. Blank. Detached. But something inside him shifted. A twitch. A ripple. Nothing visible, nothing he’d ever acknowledge. He didn’t know why she caught his eye. Didn’t care to understand it. And yet, somehow, the name Maya Thompson now lived somewhere in the back of his head. Uninvited. Unwanted. Undeniably there. That night, Damien sat alone in his office long after the building had quieted. The skyline burned orange and gold through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, but he didn’t see it. Her file sat open beside his untouched dinner. Eastborough. Late scholarship. No disciplinary marks. GPA in the top percentile. Barista by necessity, not ambition. Caregiver to a younger brother. Orphaned at eighteen. No ties. No scandals. No social reach. Just grit. Raw, unpolished grit. She didn’t walk like someone chasing attention. She walked like someone who no longer had the luxury of pretending. Her eyes held exhaustion—but not defeat. That innocence in her expression? It wasn’t soft. It was hard-won. The kind you fight to keep when life keeps trying to take it from you. He didn’t know why it interested him. Scratch that. It bothered him that it interested him. He’d seen beautiful women. Slept with them. Dismissed them. But her? She was… untouched by this world. Not fragile. Just unreachable. And now? He couldn’t stop seeing her. Ellie stood across from him, giving the end-of-day updates with her usual clipped efficiency. “Board wants Q2 projections finalized by Friday. I told them to wait. PR flagged another influencer scandal—something to do with Nexus Tech’s ex-ambassador and—” “What do you think of the intern?” Damien asked suddenly. Ellie blinked. “Thompson?” “Yes.” She hesitated. “She’s… quiet. Obedient. Doesn’t get in the way.” “That’s all?” “She’s not here to make a splash. Probably just wants the credit to graduate.” He nodded once. Thought for a moment. Then, calmly: “Move her to the west wing.” Ellie straightened. “That’s close to the inner teams. PR, strategy—” “I know where it is.” She hesitated again, then softened her tone. “Understood.” Damien turned back to his screen. The girl with the scuffed shoes had just stepped closer to his world. He didn’t know why. But he was watching now. And Damien Blackwood never watched without reason. Chapter 4: The Shift Maya had barely slept. By the time she finished her night class and got Jamie settled after his medications, it was nearly 2:00 a.m. She dozed off for what felt like minutes before the alarm blared at 4:15. Two hours. That’s all her body got—and somehow, it felt like enough. It had to be. She stood in the bathroom mirror, brushing concealer under her eyes like it could erase exhaustion. The overhead light flickered once, humming the way old bulbs do when they’re close to burning out. Just like her. She pulled her hair into a low bun, pinned it tightly, and stared at herself for a moment. Her blouse was clean but fading at the seams. The slacks were still holding on. The same scuffed shoes. It didn’t matter. She straightened her shoulders and whispered, “Get through today.” Jamie was still asleep on the couch when she left. She placed a kiss on his forehead, tucked the blanket higher, and scribbled a note by his meds in case she got home late again. Subway. Walk. Elevator. The now-familiar routine brought her back into the steel and silence of Blackwood Enterprises. It wasn’t even 7:30 a.m., and still, the place felt alive. Not buzzing with people—but alert. Like the building itself was awake before anyone else. The security guard on the 42nd floor gave her a curt nod as she passed. She didn’t expect smiles here. When she reached her assigned office, Elle wasn’t at her desk. The silence was both a relief and unnerving. Maya set her bag down, logged into the system, and started sorting the flagged documents from the night before. She moved quickly, precisely. Efficiency was survival. Half an hour later, Elle appeared without warning, heels clicking like thunder across the marble. “You’re being moved,” she said, tossing a folder onto Maya’s desk without so much as a good morning. Maya blinked. “I—I’m sorry?” Elle didn’t sit. She didn’t smile either. “Mr. Blackwood wants you relocated to the west wing.” “The… west wing?” “The one closer to the executive strategy and PR units.” Maya’s heart skipped. “But—why?” Elle’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “It’s not your place to ask.” Maya looked down quickly. “I understand.” “Take your things. Now. Someone will escort you.” She gathered her tablet, the documents she’d been reviewing, and shoved her pen into the front pocket of her bag. Her palms were sweaty, and she felt that familiar weight in her stomach—the one that used to settle there during tests she wasn’t ready for or doctor appointments she couldn’t afford. A man in a dark suit appeared by the door. Silent. Efficient. Not a word spoken between him and Elle. He gestured. She followed. They didn’t go far—just a few turns through a sleek maze of glass partitions and shadowed hallways. But the change was immediate. The energy shifted. The west wing was quieter, but not in a peaceful way. In a loaded way. The kind of quiet that meant decisions were being made behind closed doors. Lives changed with a sentence. Stocks rose and fell depending on what happened in these rooms. Her new desk was outside a frosted glass office labeled Strategic Development – Internal Comms. A different assistant—older, sharper—barely glanced up as Maya arrived. “You’ll coordinate directly with the comms team when assigned,” she said dryly. “Otherwise, sort and prep internal reports. Deadlines are posted weekly. Don’t miss them.” Maya sat slowly, placing her bag on the floor. Her new chair was more ergonomic, her monitor larger, and the view—God, the view—stretched across the skyline with unapologetic arrogance. For a moment, she just sat still. What had changed? Had she done something wrong? Or… something right? Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened her inbox. There was a single new message: From: e.woods@blackwoodent.com Subject: Relocation Notice Per Mr. Blackwood’s directive, your station has been moved. Continue performing your duties as assigned. Any further questions may be directed to HR. – E.W. Mr. Blackwood. He’d noticed her? She hadn’t even seen his face. Just the reflection in the glass. The flash of a cufflink. The impossible presence that seemed to follow him like gravity. How could someone like that remember her at all? But still—he had. Somehow. Her thoughts were spinning when a cheery voice suddenly cut through the tension. “Hi! Oh my God—you must be the intern, right?!” Maya jumped slightly, her hand hovering over her keyboard. A woman appeared beside her desk with a wide smile, oversized glasses, and a shock of wavy hair dyed a soft plum color that should’ve clashed with the strict dress code—but somehow didn’t. She wore heels with little yellow suns on them. Real ones. With faces. “I’m Harper. Harper Lin. PR generalist and certified office snack hoarder.” She extended her hand dramatically. “And you, my dear, look like you just walked into a villain’s lair.” Maya blinked, then smiled hesitantly. “I’m Maya. Maya Thompson.” “Cute name! You look like a Maya. I knew the moment I saw your outfit you weren’t one of them.” Maya tilted her head. “Them?” “The corporate drones who forgot how to smile. Don’t worry, they’re mostly harmless. Just… avoid the guy from mergers. He hasn’t blinked since ‘09.” Maya let out a quiet laugh, and it surprised even her. “Okay… I’ll keep that in mind.” Harper leaned against the edge of the desk like they’d been friends for months. “So. Welcome to the chaos. You’re lucky—our wing’s the least soul-crushing. Strategic comms is stiff, but the PR folks are halfway human. Plus, we have the best snack drawer on this floor. And I have the passcode.” “Thank you. Honestly, I was kind of bracing for, I don’t know… ice?” “Oh, there’s ice,” Harper said, grinning. “But you get used to the cold. Or bring a flamethrower. Either way, you’re in now. That means you’ve earned the right to survive. Barely.” Before Maya could respond, the door behind her opened again. “Thompson,” a clipped voice called. Maya turned to find Trina, one of the PR managers she’d briefly met during orientation. “You’re tagging along for this morning’s internal pitch review. Bring your notes. Don’t speak unless spoken to.” “Yes, ma’am,” Maya replied. Harper gave her a wink and whispered, “Don’t trip. That’s how they w**d out the weak.” Maya grinned despite herself. Then followed Trina through the long hallway and into a sleek glass conference room. Five minutes passed. Then ten. People trickled in—power suits, expensive watches, silence. Then— He entered. Damien Blackwood didn’t just walk. He commanded space. He wore black, of course. His eyes were unreadable, his expression carved in something colder than stone. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Clean lines, no warmth. Maya didn’t look directly at him. She didn’t have to. He passed close enough that she could smell the faintest trace of something sharp—clean, expensive, dangerous. His hand brushed the table as he sat. A flick of his wrist. His voice when he spoke was low and smooth and utterly without hesitation. Everything in the room bowed toward him. Even time. And still—somehow—Maya felt the burn of his gaze settle on her for just a second too long. Not by accident. Not in passing. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She just sat there, pretending not to notice. But her pulse betrayed her. And deep down, she knew— This shift? This move? It wasn’t random. It wasn’t protocol. Damien Blackwood had noticed her. And now? She wasn’t just part of the building. She was on his radar. And she didn’t know yet if that was a blessing… or a curse. Chapter 5: On the Edge of Control Damien Blackwood never looked twice. Until now. The conference room was already humming with tension when Damien entered. He didn’t need to look to know the lineup—department heads, senior comms staff, strategy leads. All waiting. All curated. All afraid to breathe too loud before he sat. He moved with deliberate precision. Black tailored suit. White shirt. No tie. Calculated. Everything he did—every cufflink, every silence, every dam step—was calculated. The pitch meeting wasn’t about the pitch. It was about control. About reminding them who was in charge. Who built this empire from the ground up. Who could tear it down if he wanted to. He passed the long glass table, eyes scanning without moving. Observing without appearing to. Calculating risk, performance, allegiance. Then—he saw her. Not directly. Just… enough. Maya Thompson. She sat near the end of the table, partially obscured by Trina’s shoulder. Her posture stiff, hands folded tightly over a leather-bound notebook. She wasn’t dressed differently from yesterday, not significantly—but here, in this room, with the sun streaming in behind her and the city sprawling like a battlefield below? She didn’t look like an intern. She looked like a variable. Damien took his seat at the head of the table. He didn’t speak. Not yet. Let the silence settle. Let them sweat. Trina cleared her throat first. “Today’s pitch focuses on our updated internal comms strategy for Q3, including revised language packages for the client-facing teams and streamlined messaging across global markets.” Her voice faded into the background. Not because she was unimportant—Trina was razor-sharp—but because Maya shifted. She was taking notes. Small, precise strokes of her pen. Quick glances between slides and speakers. Attention like a weapon. No fidgeting. No side glances. Just pure, controlled focus. Damien should’ve ignored it. Should’ve turned his attention to the deck or the projections or the strategy breakdowns. But his eyes kept drifting back. Not obviously. Not enough for anyone to notice. Except maybe her. Because she was trying too hard not to look at him. And that? That told him everything. She had noticed him. She knew he’d noticed her. He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled beneath his chin as the slides changed. No expression. No tells. But in his mind, the questions turned over like dark cards. What was she doing here? Why did she matter? Why hadn’t she broken yet? He’d seen the type before. Interns with grit. Desperation. Humble enough to work. Hard enough to last. But they always showed their hand eventually. Arrogance. Ambition. Entitlement. He didn’t see it in her. Not yet. Just this coiled quiet. This strange, burning awareness that made no sense—and refused to go away. “Mr. Blackwood?” Trina’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He blinked once, slow and deliberate, and lifted his gaze to hers. “Yes.” “Any notes on the phase-two messaging structure?” He didn’t look at the screen. “It’s bloated. Cut it by thirty percent. Push the emotional cues higher. Avoid passive constructions—reclaim narrative control.” Trina nodded quickly. “Understood.” He saw Maya’s pen pause, then scribble faster. Interesting. The rest of the meeting passed in fragments. Voices. Slides. Data. But Damien was elsewhere. Tracking her reactions. Her restraint. Watching the way she flinched slightly when Harper whispered something to her. Harper. Of course it would be Harper. She was the only one on this floor with a soul—and a tendency to adopt new strays. His jaw tensed the moment he saw Maya smile at her. It wasn’t irritation. Not exactly. But it was something close. Something dangerous. When the meeting adjourned, chairs scraped lightly across the floor as people stood and began filtering out in silence. Some nodded at him. Others didn’t dare. He didn’t move. He waited. Maya was nearly the last to stand. Her notebook clutched to her chest, her hair falling slightly loose from its bun. That same blouse. Those same dam shoes. Still not looking at him. But she felt him. He could tell. The air tightened between them when she passed. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to sense. For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to turn his head. Their eyes met. Not long. Not bold. But long enough. She looked away first. Good. But not fast enough. Damien finally stood, smoothing a hand down the front of his jacket. His assistant—Ellie—appeared beside him like clockwork. “Afternoon meetings shifted to 2:30. Press draft on the merger is ready for review. HR flagged an ethics audit request from the Taiwan office. And Thompson was moved this morning. No complaints filed. She’s… adapting.” He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Ellie was smart enough not to fill silence that wasn’t hers. Damien moved toward his office, each step sharp, precise, final. Behind the frosted doors, the world waited. Markets. Wars. Acquisitions. But his mind drifted one last time. To the intern with nothing. To the girl with too much silence in her eyes. To the variable he hadn’t accounted for. He didn’t know what she was yet. A threat? A distraction? A test? But Damien Blackwood had built an empire by seeing beneath the surface—and he knew one thing for certain: Maya Thompson wasn’t like the others. And he didn’t believe in coincidence. Only intention. And whatever force had placed her in his path? It wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot. Chapter 6: Three Lives, One Chance Maya didn’t move for a while after the pitch meeting ended. People trickled out of the glass conference room in composed silence, papers rustling, heels clicking, chairs scraping softly against polished floors. Damien Blackwood didn’t look back—not that she expected him to. But the weight of his gaze lingered like a burn on her skin, impossible to ignore. She waited until most of the crowd had dispersed before standing. Her knees felt stiff, like they’d locked from sitting too long in tension. The nerves, the secondhand power, the almost unbearable stillness of being seen—even if for just a second—had exhausted her more than the lack of sleep ever could. Harper was waiting just outside, sipping from a comically oversized water bottle shaped like a milk carton. “You survived,” she said with a smirk. “No visible wounds. I’m impressed.” Maya tried to smile, but her voice came out thin. “Barely.” Harper fell into step beside her as they walked back toward their desks. “You looked like a deer on the edge of cardiac arrest in there.” “That obvious?” “Sweetheart, if I’d had a stress ball, I’d have chucked it at you halfway through Blackwood’s second sentence.” Maya gave a soft laugh—more breath than sound—and dropped her bag beside her chair as she sat. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, but she didn’t type anything. Harper leaned over the edge of Maya’s cubicle, her plum hair flopping a little to the side. “Hey. You okay?” Maya nodded, though it felt like a lie. “Yeah. Just a lot.” “You did fine. Honestly, most interns pee themselves before the coffee even brews. You sat through a whole pitch without crying or vomiting. That’s gold-star behavior around here.” Maya cracked a smile. “Thanks. I think.” Harper gave her a friendly nudge. “Seriously. You didn’t speak, which is good. You didn’t faint, which is better. And you didn’t try to flirt with the boss, which is best.” Maya’s cheeks warmed. “Why would anyone—” “You’d be surprised. Blackwood could freeze a continent, and yet half the building would risk hypothermia to get his attention.” Maya shook her head, glancing down at her notes. “Not me.” Harper tilted her head, studying her. “You say that like you mean it.” “I do.” Harper tilted her head, studying her. “So… real talk. What’s your life like outside of this place?” Maya blinked, caught off guard. “Um. It’s… a little packed.” “Figured. You’ve got the look of someone running on caffeine and existential dread.” “I work as a barista,” Maya admitted, half-laughing. “Four days a week. Full shifts. Then classes in the evenings on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” “And Blackwood on top of all that?” Harper’s eyes widened. “It’s temporary,” Maya said quickly. “Just for the duration of the internship. Besides, my schedule here is only three times a week starting next week. This full-week setup is just for orientation and onboarding.” Harper blinked. “Wait—so you’re working full time, doing school, and this internship?” Harper leaned back like she’d just watched a superhero transformation. “d@mn. I complain when I have back-to-back meetings. You’re out here stacking lives.” Maya smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.” “No, but it’s bad@ss,” Harper said with a wink. “And you didn’t even flinch during that meeting earlier. I’ve seen junior execs crumble just sitting across from the boss.” “Trust me,” Maya muttered. “I was flinching on the inside.” “You know they don’t pay interns much, right?” Harper asked gently, her voice softer now, eyebrows raised with something that looked more like concern than curiosity. Harper didn’t say anything at first. She just watched her, the playfulness fading from her expression. “I only ask because… the hours you’re pulling? The stress? Most people can’t even handle one of those jobs, let alone three. And I know the kind of burn that comes from pushing past your limits for too long.” Maya blinked, swallowing the lump that had started to form in her throat. “It’s just…” Harper’s voice dropped even lower. “You shouldn’t have to fight this hard just to stay afloat.” “I know,” Maya said, trying to keep her voice steady. “But it’s still… a huge opportunity. They only pick one student each year. Even if the stipend isn’t a lot, the benefits, the network, the experience—it could change everything.” Harper studied her a moment longer, the teasing light dimming in her eyes. Something unreadable flickered across her face—like recognition, or maybe respect. Then she nodded slowly. “You’re tough.” “I have to be.” Harper leaned back in her chair, a low whistle escaping her lips. “That’s insane. You’re stacking three lives and still look like a functioning human.” Maya smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Functioning is… generous.” Harper tilted her head, her voice gentler now. “D@mn, Maya. You ever sleep?” “Sometimes,” she said lightly, though her chest tightened with the truth behind the joke. “I make it work. I have to.” Harper’s expression shifted again—softer now, more careful, like she suddenly realized she was looking at someone stitched together with pure grit and no safety net. “You’re doing all of this for someone, huh?” Maya nodded, the answer already rising in her throat. “My little brother. Jamie. He’s… everything. I just need to get us to the other side of this.” Harper blinked slowly, then exhaled like the words had winded her a little. “Sh1t,” she said softly. “That’s a lot, Maya.” Maya said nothing. She just looked down, fingers tracing the edge of her desk, as if grounding herself to keep from unraveling. After a moment, Harper straightened. Her grin returned—smaller this time, but sincere. “All right, gladiator. If you ever need to hide in the supply closet and scream, I’ll bring snacks. Something crunchy and emotionally satisfying.” “Tempting,” Maya said, chuckling despite the ache in her throat. “Thanks, Harper.” “Anytime. Oh—and word of advice?” Maya looked up, catching the sudden shift in Harper’s tone. “Keep your head down, but your ears open,” Harper said, her voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. “This place has layers. With everything already going on in your life, trust me—workplace drama is the last thing you need.” She glanced around, then leaned in a little closer. “Just do what you’re told, keep your focus, and you’ll be fine.” Then she smirked. “Now me? I couldn’t care less what people think. When I started, they told me the same thing—blend in, be quiet, don’t ruffle feathers. But that’s just not who I am. I’m expressive. I’m colorful. I talk too loud and laugh too much. And guess what? I’m still here.” Maya’s lips twitched, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Harper continued, her voice full of unapologetic pride. “I do my job. I do it well. So they can’t say a d@mn thing. I may not be perfect, but I’m not about to shrink myself just to make other people comfortable. You get me?” Maya nodded slowly, a strange sense of relief blooming in her chest. “Everyone’s a little careful around the boss,” Harper added with a shrug. “Okay—maybe not scared, but definitely… cautious. Me? I still do me. And hey—” She raised her hands like it was proof. “Still here. Still breathing. Still fabulous.” Maya’s pulse jumped—not from fear, but from the realization that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to lose herself to survive this place. Harper tapped the edge of the cubicle once, then wandered off toward her own desk, humming something upbeat that clashed wildly with the tension still twisting in Maya’s stomach. Alone again, Maya stared at her monitor. It was just her third day. But already, the world around her felt like it had shifted on its axis. Nothing felt stable—not the desk, not the routine, not even her breath. Six months. That’s how long the internship would run. Six months to make it count. Six months of fighting exhaustion, smiling through uncertainty, and proving—somehow—that she deserved to be here. Because if she could just get through it, maybe things would finally change. A real opportunity. A new path. One that didn’t involve sleepless nights and constant panic over bills and Jamie’s prescriptions. One where she wouldn’t have to count coins at the register or pray the manager didn’t shorten her break again. One where she could finally breathe. She exhaled slowly and forced herself to focus, even as her thoughts tangled in quiet panic. She was tired. Tired of stretching pennies and playing survival like a game she never signed up for. Tired of worrying about Jamie’s meds, the overdue utility bills, the manager at the coffee shop who kept cutting her break short. Tired of waking up every day afraid she’d never be enough. But she couldn’t afford to break down. Not now. Not when she’d finally gotten one thing right. She exhaled shakily, rubbing her hands together to ground herself. This internship was more than just a line on her resume. It was hope. A crack of light in the mess she’d been trudging through for years. If she did this right—if she endured the long hours, the cold stares, the impossible standards—maybe, just maybe, she could rewrite everything. For Jamie. For herself. Because there had to be more than just barely getting by. So she pushed the spiral of thoughts aside, blinked back the blur building behind her eyes, and opened the file she was supposed to review for the internal memo draft. She refused to believe that survival was the best they could ever do. Chapter 7: Unedited and Unseen Damien stared at the ceiling for another moment, then pushed away from the desk and crossed the room to the built-in cabinet tucked against the far wall. He poured himself a glass of whiskey — not out of need, but for the quiet ritual of it. The steady motion, the clink of glass, the burn waiting at the back of his throat — something about it helped anchor him. Focus, he told himself. The numbers on the Lawson account demanded his attention. The investor memo was due by week’s end. But none of it held. Not with her face rising, uninvited, behind his eyes. She’d looked out of place in that boardroom—too soft for a space carved out in sharp lines and sharper ambition. He’d clocked her in the corner, barely breathing. Eyes wide. Hands still. Almost like prey. Probably out late last night, he’d thought at first. Hungover maybe. Some interns partied their way in, then floundered through their responsibilities. A pretty face and high GPA didn’t always mean substance. But something about her didn’t sit cleanly with that assumption. No glitter. No practiced charm. No scent of desperation disguised as confidence. There was just… fatigue. Real fatigue. And something else beneath it—restraint. Not fear, exactly. Just a kind of tension that spoke of someone used to bracing for impact. Maybe she’d worked a late shift somewhere. Coffee shop, wasn’t it? He vaguely recalled seeing that on the file. So she wasn’t just a student. She was working. Probably studying too. Was she tired from school? From life? He frowned, irritated with himself. This wasn’t his business. Interns came and went. Some lasted. Most didn’t. He didn’t have time to get curious about a girl who clearly didn’t belong here. And yet, here he was. Thinking about her. She had held herself together in that meeting better than most junior execs. Didn’t speak. Didn’t shrink either. It gnawed at him. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, the burn grounding him, the silence in his office too still. Something wasn’t adding up—and he didn’t like unresolved variables. Especially not when they stared at him with those dark, exhausted eyes. Damien set the glass down with a soft clink and pressed the button on his desk. “Elle,” he said as the intercom lit up. “I need you.” “On my way,” came her smooth, composed reply. Moments later, Elle entered, tablet in hand, her presence as calm and crisp as always. “Yes, sir?” “I saw an unfamiliar face during the meeting this morning,” he said without looking up. “Sitting beside Harper.” Elle paused briefly, then gave a small nod of recognition. “Ah. That would be Maya Thompson. The new intern. She was transferred to the West Wing today per your order. Assigned under Trina’s supervision.” “Hmm.” He leaned back slightly, tapping his finger once against the armrest. “Reach out to Trina. I want the intern’s raw notes from the pitch. Unedited, unpolished.” Elle’s brow twitched. barely noticeable — but she recovered without missing a beat. “Of course,” she said, fingers already dancing across the screen of her tablet. “I’ll have them sent up immediately.” A beat. “Anything else, sir?” Damien hesitated, eyes fixed on the skyline beyond the glass. But it wasn’t the city that filled his thoughts—it was the quiet way Maya had sat through the meeting. Neither shrinking nor seeking attention. Just there. Watching. Absorbing. Holding something close he couldn’t quite name. “No,” he said at last. “That’ll be all.” She turned and left without another word. Damien returned to his chair, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he stood there a moment longer, staring down at the tablet with the untouched reports. His mind was no longer on the Lawson account. Maya Thompson. He ran the name through his memory again. There’d been nothing striking on the resume, nothing that stood out beyond the usual desperation and ambition. But watching her, really watching her—had told him there was more. The posture, the way she sat through that entire meeting with her jaw tight and shoulders tense, the way she avoided everyone’s eyes but didn’t shrink. She didn’t want to be noticed. That much was clear. And yet here he was. Noticing. Again. He turned on his screen and brought up the internal directory. He hesitated only briefly before typing her name into the search bar. There she was. Student intern. Local university. Final year. No special endorsements. A modest GPA, clean record, high recommendations from professors. But nothing that screamed “Blackwood material.” Still, she was here. His eyes scanned the screen, pausing at the emergency contact section. One name. Jamie Thompson. Brother. No parents listed. He frowned slightly, then closed the file before he could spiral down a rabbit hole he had no business entering. This wasn’t personal. He was simply ensuring everyone who stepped into his boardroom was worth the seat they occupied. Still… He wanted to know what she had written. What she had seen. Elle returned fifteen minutes later, holding a slim folder. “Trina sent this over,” she said. “Apparently the intern writes detailed notes. Very detailed.” Damien took the folder and opened it slowly. The handwriting was neat, unpretentious. Bullet points organized by relevance, underlines used sparingly. Asterisks in the margins marked thoughts she clearly didn’t want to forget—sharp, observational, and unfiltered. She hadn’t transcribed. She’d translated. He skimmed the first page, expecting the usual intern fluff—copied phrases from the screen, surface-level comments, maybe a few rushed takeaways. But what he found was something else entirely. She’d been paying attention. Not just to the content—but to the people. She’d noted how one executive kept fidgeting when asked about the budget forecast. She’d flagged the subtle dip in another’s voice when discussing deliverables. Even more curious, she’d quietly remarked on his silence during the third quarter of the pitch. “Marked shift in the boss’s energy during the financial slide. Still, observant. Silence intentional — analytical more than passive.” Damien’s brow lifted. That wasn’t a student scrambling to meet expectations. That was someone reading the room. Closely. Intuitively. Dangerously so. Not just what was happening—but what wasn’t. What people weren’t saying. The weight of silence. The discomfort in pauses. She hadn’t been trying to impress. She’d simply… seen. She saw more than she was supposed to. And she understood what it meant. Now she had his full attention. His brow rose slightly. Most interns are taught to regurgitate. To copy. To play it safe. She’d written like someone who didn’t realize the value of what she was seeing—or worse, someone who didn’t care if anyone else did. He read the notes again. Then a third time. There was no ego in them. No performance. Just raw, intelligent observation. Dangerously perceptive. He closed the folder slowly, fingers tapping once against the cover before placing it deliberately at the edge of his desk. “She sees too much,” he murmured. “Sir?” Elle asked. He didn’t look up. “Keep an eye on her.” Elle blinked. “Maya?” “Yes. Discreetly. I want to know how she operates.” Elle’s brow lifted just slightly. “And what exactly are we looking for?” He paused. “…I’m not sure yet.” She gave a nod. “Understood.” Then she turned and slipped out, heels silent against the floor. And like that, she disappeared again. Damien stood still in the quiet that followed, staring down at the closed folder on his desk. It should’ve ended there. But it didn’t. He had a feeling this was only the beginning. Chapter 8: The Wrong Desk Maya woke up groggy, but grateful. Four hours of sleep wasn’t a luxury, just a step above survival — but it was still double what she’d gotten the night before. An extra hour made a difference. Her bones still ached, and her eyes burned from the weight of the week, but she felt just alert enough to function. It was Friday—her last full day before her official three-days-a-week internship schedule began. She just had to survive one more day of juggling the four lives she was barely managing to keep afloat: barista, student, sister, and intern. Her schedule had been impossibly packed all week, stretching her to the brink. Grueling didn’t even begin to cover it. Thankfully, her coffee shop manager had been kind enough to approve a one-week unpaid leave. No income, but at least no extra shifts. If she could just make it through today, she’d be there for Jamie’s doctor appointment tomorrow. That was the deal she’d made with herself. Just one more day. As she buttoned her blouse and tied her hair back into a low ponytail, her mind circled back to the day before—the impromptu pitch meeting, the cold stares from strangers in sleek suits, and the way Harper had smiled at her like they’d been friends for years. That part hadn’t been bad. But what still sat heavy on her chest was Trina’s request. No, correction—Trina’s command. Maya, hand me the notes from the meeting. The ones you wrote. Yes, now. The original version, please. No need to edit. No explanation. No chance to polish. No time to second-guess. She’d turned over her raw, unfiltered scrawl like it was nothing. But it hadn’t been nothing. Those notes were… hers. Her thoughts. Her observations. She hadn’t written them to be read, especially not by someone higher up. Maya exhaled slowly as she stepped out into the soft morning light. At least today would be easier. No meetings. No surprises. Just keep her head down, finish strong, and get through Jamie’s doctor’s appointment tomorrow. That’s all she had to do. When the elevator doors opened to the PR floor, Maya immediately sensed… something off. The air wasn’t buzzing the way it normally did with morning chatter and keyboard clicks. Instead, there was a strange hush. People glanced up from their desks, then looked away quickly. A few whispered something to each other as she passed. Maya felt the hairs rise on her arms. She walked faster. At her desk, Harper was already there—grinning like she knew a secret. “Finally!” Harper beamed. “Good morning, superstar.” Maya blinked. “Uh… hi?” Harper’s eyes sparkled with too much excitement. “You look so calm for someone who just got flowers.” “What?” Harper stepped aside with theatrical flair. And that’s when Maya saw them. A bouquet. Lush, understated, elegant. Crisp white lilies, delicate baby’s breath, and deep blue hyacinths arranged in a tall glass vase with a simple cream card tucked inside. Maya froze. “Oh—those aren’t mine. They must be yours.” Harper gasped. “Mine? Girl, I wish! But nope. They were already here when I arrived. Right on your desk.” Maya blinked at the arrangement, heart thudding. “There’s no way… someone must’ve made a mistake. Maybe it’s for someone else?” Harper leaned in conspiratorially. “I checked. Guard said the delivery log says ‘Maya Thompson, PR Division, West Wing.’ That’s you, sweetheart.” Maya looked around, cheeks warming under the curious glances from across the department. “I don’t understand… who would send me—?” Harper gave her a playful nudge. “Someone’s got a thing for mysterious interns. You’ve been here five minutes and already have a secret admirer.” “I don’t have an admirer,” Maya whispered sharply. “This is a mistake. Maybe it’s a client appreciation thing or some office welcome thing—” Harper raised a brow. “For interns? Who also happen to be brand new transfers and weren’t even scheduled for that meeting? Yeah, sounds super likely.” Maya ignored the teasing and reached for the envelope tucked into the bouquet. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slid the cream-colored card free. No name. Just one sentence. Maya, I hope you have a beautiful day—as beautiful as you. The handwriting was clean. Sharp. Masculine. Her stomach flipped. “I don’t like this,” she muttered. Harper’s grin widened. “Because it’s flattering?” “Because it’s weird,” Maya said, her voice low. “I don’t even know who sent it.” “It’s romantic,” Harper corrected with a dramatic sigh. “Also, just a heads-up—Trina sent a last-minute memo this morning. Didn’t you see it?” “I must’ve missed it,” Maya muttered, still staring at the card. “Basically,” Harper went on, “we’re getting a visit from one of Blackwood’s major overseas clients. The big boss type. Trina said we’re to be on our best behavior — clear desks, proper dress code, all that.” Maya’s head whipped up. “Today?” “Yep. Apparently, it’s some long-standing partnership or whatever, and this guy only visits once a year.” Harper leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Though I doubt Trina meant ‘best behavior’ includes mysterious flower deliveries.” “I told you, it’s not mine!” But Maya didn’t get a chance to keep arguing. Because the room went silent. Again. Only this time, it wasn’t whispers that followed. It was reverent, shocked stillness. Because Damien Blackwood had just walked in. And he wasn’t alone. James Horton, his senior personal assistant, followed closely behind. James wasn’t just staff—he was Damien’s shadow. Trusted, discreet, unshakably loyal. While Elle managed operations inside the company, James handled everything beyond it—travel, security, negotiations across continents. He was present for every high-stakes meeting, every critical decision. It was rumored he was one of only two people who knew the passcode to Damien Blackwood’s penthouse. And now he was here. Flanking them was an older gentleman—likely the overseas client everyone had been warned about. And Elle trailed just a step behind, tablet in hand, her eyes already sweeping the department, likely mapping the most efficient route for the impromptu tour. No one moved. No one breathed. They weren’t supposed to see Damien Blackwood unless summoned. The CEO walking into the PR wing himself was like spotting a solar eclipse in winter. Harper whispered, “Okay, no one said the boss himself would be doing the tour.” Maya could barely hear her. Her blood was thundering in her ears. Damien Blackwood didn’t look around aimlessly. Every movement of his was purposeful. Controlled. Measured. So when his gaze swept across the room and landed squarely on her desk—on the bouquet—there was no mistaking it. He stopped. Just briefly. His expression didn’t change. Not a frown, not a twitch. Too neutral. But Maya saw it. The flicker of tension in his jaw. The way his eyes moved from the bouquet to the card still trembling in her hand. Damien’s jaw ticked. Subtle. Controlled. Then his gaze slid—almost lazily—to her. She stood frozen, card in hand, her breath caught in her throat. He looked at her. Just for a second. Just long enough to see everything. The flowers. The cream envelope. Her stunned face. And then—nothing. His eyes moved on like she wasn’t even there. But something had already shifted. Like a switch flipped beneath the surface. He said nothing. Offered no reaction. Yet the temperature in the room seemed to drop five degrees. Without a word, he continued walking alongside the client, with James at his side and Elle trailing just behind them. But the moment didn’t pass unnoticed. Harper turned to her, eyes wide. “Did you see that?” Maya tried to play dumb. “See what?” “The way he looked at you. Or the flowers. Or both.” Maya swallowed hard, heart thudding. “Maybe he hates flowers on desks. Maybe it’s against some decorum policy or something.” “Or,” Harper leaned in, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “he thinks someone’s breaking the no-fraternization rule.” “What rule?” Harper blinked. “You do know Damien Blackwood doesn’t tolerate office relationships, right? No flirting. No gossip. He’s strict about it. And now, out of nowhere, a new intern’s desk is graced with a mystery bouquet on the same day a high-profile client’s in the building?” Maya’s stomach dropped. “I’m going to get fired,” she whispered. Harper’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No, come on. You don’t even know who it’s from!” “Exactly. Which makes it worse!” Maya hissed. Harper tried to ease the moment, bumping her shoulder playfully. “Okay, but if it helps, he didn’t look mad.” Maya blinked. “You just said he looked mad.” “No,” Harper said with a teasing grin, “I said he looked. Which, for Damien Blackwood, is already a miracle.” Maya stared. Harper wiggled her brows. “Maybe he’s not mad. Maybe he’s… jealous.” “Harper,” Maya warned. “Okay, okay, fine,” she laughed. “But seriously—if anyone says anything, just tell the truth. You didn’t send them, you don’t know who did, and you’re not fraternizing. You’ll be fine. Sure, Blackwood’s got rules, but he’s not a tyrant. They’re strict here, not unfair.” Maya offered a tight nod, but her heart hadn’t stopped racing. This was not how she pictured the last day of her first internship week. Not flowers. Not stares. Not Damien Blackwood noticing her—again. And definitely not being the center of a rumor storm about workplace romance. Harper was right. She didn’t need drama. She needed stability. Romance? Mystery admirers? No time for that. Not when her life was already stretched to the breaking point. Between work, school, her internship, and Jamie… Maya looked down at the card in her hand again. Clean masculine handwriting. No name. She didn’t like it. But more than that—she didn’t like that he had seen it. And that some part of her had noticed his reaction. That was dangerous. Too dangerous.

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Heartache & Harmony

InactiveJun 29, 26

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Rejected by her Alpha Chosen By the Moon

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THE NIGHT OF BROKEN DREAMS Myra’s pov Today was my eighteenth year birthday, and tonight my mating ceremony, the day I would get rejected by my mate and my life would change. The reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me. My hair was pinned up, dark curls falling in loose tendrils around my face, and a thin silver chain circled my brow, a single moonstone resting at the center of my forehead. I should have felt beautiful. Regal. Like a Luna about to claim her destiny. But all I saw was the hollow look in my eyes, the stiffness in my smile, the way my fingers trembled as they smoothed down the fabric of my dress. “Stop fussing. You look perfect,” Aria said softly, coming up behind me and squeezing my shoulders. My best friend’s reflection met mine in the mirror. Her bright blue eyes, usually so full of mischief, were gentle tonight, full of hope for me. “He’s going to see you and remember why the Moon Goddess chose you to be his mate.” I swallowed hard. “If only everyone else believed that.” Aria’s smile faltered, just a little. I couldn’t blame her. I knew what the pack thought, what they whispered when they thought I wasn’t listening. The orphan girl. The Beta’s daughter who couldn’t even shift. The future Luna with no wolf, no strength. They pitied me. And worse they doubted me. The only reason I stood here tonight, preparing for my mating ceremony, was because of my parents’ honor. My father and mother had died protecting the Alpha King during the great rogue invasion seven years ago. They’d been heroes. Respected, everyone loved them. And I was what was left. “I’ll prove them wrong tonight,” I whispered, more to myself than to Aria. “I’ll be a good Luna. I’ll serve the pack. I’ll make Malik proud.” Aria’s hands slid down my arms, and she hugged me from behind. “He already is, Myra. And after tonight, everyone else will be too.” I nodded, trying to draw strength from her words, from the soft warmth of her embrace. But as I turned from the mirror, I caught the faintest sound voices outside the chamber. “She looks the part, but we all know it’s a joke,” someone murmured. “A Luna who can’t shift? What will she protect us from? Goddess above, we are werewolves…” another snickered. They thought that because I couldn't shift I didn't have werewolf perks like enhanced senses, but I did. I could hear every single word of their whispers. Aria looked like she wanted to go defend me, I didn't want a fight today so I just caught her wrist and shook my head. Aria’s eyes flashed with anger. “Fucking assholes, ignore them. They don’t matter.” But their words burrowed deep, echoing every secret fear I’d tried so hard to bury. I squared my shoulders. “Let’s go.” --- The clearing was alight with torches, the full moon high above, casting silver over the gathering of my pack. Hundreds of eyes turned to me as I stepped onto the sacred stone path. There were stiff polite nods with tight, forced smiles on their faces as they watched me walk down the aisle. But Malik would come. He would take my hand, and everything would change. I lifted my chin, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat. And I waited. And waited. The minutes stretched, endless. Murmurs rose among the crowd. I could feel their eyes on me… Where was he? Why hadn’t he come? Was he… changing his mind? I clenched my hands together, trying to still their shaking. I felt Aria’s presence behind me, steady, a silent support, but it wasn’t enough to stop the cold dread creeping through my veins. The crowd stirred. A figure broke through the trees at the edge of the clearing, his dark form outlined by the moonlight. Malik. His hair was tousled, his ceremonial tunic rumpled and half-unfastened, his boots dusty as if he’d been running. His face was pale, jaw tight, dark eyes stormy as they met mine. He staggered towards me like a drunken man. The whispers grew louder. What had happened? Why did he look… like this? Malik walked toward me. My heart had leapt at the sight of him, but the joy was short-lived, drowned beneath the weight of the expression on his face. Resolve. “No…” I breathed, before he even spoke. I knew what was going to happen. He stopped before me, towering, his scent cedar and smoke filling my senses, familiar and beloved. I reached for his hand, but he didn’t offer it. “Myra Sunrose,” he said, his voice carrying across the clearing, steady and clear. I shook my head, unable to stop the tears that burned my eyes. “Please—Malik—” “Stop…No…please.” I tried. “I, Alpha Malik Nightshade,” he continued, voice hardening, “reject you as my mate.” The words hit like a blade, slicing clean through me, leaving me hollow. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Aria let out a soft cry behind me. “No,” I whispered again, but I could feel the bond the beautiful thread that had tied my soul to his, fraying. The pain came, swift and brutal, searing through my chest, my head, my very bones. My knees buckled. The world spun. The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me was Malik’s face, haunted and broken. --- The world returned slowly, blurred and full of ache. I was lying on a cot, the soft glow of lanterns casting shadows on stone walls. My chest throbbed. My head pounded. “Malik…” I croaked, the name torn from my lips without thought. My heart called for him, the bond shredded but the longing still raw and alive. I heard a small sharp laugh. I turned my head, vision swimming, and saw her. Evelyn Ashe. The she-wolf who had always hovered at Malik’s side. Very popular in the pack, she was everything I wanted to be, beautiful, graceful, fierce. She sat beside the cot, arms folded, a smirk twisting her perfect mouth. “Why would our Alpha choose a weak girl like you to be our Luna?” she said, voice dripping with venom. “Someone who can’t even shift? Someone who has always been a weak pampered little brat? You don't deserve Malik.” The words stung more than they should have. I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t obey. Tears blurred my sight. I wanted to be strong, to tell her she was wrong, to fight back. But I couldn’t. I was weak and useless. And he had seen that. He had rejected me. Sobs tore from my throat, ragged and unstoppable. The grief, the humiliation, the shame all of it crashed over me like a wave, pulling me under. Evelyn’s laughter followed me as I wept, as the pain dragged me down into darkness again.

Dreame-Love-B

InactiveJun 28, 26

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✨Click to watch👉👉Beauty and The Beta 💔‘Remember who I am Bailey. You are not above me. Never will be. Could have been equal to me at most had I seen you as suitable to be my mate, but no. You were beneath that honor.' He sneers.😡 🔥I felt anger racing through me. ‘And you think I would not have rejected you?' I snapped, moving back toward the exit, not wanting to be here anymore. Until I felt a hand grabbing the back of my tank top, yanking me back.😫 ⚠️‘You want to reject me? How dare you! Who else would want such a feeble pathetic wallflower like you? No one-' he said but was interrupted by a voice, which made him shiver.😮 💥‘I want her.' I looked at the clock on my bedroom wall. I think I have delayed the inevitable for as long as I physically can. I should go to the packhouse to go and wish our pack's upcoming Alpha a happy birthday. The bane of my life. My brother’s best friend. One day to be Alpha Miles. Today he will turn 17, and meet his Alpha wolf. In all honesty, he was egotistical enough, thinking the world revolved around him, without him adding to that by finally gaining his wolf. Not your run-of-the-mill werewolf either. Oh no, Miles Davenport was destined to be an Alpha, so he would have a strong and powerful Alpha wolf, only adding to his arrogance and strength. The crazy thing is, Miles had once upon a time been one of my closet friends too. In my younger childhood... Friends, that kind of thing comes when your father is the Beta to the Alpha. The children spend a lot of time together, and become friends. My older brother, Jordan, became the wing-man to Miles. His closest friend and ally, who as his Beta when the time came, was only right. But as the years went on, the friendship between Miles and I changed. Friendship faded as he grew into a more popular sports star of our school. At the end of the day, he was always going to be popular, he was the upcoming Alpha after all, but as one of the top sports stars too, he was idolized. As was my brother. All the girls in school flocked around them like they were pop stars or something, and it was bizarre. I was nothing more to him now but a source of amusement for him and his sports buddies. A geek. Not one of the beauty queens who followed him around. Simply someone to make fun of. I had gone from enjoying time with my one-day Alpha, to hating him, in the space of a school year. He thought he was god’s gift, and in all honesty, if he was, he is a gift I would return… “Bailey!” I heard my Mum call from downstairs, telling me I was definitely running it close now for time. I know Jordan had already headed over to the packhouse a while ago with my Dad to meet his friend and our Alpha. “I know.” I yelled back, looking at the books on my desk, desperate to continue with the assignment I was working on. I would so much rather continue working on the assignment and gain the additional credit available, work toward going to the college I want to go to instead of going to a party for the big-headed bully, I got to consider almost family, considering he was the son of my Dad’s best friend. I stood from my seat, and walked to my mirror, adjusting my black skater dress I had chosen to wear today. Something plain and simple, easy to blend into the background, but a dress all the same if anyone asked why I hadn’t made an effort. Along with my chunky black sandals, I looked presentable, not that anyone would be looking at me. Today, all eyes would be on the birthday boy, as they always were. He would make sure of that. I flicked back my curly brown hair, before I walked out of the door, already dreading the hours that lay ahead… My Mum pulled the car into the parking spaces outside the packhouse, while my younger sister Morgan was flicking at the curls around my head, simply trying to irritate me. She knew I would rather be anywhere but here right now, and was loving every last moment of it. “Aww, you want to go home Bailey-boo?” she teased. “Stop you two, come on, your Dad is waiting inside. Let us go and find the birthday boy.” Mum says, sounding cheerful, completely oblivious to the fact how horrendous this party had the potential to be. She, too, worshiped Miles. Having seen him grow up alongside my brother, she seemed to think the sun shone out of his rear-end. It had always driven me insane. “He won’t even notice us there.” I muttered under my breath as I followed her up the steps of the back house, shaking my head at my sister and how overdressed she looked. She definitely looked like she was out to impress someone today. A small part of me wondered if she hoped she might be the fated mate of Miles. After all, he was meeting his Alpha wolf today. He will have shifted for the first time today, and today could potentially be the day he can sense his fated mate out there waiting for him! There had been so much buzz around school about this, so many of the girls were excited about the potential possibility they could be his fated mate. The one chosen for him by the moon goddess. The one destined to be with him. So many of them are desperate for it to be them. While there I was desperate for anything but. I could think of nothing worse! Yet, looking at the amount of effort my younger sister had made today, I am beginning to think she was one of the many she-wolves that was holding out that hope… We walked through the corridors of the packhouse, and it was filled with various pack members. Today was a day of celebration within pack, the birthday of the upcoming Alpha. And not just any birthday, the day he came of age. The day he met his Alpha wolf. The walls of the packhouse were adorned with decorations, music was blaring from various speakers dotted around the multiple rooms. “Ooff, sorry!” a giggling she-wolf said to me as she nearly knocked me off my feet as she knocked into me. I would rather be anywhere but here right now. This was far too hectic and far too loud for me. I simply glare at the back of the girl as she moves away from me, not a care in the world. I followed my Mum and my sister, who was almost skipping as she walked, toward the main lounge area. I can only assume my Mum had mindlinked my Dad to let him know we had arrived, and he said they were there, or else we could spend all day looking around for them! It appeared almost every member of the pack had turned up to celebrate the birthday of Miles Davenport. The lounge area was laden with people, music truly blasting, and everyone seeming to have a good time. Everyone but me. I caught the eye of my brother, leaning against the wall of the lounge, the furthest away from the door we had just walked into. He nodded in my direction before simply turning away. ‘Could have made an effort, Bailey.’ he mindlinked. ‘It is a birthday, not a funeral, you know?’ I felt my heart sink at his words. Great, the insults were starting already, which meant it would only be a matter of time until Miles started too. The two of them seemed to like working together like that. Finding great enjoyment in harassing me. I was only a year younger than both of them, and had desperately hoped the name-calling and insulting would ease off as they got a little older, but if anything, they seemed to get worse. All because I wasn’t like the girls they were interested in, I was sure of it. I wasn’t like the other girls. Made myself an easy target, my Mum told me, all because I enjoyed studying. Liked reading and learning. Said, I only made it harder for myself. The plan was to make it easier for myself by finding a way out… “Jordan says your dress looks like you are going to a funeral, Bailey.” Morgan teased, fluffing up my curls again. My long brown hair fell in thick, unruly curls down my back. They drove me mad at times. Especially when my brother and sister decide to mess with them. “Oh well, I wore a dress, like you asked.” I snapped, moving away from them, feeling angry already, so tempted just to turn around and walk home, only to be pulled back by my Mum. “We are going to wish Miles a happy birthday. You will stay for a while at least. I do not need to be explaining to your Aunt and Uncle yet again why you have walked out on a social event, Bailey.” Mum warned me, her tone sounding grumpy, I swear she had to have read my thoughts on leaving the party already. I am sure she hated having me as a daughter, likely wishing for one that was more sociable, and one that enjoyed being a part of everything, instead of one that would rather have her head in a book. “Awww, Happy Birthday, Miles!” I heard my sister squeal from by my side. I swear she spoke at a pitch so high only dogs could hear. Goddess knows why she is so excited. It is only his birthday. He likely doesn’t even care, he never normally does… As I looked up, his blue eyes were locked on me, I raised my gaze to meet his, and could see his eyes shift to a darker blue… was that his wolf? I see a snarl across his face as he suddenly storms from the room. What was that about? ‘Get out here.’ Miles is suddenly mindlinking me, and I have to say he sounded far from impressed. That, combined with the angry expression on his face, told me something was off. Would he have rather I had not come? Well, he was not the only one… ‘What?’ I questioned, completely confused. Was he annoyed over how I had dressed too? Jeez, it was just a dress. Does it really matter? I would go home if it was. ‘Outside now.’ He demanded once more, sounding even more irritated this time, making me realize I had little choice but to follow his orders, so I snuck away from the ongoing party back to the doors of the packhouse. Only to find Miles pacing along the bottom of the steps, looking a mixture of confused and angry. So why did he need me here? Someone to take his anger out on? I was not willing to be that, I was sure about that… Just as I was about to walk away, he looked up. “Crap took you long enough.” He snapped. I frowned, unsure what this was all about, but it was making no sense to me as I looked down toward him from where I stood at the top of the packhouse steps. His blue eyes shifted to the dark blue once more, like they had inside, taking me by surprise. His wolf is clearly lingering… “What is wrong, Miles? Do you want me to get Jordan?” I asked. “No I do not! I do not want anyone knowing this.” He snarls, a growl slipping from his lips, though whether that was aimed at me or whether his wolf was angry at him, I do not know… “I don’t think I understand…” I began. “You soon will.” He sneers, and I simply look to him in confusion. Nothing he says makes sense to me. Until he continues. “Only today did I realize. The thought makes me sick. Why our own moon goddess would play a trick like this on me, I don’t know. I am an Alpha. An Alpha. I deserve a strong mate. A beautiful mate to be proud of. Not some feeble pathetic wallflower.” My body trembles at his words. No. I had yet to gain my wolf. I did not know this yet. Why… Why him of all people? “I am your fated mate?” I question with a shaky voice. “Are you sure?” “Are you doubting me?” he yells. “And you won’t be. The moment you have your wolf, I will decide when the time is right to reject you.” My heart twists and contorts at the thought. Rejection was meant to be the most painful thing possible. Why would he want to reject the mate chosen for him by our own moon goddess? Am I truly so repulsive? A Year Later Yet another birthday party for our beloved upcoming Alpha. Ha. Not my beloved upcoming Alpha. I hated the man. Breaking my heart without a second thought. What I had done to deserve that I had never got a proper explanation from him. Other than the frequent insults, of why would he want to be with someone like me? Did I look like Luna material to him? I had no clue. What did Luna material look like in his eyes? Some blond bimbo, no doubt. They were the she-wolves he tended to spend his time with within our pack. The ones who worshiped the ground he walked on. That would do anything he asked of them. Ones that I highly doubted read much more than the work set of them at school. “Bailey!” my Mum yelled at me from the stairway of our family home. “Will you hurry up?!” “Do I really need to come to the party?” I responded. “I am telling you, Miles will not be bothered if I am not there!” “Your Aunt and Uncle will be though. And I am not explaining to them again why you are missing.” My Mum continues yelling. “Do you not realize just how many events you have missed this year, all because you have your head in a book?” “Yeah Bai-Bai. Such a geek. No wonder you have no friends.” My sister Morgan giggles from outside my bedroom door. “Piss off.” I hissed. “I have friends.” I stormed from my room, and down the stairs toward my waiting family. I planned to greet the birthday boy, not that he would care in the slightest. I know that he would rather not see me at all. And then I would sneak home. “Ew, are you wearing that?” Morgan asked. I looked down at the skinny black trousers I had on and the white tank top. Great. I can’t win. Nothing I wear is approved of by my sister, evidently named the fashion queen without my knowledge. Oh well, I am dressed and wearing it. I think it looked good with my chunky black sandals I had on… I scowled at my sister and walked out of the door. “Are we going or not?” I snapped at them all, truly not able to wait for the following month when I leave to go to university. Get away from them, and this pack! The party was well underway when we arrived, music pounding from the speakers as couples made out in every available space, so I averted my eyes as we walked through the corridors of the packhouse to the lounge where we would no doubt find Miles reigning over his people. Being all important, like he was partial to considering himself. ‘Why are you here?’ Miles’s voice filled my mindlink, before I had even fully entered the room behind my parents. Great. ‘I didn’t get a choice. Trust me, I would rather not be.’ I snapped back. I was getting more than a little tired of the way he would treat me. Yes, he planned on rejecting me. Decided I was not for him, but he could have left it at that. I didn’t need treating like I was some sort of social pariah because of the fact he decided I was not right for him. I do not think I deserved that. I had endured enough bullying through my time in high school, for the fact I enjoyed my education. ‘Oh. Excuse me? Are you implying you were not going to come to the party of your next Alpha?’ Miles links with some serious attitude. ‘Miles, you just asked why I had bothered coming. Now you are asking if I was not going to come? Make your mind up.’ I argued. ‘Remember who I am Bailey. You are not above me. Never will be. Could have been equal to me at most had I seen you as suitable to be my mate, but no. You were beneath that honor.’ He sneers. I felt anger racing through me. ‘And you think I would not have rejected you?’ I snapped, moving back toward the exit, not wanting to be here anymore. Until I felt a hand grabbing the back of my tank top, yanking me back. My eyes darted upward to see the dark eyes of Miles. Sneering down at me. Our Pack’s upcoming Alpha. The most arrogant man I think I have ever met. One, thankfully, I did not have to be mates with any longer as the stupid had chosen to reject his own fated mate before even giving her a chance. “Going somewhere Bailey?” he asked, his voice full of spite. “Well, I do believe you asked me why I was here, so I assumed you wanted me to leave.” I told him. Miles bows his head down so it is level with mine, he inhales deeply, like he still enjoys the scent of me. He has done this numerous times of late, which I find quite bizarre. But, I ignore him as he tilts his head to look at me, “Hmm, I think my Mum and Dad may have something to say if you leave. Their clever little Bailey. Heaven forbid.” He presses his forehead against mine. “Just stay away from me, and do not spoil my fun.” I shake my head in disbelief at him, as he stalks away. Did he even think for a moment I would be going near him if I could avoid it? I would rather be anywhere but near him! “Bailey, why are you harassing my friend for?” I heard my brother, Jordan demand, as he suddenly approached, causing many people to turn around and look at me. Wonderful. Nothing like starting pack gossip is there. I am sure Miles would appreciate that! “I wasn’t harassing him, he came to speak to me. Asking why I had come.” I told him, and my brother laughed. He is as much an idiot as Miles. Any of my friends who have big brothers hate how protective they are. Me? No, my big brother is the one leading all the bullying and treating me badly. He finds great embarrassment in the fact his younger sister is far from being one of the popular group, and is, in his words, ‘far too into her books’. I think, in all honesty, my entire family found me, in one way or another, a huge embarrassment. “Well, he has a point. Not like you will be joining in with the celebrations. You will probably be sitting in a quiet corner somewhere reading.” He teases. “Well, it is certainly more intellectually pleasing than any of you would be.” I smirked at him as I walked away from my brother who was standing looking confused. I am sure he had no clue what I meant. The scary thing is he will be the next, pack Beta. Heaven help our pack. Between him and Miles they only had one brain cell between them, and that was one that they shared, I am sure of it! And even then, I think it was rechargeable and started losing power and knowledge at a rapid rate! They only graduated high school because they paid people to do their work for them. As I snuck away, out of the busy lounge to the top of the stairway, where I hoped to hide out for as long as possible, I heard footsteps behind me. I quickly turned, hoping it was simply someone on their way to their bedroom or even to one of the spare bathrooms on this floor. But, sadly, luck was not on my side tonight. No. Miles was following me. Eyebrows raised and looking quite irritated. “Oi. I want to talk to you.” he demanded. “You asked me to go away a minute ago, didn’t you?” I asked him. “Don’t think so, think it was more a case of why you were here.” Miles says with a smirk. Sitting on the top step with me. “Miles, you have the whole pack here for your birthday, I am sure whatever you need to speak to me about can wait.” I shrugged, desperately craving peace, which, considering the pounding beat of the music playing, would be difficult. “No. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he questions, like he is irate at the fact I had not let him know. Why would I let him know? “Why would I? We aren’t friends, Miles. You also are not my Alpha yet. It was arranged with my parents, me and your Dad, as Alpha.” I explained to him, unsure why this would even bother him. If anything, I would think he would be glad to get rid of me. “You are going away though.” he murmurs. “That is generally what happens when you go to college or university. Yeah.” I said with another shrug. “There wasn’t one closer to home?” he hisses. “Because it seems to me you picked the one furthest away.” “What does it matter to you? You hate me. I won't be here, You get your wish of being rid of me.” I snapped, truly sick of him trying to dictate to me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I had worked hard in school, so I could do this. My parents had spoken to my Aunt and Uncle, the Luna and Alpha of our pack to allow me special permission to go to a university out of state to study, saying it was what I had dreamed of. I had nothing holding me back. And, with the fact Miles did not want me for his mate, or his Luna, I truly did not. Not that any of them knew of that. That was our own secret. Even despite the pull to him as my mate since my wolf had arrived, I still found him truly repulsive. He sickened me. Though, the pains when he slept with the many she-wolves that visited his bed, made it even easier to detest the man that he had become. I still had no clue what I had done to deserve this treatment from this man, other than not being one of the popular group. But, I knew I deserved better than him. Miles glanced at me, momentarily a thoughtful look passed over his face, almost caring, before a hardness replaced it. “That much is true. No more having to see the disappointing failure the moon goddess made of mating me to you. At least not for a few years. Who knows, perhaps you will meet someone while there. I suggest you do. That way you won’t have to come back, because, I, as Alpha, will be looking for my Luna.” “Miles, I honestly do not care if you find someone else.” I told him, going to stand and head home, not wishing to spend another moment in the same place as him. As I went to move away, he grabbed my hand, pulling me to him, so I was once more sitting level with him on the top step of the first floor landing of our packhouse. “Always so righteous aren’t you Bailey? You say you don’t care? We will see. Well, this will be on my terms. I, Miles Davenport, reject you, Bailey West, as my fated mate…” he began, and my head began to whirl as his words sunk in. The realization and excruciating pain of what was happening becoming too much for me…

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InactiveJun 28, 26

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Victor's text hit Elara's phone at 9:47 PM. *Final notice. 48 hours or we seize the house.* She read it three times in the bathroom stall of the Thorne Dynamics ballroom, her hands shaking hard enough to nearly drop the phone into the toilet. Outside, two hundred of New York's elite celebrated another record quarter. Inside this stall, Elara's life was collapsing. Seven figures. That's what the debt had become over ten years. Medical bills from Leo's leukemia. Her mother's cancer treatment. Her father's gambling addiction. Numbers that had stopped feeling real and started feeling like a life sentence. The fire stairwell was empty. She kicked off her heels, and sat on the concrete steps. Sipping the remaining champagne, it was the 5th glass she’s had, pulling her knees to her chest, her expensive navy dress bunching around her thighs. Professional. Composed. That's what she'd been for three years as Marcus Thorne's executive assistant, you have to be, if you work for Marcus you’ll know he's the Devil in Dior. The stairwell door opened. Marcus descended slowly, his jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, carved jaw, dark eyes that missed nothing. He stopped two steps above her. He’s the type of man that turns heads when he enters a place, handsome? Yes, sexy? Yes, when it comes to work? a nightmare in black suits "You left the gala," he said. "I needed air." "You've been gone for eleven minutes." He moved closer. "I don't employ people who disappear." She looked away. "I’m sorry it was a family emergency, there's nothing you can fix." "Try me." Three years working under him, he literally gets off making her life miserable. Unreal goals, Inhuman workload, impossible deadlines, yet she always delivered and made sure she'd maintained perfect distance. Hated his guts, he was always set out to make her work difficult. Now, drunk on champagne and desperation, she felt it crumble. "My brother. Financial trouble. A debt collector. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars by tomorrow." He pulled out his phone immediately. "No." She grabbed his wrist. "You can't just…." "You work for me. Your problems are containable." His eyes locked on hers. "We're going to contain this." Something broke open inside her. For the first time in three years, she wasn't alone with it. He reached out, and for a terrifying second, she thought he would touch her face. Instead, his fingers brushed the collar of her dress, adjusting the thin strap where it had slipped on her shoulder. “Let go of control, just for a moment,” he said, his thumb resting where her neck met her shoulder, the heat searing her skin. "I can't," she whispered. "Yes, you can." He closed the final inch, ran his hands through her short dress, Elara felt electric waves through her. His mouth descended, not with the arrogance of a boss, it was gentle but with the demanding hunger of a man who had not been with anyone for too long. She kissed him back. It wasn't tender. It was desperate, her mouth against his, tasting cologne and expensive scotch. She expected him to pull away. Marcus Thorne didn't blur professional lines. Marcus didn't blur anything. Instead, he kissed her again. His hand gripped the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, destroying the careful pins. The other hand pulled her close until there was no space between them. He tasted like control and power, and she wanted to drown in it. He spun her around and pressed her back against the brick wall. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks she'd have to hide tomorrow. "Tell me to stop," he said against her skin. She didn't. She pulled his shirt up instead, needing to feel him. His chest was solid muscle, warm skin stretched over ribs she could feel under her palms. He made a sound, almost a growl and then his hands were everywhere. Her dress was hiked up around her waist. His fingers found the edge of her underwear and tore them away completely, the fabric ripping in his grip. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're soaked." He didn't waste time. His hand pressed between her thighs, fingers sliding inside her, and she gasped into his neck. His thumb found her clit and worked it in rough circles while his fingers pumped deeper, fingering her so hard. She could feel her own wetness coating his hand, dripping down her inner thighs. He moved the other free hand pressing her boobs and sucking on it passionately, tongue curling around the nipple and biting softly yet hardly. Her hips rocked against his hand desperately. This was insane. This was career suicide. This was….Damn she hates her boss, how’s this possible, she tried to stop but she couldn’t, the champagne was hitting harder now. He stopped and stepped back just far enough to unbuckle his belt. His pants dropped. Already hard and thick, stroking it once before reaching for his wallet. "Don't you fucking move," he said. He tore open a condom with his teeth and rolled it on with one hand while the other gripped her hip, keeping her pinned against the wall. Then he positioned himself and pushed inside her in one hard stroke. Elara's cry echoed off the concrete walls. He was big, bigger than she'd expected, filling her completely, stretching her almost to the point of pain. He didn't give her time to adjust. He pulled out and thrust back in, establishing a brutal rhythm that knocked her back against the brick with each movement. "Is this what you wanted?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Is this why you kissed me?" She couldn't answer. Could barely breathe. He was hitting something deep inside her that made her vision blur. His hand moved from her hip to grip her thigh, pulling her leg up and around his waist, changing the angle, going even deeper. The cold wall at her back. His heat pressing against her front. The sound of their bodies colliding in the empty stairwell, wet and urgent and absolutely forbidden. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight." He was hitting so fast and rough and didn’t notice the condom had broken. The pleasure was insane. Her orgasm built fast, a pressure that started at her core and radiated outward. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, tasting blood from biting her own lip. "Come," he commanded. She did. Hard and sudden, her muscles clenching around him as pleasure ripped through her body. She bit down on his neck to keep from screaming. He followed seconds later, his hips jerking erratically as he finished inside her, his breath harsh against her ear. For a moment, they stayed pressed together, both breathing hard, still connected. Then he pulled away. His expression was already closing off, back to the nonchalant ceo. He fixed his pants with mechanical precision while she slid down the wall, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand. "That didn’t happen," he said quietly. Her heart dropped in her stomach. "Marcus" "Go home. It’s Christmas holiday, see you at work next week, make sure you’re early." He didn't look at her. "This won't happen again." He left before she could respond, his footsteps disappearing up the stairs. Elara sat alone on the concrete, her dress torn, his marks on her skin, and realized she'd just made the worst decision of her life. It was 1 week later when she bought the first pregnancy test. Then four more after that just to be sure. Shit!!! what the fuck have i done. Two Pink Lines It had been a week since Elara slept with the devil. Christmas wasn’t supposed to feel like this. The holiday was meant for family dinners and bad movies, not sterile hospital hallways that smelled like bleach and something darker she couldn’t name. But here she was, Day seven of her vacation, sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside her mother’s bed, pretending everything would be fine. Her phone buzzed. Another email from Marcus. *Subject: Q4 Report - Revisions Needed* She opened the attachment. Forty-three pages of financial projections that needed reformatting by tomorrow. On Christmas week. Because Marcus Thorne didn’t believe in holidays, only deadlines. “You’re working again,” her mother said softly. Elara looked up. Her mother’s face had that grey pallor that came with stage three cancer, her cheeks hollow, but her eyes were still sharp. Still watching everything. “Just a quick edit.” Elara locked her phone and forced a smile. “Nothing major.” “You work too hard, baby.” “The job pays well, Mama. Really well.” The lie tasted bitter. Her savings account had $3,000 left after this month’s payment to Victor. The chemo her mother needed cost $80,000. “I’ve got it covered. The treatment, everything. You just focus on getting better.” Her mother’s thin hand reached out, wrapping around Elara’s wrist. “I don’t want you sacrificing your life for me.” “I’m not sacrificing anything.” Elara squeezed back gently, careful of the IV line. “You took care of me my whole life. It’s my turn now.” “Has your father come by?” The question landed like a stone in still water. “No.” Elara kept her voice neutral. “Haven’t seen him all week.” “Elara…” “And I’m praying it stays that way.” She couldn’t hide the edge in her tone. “Luca showing up only means he needs money or he’s running from someone he owes. Either way, it’s trouble we don’t need right now.” Her mother’s eyes filled with that particular sadness that came from loving a man who kept breaking her heart. “He’s still your father.” “He’s a gambling addict who put us in this mess.” Elara stood, smoothing down her jeans. “I need to head home, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Earlier if you need me.” “You’re a good girl, Elara. Too good for all this.” Elara kissed her mother’s forehead, tasting the salt of unshed tears she refused to let fall. “Get some rest, Mama. I love you.” “Love you too, baby.” The taxi ride home was quiet. Elara stared out the window at the Christmas lights strung across brownstones, families visible through warm windows, living lives that didn’t involve debt collectors and dying mothers and mistakes made in fire exits. She pulled out her phone, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Mimi had posted pictures from her campus in London, surrounded by friends at some holiday party. Elara double-tapped the image, feeling the distance between them like a physical ache. The next post was one of those viral memes. A girl holding up twelve fingers with the caption: *Period check. 12/12 months DONE. We survived besties.* Elara’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Twelve months. When was the last time she’d gotten hers? She tried to think back. November had been hell at work with the annual report. October… she couldn’t remember. Everything blurred together in a haze of hospital visits and late nights at the office and Victor’s constant threats. But she’d gotten it in November. She was sure. Maybe. Possibly. Her heart started doing something uncomfortable in her chest. “Miss? We’re here.” The taxi driver was watching her in the rearview mirror. Elara paid quickly, her hands shaking as she handed over crumpled bills. The bodega on the corner was still open, fluorescent lights harsh against the darkening street. She walked in like she was in a dream, past the rows of chips and energy drinks, to the back wall where the pharmacy items were kept. Pregnancy tests. An entire shelf of them. This was stupid. She was being paranoid. Stress could delay periods. She’d read that somewhere. And they’d used a condom. Marcus had used a condom. She’d seen him put it on. But intrusive thoughts were a bitch, and Elara had never been good at leaving questions unanswered. She grabbed the cheapest box and paid without making eye contact with the cashier. Her apartment was dark and cold. She hadn’t been home much this week, spending most nights on the hospital’s uncomfortable chairs. The space felt foreign now, like it belonged to a different version of herself. One who hadn’t fucked her boss in a stairwell. The bathroom light flickered twice before staying on. Elara tore open the box with shaking hands, reading instructions she already knew by heart from countless pregnancy scares in college that had amounted to nothing. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line meant not pregnant. Two lines meant… She didn’t let herself finish the thought. The test felt absurdly light in her hand. Such a small thing to hold so much weight. She did what needed to be done, set the stick on the edge of the sink, and pulled out her phone to set a timer. Three minutes. She couldn’t watch it. Instead, she sat on the closed toilet lid and stared at the cracked tile on the floor, counting the seconds in her head because the silence was too loud. Her phone buzzed. Another email from Marcus. She didn’t open it. The timer went off. Elara stood slowly, like her bones had aged a decade in three minutes. She picked up the test with hands that didn’t feel like her own. Two pink lines. Clear as day. Unmistakable. She bought four more tests from three different bodegas, spacing them out so the cashiers wouldn’t remember her face. Took them all within an hour, lining them up on the bathroom counter like evidence at a crime scene. Two lines. Two lines. Two lines. Two lines. Elara sat on her bathroom floor as the reality settled into her bones. She was pregnant. With Marcus Thorne’s baby. “Shit.” Her voice cracked. “What the fuck have I done?“ The Devil’s Proposal Elara hailed a taxi, dropped into the back seat, the taxi smelled like stale coffee. Elara rummaged through her tote bag for the third time, fingers brushing past lip gloss and crumpled receipts, searching for the USB drive that held Marcus’s edited Q4 reports. If she’d left it on her kitchen counter, she was dead. Not metaphorically dead. Actually dead. Marcus Thorne would fire her on the spot, and worse, he’d do it with that blank expression that made you feel like an insect he’d stepped on without noticing. Her fingers closed around the small drive. She exhaled. “Rough morning?” the driver asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “You have no idea.” Rough didn’t cover it. The past week had been hell wrapped in a nightmare and served cold. She’d worked through Christmas, editing financial projections while her mother slept in a hospital bed and five pregnancy tests sat hidden in her bathroom drawer like evidence of a crime she couldn’t undo. And Marcus. God, Marcus had made sure she earned every cent of her salary. Emails at 2 AM. Revision requests on Christmas Day. A forty-page report that needed complete reformatting because he decided he didn’t like the font. The man was the devil in Dior. No, worse. He was heartless in Hugo Boss. Satan in Suitsupply. Why not just quit? The question had been circling her brain for three years like a vulture. Because she couldn’t. Before this job, she’d been a janitor at a corporate office in Manhattan, mopping floors at 5 AM and dodging the eyes of executives who looked through her like she was furniture. Jobs were scarce when you didn’t have connections or a degree from the right school. And this job, for all its hell, paid well. Well enough that her mother had a hospital bed instead of dying on a clinic floor. Well enough that Leo, her junior brother, could stay in community college. Well enough that she could keep Victor, the debt collector from taking the last thing they owned. The taxi pulled up to Thorne Dynamics Tower, all glass and steel stretching into the grey January sky like a middle finger to everyone who couldn’t afford to work there. Elara paid the driver and stepped onto the sidewalk. The building loomed above her. She made the sign of the cross, muttering under her breath, “Dear God, about to work with the devil again today. Keep me safe.” It was sarcastic. Mostly. The lobby was already buzzing with employees, everyone moving with that particular Monday morning energy that felt more like a death march than a workday. Elara checked her phone. 8:47 AM. She was late. “Elara!” She turned to find Emeka striding toward her, coffee in one hand, his designer scarf draped over his shoulder like he was walking a runway instead of heading to accounting. He looked her up and down, eyebrows rising dramatically. “Girl, you’re glowing. What happened during the holiday? You met someone?” “Emeks, I’m late. Can we not?” “Oh, we’re absolutely doing this.” He fell into step beside her as they headed toward the elevators. “You’ve got that glow. That ‘I had good sex’ glow. Spill.” “There’s nothing to spill.” “Lies. I can smell lies, babe, and you reek of them.” Elara’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced down at the screen. *Mr. Thorne: My office. Now.* Her stomach dropped to her feet. Emeka leaned over her shoulder, reading the message. “Is that the devil?” She nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. “Well, don’t keep him waiting.” Emeka’s grin turned wicked. “Go on before he drops hell on earth. And babe? Whatever you did during Christmas, do it again. That glow is everything.” Elara didn’t respond. She was already moving toward the private elevator that led directly to Marcus’s top-floor office, her heels clicking against the marble like a countdown. The ride up felt like drowning in slow motion. She stared at her reflection in the polished steel doors. Dark circles under her eyes that concealer couldn’t quite hide. Hair pulled back in a tight bun that made her look professional and miserable. She looked like someone who’d spent the week having a mental breakdown in installments. The doors opened with a soft chime. Marcus’s office was exactly as she remembered. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Minimalist furniture that probably cost more than her annual salary. Everything is cold, clean, controlled. Just like him. He stood behind his desk, hands in his pockets, staring out at the skyline. He didn’t turn when she entered. “Good morning, Mr. Thorne.” Silence. She stayed by the door, clutching her bag like a shield. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with something she couldn’t name. Her mind raced. Did he know? Had he somehow found out about the pregnancy? Was this the part where he fired her for unprofessional conduct and she lost everything? “Sit.” It wasn’t a request. Elara moved to the chair across from his desk, lowering herself slowly. Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together in her lap, willing them to stop. Marcus turned finally, his dark eyes locking onto hers. His expression gave away nothing. No anger. No warmth. Nothing. He looked at her the way someone might look at a contract they were considering signing. The silence stretched. Ten seconds. Twenty. She was about to break, about to say something, anything to fill the terrible quiet, when he spoke. “Marry me.” Elara blinked. The words didn’t make sense. They were English, she understood English, but strung together like that they became nonsense. Her brain scrambled to process. Did he hit his head over Christmas? Did he think the sex in the stairwell meant something? Did he somehow know about the pregnancy and this was his twisted solution? “I…..” “Should I repeat myself?” His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before hurricanes. Elara’s mouth opened. Closed. It opened again. No sound came out. Her heart was doing something violent in her chest, slamming against her ribs like it was trying to escape. Marcus Thorne, her boss, the devil who’d made her life hell for three years, the man who’d fucked her in a fire exit and then dismissed her with cold finality, had just asked her to marry him. And judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t joking. My devil on earth had just made it official. One Million Reason “Marry me.” The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Elara stared at Marcus, waiting for the punchline, the smirk, anything that would indicate this was some elaborate joke at her expense. Nothing came. Is this man insane? “You heard me.” His tone was flat, like he’d just asked her to schedule a meeting, not commit to a lifetime legal bond. God, she despised this man. “What is this?” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Some kind of mental breakdown? A psychological experiment? The physical workload wasn’t torture enough, so now we’re moving into emotional manipulation?” “Marry me, and I will…..” “No.” The word came out loud. Too loud. Sharp enough to cut through the thick glass walls of his office and reach the assistants stationed outside. She saw heads turn, eyes widening before quickly looking away. Marcus blinked. It was the first genuine reaction she’d seen from him in three years. Actual surprise flickering across his face before the mask slammed back down. “No?” “Should I say it in French? Morse code? Sign language?” Elara’s hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was rage. Pure, undiluted rage at this man who thought he could control everything, including her. “Which translation works best for you, Mr. Thorne?” “You haven’t even heard my offer.” “I’m not interested in whatever twisted game you’ve cooked up in that calculating brain of yours.” She stood, chair scraping against the floor. “Find another assistant to play with.” Marcus watched her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The look on his face was almost comical. Almost. She’d just become the first person in Thorne Dynamics history to tell Marcus Thorne no, and he genuinely didn’t know how to process it. Elara turned to leave. “One million.” She stopped. Her hand was on the door handle, fingers frozen mid-grip. “One million what?” “Dollars.” Slowly, she turned back around. Marcus hadn’t moved. He stood behind his desk, hands still in his pockets, expression carefully neutral except for that slight tightness around his eyes that suggested he was recalculating every assumption he’d made about this conversation. “One million dollars,” she repeated. The number felt absurd in her mouth. Fake. Like Monopoly money. “For what? A year? Six months? How long does this arrangement last?” “Two years. A marriage contract. You play the role of my wife. After twenty four months, we divorce. You walk away with the money.” Elara laughed. It came out bitter and sharp. “You think you can just throw money at me? After three years of treating me like I’m nothing? Like I’m some object you keep in that office to make your life easier?” She took a step closer to his desk. “All the impossible deadlines. The emails at 3 AM. The constant criticism. The way you look through me like I’m invisible. And now you want me to marry you?” “It’s a business transaction.” “It’s insane.” “It’s practical.” Marcus pulled his hands from his pockets, placing them flat on the desk. “I need a wife. You need money. This solves both problems.” “You don’t know anything about my problems.” “I know you’re drowning in debt. I know your family is one payment away from losing everything. I know you spent Christmas in a hospital instead of enjoying your holiday.” His eyes locked onto hers. “I know Victor called you six times last week.” Ice flooded her veins. “How do you….” “I pay attention, Miss Vance.” The use of her last name felt like a slap. They’d had sex a week ago. His marks had barely faded from her neck. And now they were back to Miss Vance, like nothing had happened. Like she was still just the assistant. The employee. The thing he kept around for convenience. “Take your time,” Marcus said, settling into his chair with infuriating calm. “Think it over. Run the numbers. You’ll come around.” The certainty in his voice made her want to scream. “I won’t.” “You will.” Elara turned and walked out. She didn’t storm. Didn’t slam the door. Just walked out with her head high and her hands steady, even though everything inside her was screaming. The assistants at their desks kept their eyes down, suddenly fascinated by their computer screens. It was the first time in three years she’d walked out of Marcus Thorne’s office without being dismissed. And surprisingly, he didn’t call her back. No sharp command. No snide comment about professionalism. Nothing. Her own office was smaller. Cramped. A desk shoved against a window that overlooked the building next door instead of the city skyline. But it was hers, and right now she needed the space to breathe. Elara dropped into her chair and pressed her palms against her eyes. One million dollars. The number kept circling her brain like a vulture. That kind of money would pay off Victor. Cover her mother’s treatment. Give Leo a real shot at a future instead of community college classes he could barely afford. That kind of money would save them. But marriage? To Marcus Thorne? The man who’d made her life miserable for three years? The man who’d fucked her in a stairwell and then act like she was nothing? Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. The office phone rang. “Miss Vance speaking.” “Hi, um, there’s someone here to see you?” The receptionist’s voice was hesitant. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says it’s urgent. His name is Victor.” Elara’s blood turned to ice. Victor. The debt collector. Here. At her office. “Tell him….” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Tell him I’ll be right down.” She hung up before the receptionist could respond. Her hands were shaking again, but this time there was no rage to hide behind. Just pure, animal fear. Victor had found her office. He’d tracked her down to the one place she thought was safe. And if he was here, it meant the forty-eight hours were up. It meant she was out of time. And he’s here to collect the money she had no hand in spending, her father, her father the drunk gambler had been borrowing money from Victor. Broken Glass Victor was waiting in the lobby, leaning against the reception desk like he owned the place. Designer suit. Expensive watch. Nothing about him screamed debt collector except the dead look in his eyes when they landed on her. Elara’s stomach twisted. “We need to talk,” he said. “Not here.” She grabbed his arm, steering him toward the exit. The last thing she needed was her colleagues witnessing this. “Outside.” They crossed the marble lobby in silence, through the revolving doors and into the cold January air. The parking lot was mostly empty at this hour, just a few scattered cars and the distant hum of traffic. Elara didn’t stop until they were behind a concrete pillar, away from the building’s glass walls. “What are you doing here?” Her voice came out harsh. “How did you even find my office?” Victor smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Your father gave me your details. Workplace, address, everything. Luca’s been very cooperative lately.” Of course he had. Luca would sell out his own children if it meant saving his skin for another day. “What do you want?” “Your father hasn’t been answering his phone for two weeks. His weekly payment is overdue.” Victor pulled out his phone, scrolling through something before turning the screen toward her. Numbers. Dates. A debt that had somehow grown even larger. “The house goes up for collateral if I don’t get payment by tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” Elara’s voice cracked. “That’s impossible. I need more time.” “You’ve had ten years, Elara.” “Please.” The word tasted like ash. She hated begging. Hated the way her voice went small and desperate. But this was her mother’s house. The only thing they had left. “Just give me one more week. I’ll figure something out. I’ll get you the money.” “One week won’t change anything.” Victor pocketed his phone. “You don’t have it now, you won’t have it then.” “I’ll find a way.” “How? You going to ask your boss for a raise?” He gestured toward the tower behind them. “Girls like you don’t get miracles. You get buried.” “I’m not asking for a miracle. I’m asking for time.” Victor studied her for a long moment. She could see him calculating, weighing her worth against whatever pressure Luca’s debt had put on him. Finally, he sighed. “Twenty-four hours, Elara. That’s all you get.” He started walking back toward the street. “Clock’s ticking.” Tick. Tok. She watched him go, her legs suddenly unsteady. Twenty-four hours. One day to come up with money she didn’t have. One day before they lost everything. The sound of footsteps made her turn. Marcus was walking through the parking lot, phone pressed to his ear, talking in that clipped tone he used for business calls. He must have been heading to his car. His eyes swept past her, lingering for just a second before moving on. He’d heard. She knew he’d heard. The parking lot wasn’t that big, and Victor’s voice carried. But Marcus kept walking. Didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge her. Just continued toward his black Mercedes like she was part of the scenery. Elara stood there, watching him disappear into his car, and felt something cold settle in her chest. Of course he didn’t care. Why would he? She was just the assistant. Just another problem that wasn’t his to solve. She went back inside, grabbed her bag from her office, and left without telling anyone. The building felt too small suddenly. Too suffocating. “Elara!” Emeka caught her at the elevator, slightly out of breath like he’d jogged to catch up. “Where are you going? It’s only 2 PM.” “I need to see my mum.” The lie came easily. Too easily. “She’s not feeling well.” His expression softened immediately. “Oh babe, I’m sorry. Do you need anything?” “No. I just need to go.” “Okay. Text me if you need me, yeah?” She nodded and stepped into the elevator before he could see her face crumble. The subway ride home was a blur. Bodies pressed together. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne. Someone’s music bleeding through their headphones. Elara stared at the floor and tried not to think about Victor’s words. Twenty-four hours. The house. Her mother. One million dollars. The thought of what happened at the office started coming back to her. It’s absurd she’s even thinking about it, it’s Marcus Thorne, why would ever want to marry Marcus Thorne, she thought to herself. No. She wasn’t that desperate. She wasn’t going to sell herself to Marcus Thorne for money. There had to be another way. Her apartment building looked the same as always. The familiar brownstone that had been home for the past five years. She climbed the steps to her floor, keys already in hand. The door was open. Elara stopped. She’d locked it this morning. She always locked it. Her hand pushed the door wider. Inside, her wardrobe was open, clothes thrown across the floor. Drawers pulled out and overturned. Everything scattered. “No. No no no.” She dropped her bag and ran to her bedroom closet. Shoved aside the shoes and boxes stacked at the bottom. Her hands found the metal lockbox she kept hidden in the back corner. It was open. The small lock was broken. Empty. Her heart skipped. Three thousand dollars. Every cent she’d managed to save over the past months. Money meant for her mother’s treatment. Money she’d scraped together from skipped meals and extra shifts and selling anything she didn’t absolutely need. Gone. Only one person had a key to her apartment. Luca. Her father had robbed her.

Turtle Matt Renee

InactiveJun 28, 26 · 1d

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Stars Do Not Ask for Returns

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The day we planned to come out, Daniel got a life-threatening task from my father. Before leaving, Daniel promised to marry me if he returned alive. For three years, I turned down all suitors and waited for him. Three years later, he came back. One leg ruined, a finger partially severed, a fresh scar bisecting his face. He dropped to one knee before my father. “Sir,” he said. “I trade my goods for your permission to marry Ava.” Ava stood beside him, one hand resting protectively on her pronounced belly. My father’s eyes flickered to me. Everyone knew that if I wanted to, I could burn this all to the ground. But I only looked at the girl and said, “Congratulations.” For three years, family match files stacked up all around my room. I pulled one out at random and decided to get married. On my wedding day, Daniel stood in front of my car, a gun in his hand. “If you marry him today,” he said, “I’ll kill him.” ... Of the seven most important men under my father’s command, Daniel Roman ranked last. He was the best-looking of them all, and I had been in love with him since I was a girl. My father later said that if he had known about us, he never would have given Daniel that assignment. Of the seven, Daniel was the best fighter. If even he couldn’t make it back, no one else stood a chance. But that job had been three long years ago. “Miss Willa, Daniel is back.” My eyes flew open. I ran from my room without even stopping for shoes. The butler intercepted me in the hall. “Miss Willa…” I took one look at his face and knew something was wrong. “I understand.” I grabbed an umbrella and went outside. The rain was coming down in sheets. I walked so quickly the hem of my dress was soon soaked through. The front hall was crowded. My father’s men were all standing under the portico. Some looked relieved. Others looked furious. I couldn’t tell what they were angry about. “Dad.......

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