Aria's POV
"Good morning," the receptionist's voice clipped like a scalpel as I stepped into the marble-floored lobby of Westin Industries. I forced a smile, clutched my thin canvas bag, and met her cool gaze.
"Miss Harper," she said, fingers fluttering over her keyboard. "You're here for the…secretary position?"
I nodded, throat tight. "Yes. Aria Harper. I have an appointment with Mr. Westin at nine."
She raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "Right. A college student. Interesting résumé." Her tone dripped skepticism. "I don't see any office experience here."
My cheeks flamed. I smoothed my borrowed blazer—too big at the shoulders—and looked down at my modest blouse and slacks. "I know I'm young," I said, voice trembling, "but I'm a quick learner."
She clicked her tongue. "Quick learner doesn't pay the bills." With a flourish, she stamped a glossy visitor's badge: A. Harper – Sec. Interview. She handed it to me. "You'll wait here."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and stepped back, unsure whether to collapse against the glass wall or bolt for the door. Instead, I whispered, "Thank you."
She didn't look up.
The lobby felt icy, even though the sun gleamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Every heartbeat in my chest thundered in my ears. I pressed the badge to my chest like a shield, weighed by shame and fear.
My phone vibrated—a text from Maya:
> Breathe, Aria. You got this.
I forced a smile even though no one saw. I pictured Lila's pale face, bright with hope after surgery. I pictured Damon's promise: a job, stability, a place to rebuild my shattered life. This was worth it.
Footsteps clicked behind me. I turned—and froze.
Celeste Langford stood there, arms crossed over a designer dress, curves perfected to her liking. A smirk curled on her lips.
"Well, well," she purred, voice silk and poison. "Look who's playing secretary in the big leagues."
Heat pooled in my cheeks. I hugged my bag tighter. "Good morning, Ms. Langford."
She laughed, low and mocking. "Please—call me Celeste. You were the one in that hotel suite last night, weren't you?" She leaned toward me, perfume overwhelming—jasmine and something darker. "The new…property."
I blinked, heart twisting. "I'm just here for the interview."
She arched a brow. "Is that what you call it? A little…transaction with my ex?" Her voice rose, drawing glares from passersby. "You think just because he wrote you a check, you belong in this world?"
Heat rose through my body, not from embarrassment this time but fury. "I earned that check," I snapped, startling even myself. "Just like I'll earn this job."
Celeste's eyes glittered. She reached out and whirled my bag from my shoulder, flinging it to the floor. "Show me you can handle being thrown to the wolves."
The bag hit the marble with a harsh thud. Papers and my phone scattered. I bent to retrieve them—fingers brushing shards of broken notebooks and a cracked phone screen.
A sudden, searing pain shot through my ring finger as Celeste slammed her heel on it. I gasped, stifling a sob, clutching the wounded finger. Blood blossomed between the cracks of the booth badge.
"Oops," Celeste said, voice mocking sympathy. "Hope that didn't hurt too much."
"Stop it," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.
She laughed again—sharp, cruel. "Poor little orphan girl, ruined by a billionaire's whim." Her laughter echoed in the lobby. "Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart."
Before I could respond, a strong hand closed around Celeste's arm.
"That's enough."
I looked up and saw Damon Westin—tailored suit, tie loosened at the collar, eyes ablaze with controlled fury. Godson Crane hovered at his side, lips pressed in a thin line.
Celeste released a prim laugh, flexed her arm out of Damon's grip. "Damon, darling, didn't realize you had your secretary protecting—"
Damon's jaw clenched. "I told you to stay away."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be dramatic." She turned to me, voice honeyed. "Enjoy your little power play, girl."
Damon looked at me—my bloodied finger, the tears glistening on my lashes, the mess of papers at our feet—and his expression shifted. Something softened, something protective.
"Aria," he said quietly—his voice somehow audible over the whirl of gossip and hushed office chatter—"come with me."
He offered me his arm. I stared at it as though it were a lifeline in the desert. I slipped my hand onto his forearm and let him guide me across the lobby. Celeste's mocking laughter chased us until we reached the security doors.
Inside Damon's office, the door closed with a final click. The glass walls revealed the city skyline beyond, sun glinting off skyscrapers. The scent of leather-bound books, rare whiskey, and subtle cologne wrapped around me like a promise.
Damon closed the blinds halfway, muting the harsh glare. He turned to face me. "I'm sorry."
My throat tightened. "About Celeste?" My voice broke on the word.
He nodded once, jaw clenched. "She has no right to treat you like that."
I swallowed hard, blood pounding in my ears. "I—I don't belong here."
He stepped closer, eyes never leaving mine. "You belong wherever you choose to be."
My heart lurched. I stared at the desk between us—the gleaming wood surface, the neat stack of my interview materials, a single business card beside his laptop.
He picked up the card and handed it to me. "I want you to stay." His voice was low, relentless. "My assistant. Secretary. My right hand."
My breath caught. "You mean…you're offering me the job?"
He nodded, running a hand through his hair. "And I'll protect you—personally—against anyone who tries to hurt you."
I stared at his hand. His eyes. The promise behind his words. "Why me?"
He paused, gaze distant. "Because you're not like the others. You have fire." His voice softened. "And you fight."
Every wall I'd erected around my heart trembled. I tightened my grip on the card. "I accept."
Relief—and something deeper—flooded him. He allowed a small, genuine smile. "Good."
A moment of peace settled between us, electric with possibility. Then the door burst open.
Godson Crane's face was pale. "Sir—there's a call from Dr. Moore. It's urgent."
Damon's smile faded. He glanced at me, eyes darkening. "I'll handle it."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was gentle, intimate. "Wait here."
My pulse thundered. For a second, I thought he might fold me into his arms. But he turned and stalked from the room, leaving me alone.
I sank into the guest chair, hands shaking around my badge and the fresh business card. I was exactly where I'd never dreamed: in Damon Westin's office, newly hired, bloodied and broken, yet fiercely alive.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. The door swung open—and Dr. Moore hurried in, mask pulled down, her eyes wide with shock.
"Aria," she breathed. "It's Lila—her heart rate just spiked. They need her back in surgery, now."
My blood ran cold. "Again?"
She shook her head. "There's…there's a complication we didn't see. They're prepping an emergency procedure."
My world tilted. I clutched the arms of the chair. "I have to be there."
Dr. Moore hesitated. "We have your signature."
I remembered the signed consent form. My chest tightened. "I'll go with her. Please—let me be there."
She nodded, eyes full of sympathy and fear. "We'll take you both down in the next few minutes."
My heart pounded so hard I thought Damon would hear it through the closed door. I leapt to my feet, ready to run to my sister's side.
But then Godson's voice came from the doorway: "Sir wants you here."
Dr. Moore swallowed. "We need you in the OR."
I stared at the business card in my hand. At my bloodied finger. At the skyline outside his window—so high above, so far from the cold, bright halls of St. Vincent's.
And I realized: I had two worlds pulling at me—one held the man who saved me and offered me a future, the other held the sister I'd risked everything to save.
My chest ached as I weighed my choice.
Before I could move, the door burst open again—and Damon Westin strode in, eyes blazing with something like panic.
He crossed to me in two long strides and grasped my hand. "Aria," he said, voice urgent. "Come with me."
My breath caught. "I—"
He pressed a second card into my palm—this one with the hospital's helipad code and an executive pass. "You're coming with me. Now."
My world narrowed to his outstretched hand and the echo of my sister's name.
I looked up at him. "Okay."
And with that single word, everything changed.