DAMIAN DAYS didn't believe in distractions.
Not in love. Not in luck. Not in people.
At twenty-eight, he'd built one of the fastest-growing tech empires in the country—Damian Dynamics. Multi-billion-dollar contracts. International boardrooms. Headlines. Power. Everything was his.
Everything… except her.
Layla.
His secretary. His precision. His perfectly organized chaos.
She was efficient, poised, maddeningly intuitive. Always one step ahead, always so damn calm in the storm of his day.
And he hated it. Hated how she made his coffee just right. Hated how her perfume lingered in the elevator after she left. Hated the way his chest tightened when she smiled at someone else.
So he made sure no one got close.
Her workload doubled. Meetings rescheduled at ungodly hours. Personal errands disguised as "urgent tasks." He kept her too busy, too focused—too his. It was the only way.
"Mr. Days, your 8 AM briefing is ready," she said, standing at his glass door, tablet in hand, eyes unreadable.
His eyes flicked up from his laptop. She wore that navy-blue dress again—the one that made his pulse stutter for no good reason.
"I moved it to 7:30," he said flatly, not looking at her too long. "You're late."
Her jaw twitched, but she nodded. "Understood."
He watched as she turned to leave—graceful, infuriating—and before he could stop himself, he said, "Cancel lunch. You'll be eating with me. I have… revisions for the Milan pitch."
She paused. Just for a second.
"Yes, sir."
He told himself it was about work.
It was always about work.
Except it wasn't.
Not with her.
"I swear this man is gonna kill me one day," Layla huffed, balancing her phone on her shoulder as she tore open her kitchen drawer looking for tea bags. "Do you know I haven't had an actual lunch break in two weeks? TWO."
Her mom sighed on the other end. "Which one is it today—crazy boss or the crazy rich one?"
"Same person, mama. Same damn person."
"That fine one?"
Layla rolled her eyes. "He's not that fine."
Her mom laughed. "Girl, please."
Layla lowered her voice. "Okay, yes. He's fine. But also—evil. I feel like I work for a robot. One minute I'm doing well, and the next? He's snapping at me because I brought him the wrong brand of water. Water, mummy. Ordinary water."
"He just likes you."
"No, he just likes control."
She ended the call before she said something worse and dialed her bestie, Zina.
Zina picked on the first ring. "He mad again?"
"Girl, I don't even know anymore.Damian Days is emotionally unstable with a jawline. He moved my lunch to 12:05 just to tell me to cancel it."
Zina laughed. "Just marry him already."
Layla groaned. "He doesn't even like me. I'm just his assistant-slash-prisoner."
"And what about that Maya girl? His 'best friend'."
Layla's face darkened. "Oh, she's another demon."
Zina leaned in over the phone, curious. "What she do now?"
"She walked into my office today like she owned the damn building. All sweet at first—'Oh my gosh, Layla, you're SO lucky to work for Aaron. He's so picky about the people he lets around him.' Then five minutes later, she's in his office whispering things and throwing me dirty looks through the glass."
"She jealous?"
"Jealous, petty, and fake. I caught her in the elevator once talking to someone about how I'm 'just a secretary' and that Aaron 'doesn't do office girls.' Then she turned around and asked if I wanted to get drinks sometime. Like witch, pick a personality."
Zina hissed. "That girl don't like you near her man."
Layla rubbed her temples. "She acts like she's in love with him. And maybe she is. But she's fake, Z. Sweet voice when he's around, but the minute he's not? It's like I'm breathing her oxygen."
"Keep your head up, babe. If he really sees you, she can't stop that."
Layla sighed. "That's the problem. I don't even know if he does."
And yes, Layla recollects one of those days the devil walked in.
Maya strutted into the office like it was hers.
High heels. Expensive perfume. That fake smile glued to her face.
"Laylaaa," she sang, dragging out the name. "Still here? You must really love your job."
Layla looked up from her desk, dead inside. "It's almost midnight. I'm clearly in love."
Maya laughed like it was a compliment. "Well, Damian only keeps the special ones around. You know how… picky he is."
She walked closer, leaned against Layla's desk, eyes sharp behind her lashes.
"I remember when I used to help him with late work. He doesn't trust just anyone with his time." Her smile tightened. "You're lucky."
Before Layla could say anything stupid, the office door opened.
Damian Days walked out, sharp suit, storm on his face.
Maya straightened. "Dami—"
"Not now, Maya." His voice was tight.
He turned to Layla, eyes cold.
"Why's this pitch still on my desk? You've had all day."
"I was waiting for your final notes—"
"Don't wait. Think. That's what I pay you for."
The words stung. Maya's smirk widened.
"Finish it. Tonight."
He walked away.
Layla sat back, swallowing it.
Maya leaned in and whispered, "Tough love, babe."
Later That Night…
Layla finally shut her laptop. Street lights flickered outside. The office was empty.
She walked slowly, hugging her bag to her side, heart heavy. It was cold and quiet.
Just as she turned the corner, a sleek black car pulled up.
Damian's.
The window slid down.
"Get in," he said.
She stopped walking. "I'm fine."
His eyes met hers. "I said get in."
No emotion. Just that same boss tone.
She got in.
The car was silent.
He didn't look at her. Just drove.
Her phone buzzed. Caller ID: Love
She picked up, voice soft. "Hey… I'm on my way. Don't worry, I'm fine… Just heading home now."
She didn't say "Mama." Didn't say where she was.
Damian glanced at the screen. His jaw tightened.
He pulled over suddenly.
"Get down," he said.
Layla blinked. "What?"
"I said, get down."
She stepped out slowly. The door slammed.
He drove off.
She stood there, shocked, heart racing, headlights fading in the night.
A few minutes passed before she waved down a cab.
She didn't cry.
But her chest hurt.
Bad.