"If I mess this up, I'll be stuck making coffee wraps, not high-end wear."
Aria Lane pulled at her old blazer's edge and let out a deep breath.
"You've got this," Maya said, giving her a small mirror. "You're smart, broke, and in need. That's the best mix to push hard."
Aria gave a small, weak smile as she saw herself in the mirror. Her lip color was worn off, her hair was wild, and her eyes—normally bright—looked worn out. But under that tired look was a spark.
She looked at the huge glass building in front of her. CrossTech. It was sleek, scary, and looked too good for her.
Not today, she told herself. Today, I fit in.
---
The lady at the front desk did not even look up when Aria walked in.
"Name?"
"Aria Lane. I'm here for the assistant role."
The woman typed on her screen, then pointed to the lifts. "Top floor. Mr. Cross is waiting."
Aria's stomach turned. She knew a lot about Damien Cross. Rich. Tech boss. Style guru. And icy. No talks. No news. No helpers—until now.
The lift ride seemed to last forever. She went over her lines, her main points, and her backup jokes. But when the doors slid open, all her thoughts left.
The office was simple, all steel and glass. Just one desk. A wall of glass. And Damien Cross.
He stood with his back to her, looking out over the city. Tall. Dressed perfectly. Still as stone.
"Miss Lane," his voice came, low and cool, without feeling. "You're late."
"I'm—"
"Three minutes late," he cut in. "I don't take lateness."
Aria nodded. "Got it."
He spun around slowly, his sharp face and gray eyes hitting her like ice.
"Sit."
She did, holding onto her work folder tight.
"You put in for a job that's not real," he said. "I don't take helpers."
"Why list the job?"
"I didn't. My team did. They think I need help. I don't agree."
Aria paused. "So this is a test?"
A tiny grin on Damien's face. "All is a test."
He opened her folder, looking through her work. His hands were careful, but his face gave nothing away.
"You have skill," he said at last. "But skill isn't all. Can you deal with stress?"
"Yes."
"Keep secrets?"
"Yes."
"Vanish when I need quiet and talk when I need info?"
Aria stopped short. "I'll try."
He eyed her. "I don't take try. I take do."
She locked eyes with him. "Then I'll do."
A long pause. Then Damien shut the folder and stood up.
"You start tomorrow. Six sharp. No slipping. No mess-ups."
Aria stood, her heart loud. "Thank you."
He looked away. "Don't thank me. Just don't let me down."
---
Outside, Maya walked back and forth.
"Well?"
"I got it," Aria said, still shocked.
Maya yelled happily. "No way! What did he say?"
"He said not to let him down."
Maya stared. "That's... good?"
Aria laughed, but it felt empty. She felt like she had walked into a wild storm she didn't get.
---
Next day, Aria got there at 5:55. All was quiet. Damien was already there, typing fast.
He didn't look up. "Coffee. Black. No sugar."
She ran to find the kitchen, almost falling over a cleaning bot. When she came back, he took the cup and said nothing.
"Your work is in the folder," he said. "Don't bug me unless it's big."
Aria looked through the folder. Meetings, calls, plans, trips. It was a mess in fancy wrap.
She dove in, fixing timetables, saying yes to calls, learning new apps. By noon, her head spun.
Damien said nothing more. He worked like a bot—quick, neat, and very far away.
At 2, Lena Cross came in.
"Brother," she dropped on a sofa. "Still tough, huh?"
Damien kept typing. "Lena."
She looked at Aria. "You must be the new help. I'm Lena. I'm the fun one."
Aria smiled. "Good to meet you."
Lena leaned close. "He's not as hard as he looks. Just can't show his feelings."
Damien let out a breath. "Lena, go."
She winked at Aria. "Ring me if he growls."
---
By 6, Aria was beat. She packed up, not sure if she could leave.
Damien then looked up. "You made it."
"Just."
He watched her. "You didn't cry. That's new."
"I keep my tears for home."
A small hint of something—fun? Pride?
"Tomorrow. Same time."
---
That night, Aria fell onto her bed. Her body hurt, her mind was loud, and her heart... it jumped.
Not for Damien. Not yet. But because she stood up to him and didn't fall.
She was in.
---
Days turned into a pattern. Aria learned Damien's ways, his moods, his quiet. He never praised, never grinned, never eased up.
But he saw it all.
When she fixed up his files, he nodded once. If she caught a plan mistake, he lifted an eyebrow. When she got him tea on a rainy day, he said, "Clever."
It wasn't warm. But it was something.
---
One night, Aria stayed late to finish a report. She went into a side room for a printer—and stopped.
Sketches. Lots of them. Designs, cloth, shapes. All with one letter: D.
She was shocked. They were not work drafts. They were his own. Full of life. Lovely.
"Miss Lane."
She spun around. Damien was there, dark-eyed.
"I didn't mean to—"
"You shouldn't have seen this."
"I'm sorry."
He moved closer. "Don't be sorry. Just forget."
"But they're great."
He looked away. "They're not important."
"Why?"
He didn't reply. Just left.
---
That night, Aria couldn't sleep. The drawings stuck with her. So did Damien's voice—low, hurt, and far off.
He was more than just cold. More than stern.
And she wanted to know all of it.