The necklace sat in its Tiffany box on Lucien's desk like evidence in a trial.
The diamonds caught the afternoon light, throwing accusatory sparkles across the mahogany surface.
Ava had been standing in his office for twenty minutes, watching him pace behind his desk like a caged predator.
He made phone calls, sent emails, his voice sharp and clipped, his displeasure clear to everyone on the other end.
She'd tried to leave twice, murmuring about work that needed to be completed.
Each time, he'd silenced her with a look that could have frozen fire.
So she waited—growing more uncomfortable by the minute—while he conducted what looked like a systematic review of Alexander Vance's business dealings with a thoroughness that bordered on obsessive.
Finally, he hung up his phone and turned his full attention to her.
The intensity of his gaze made her want to squirm, but she forced herself to stand straight and meet his eyes.
She'd shown enough weakness for one day.
"I've made some calls," he said, his voice carefully controlled.
"Alexander Vance has a reputation for this sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?" Ava asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
"Targeting employees of companies he's interested in acquiring or destroying.
He sends expensive gifts, makes personal connections, gathers intelligence.
It's a well-documented pattern."
The words hit her like cold water.
"You think he's using me to spy on Drake Enterprises?"
"I think he's using you, period.
The question is whether you're naive enough to let him."
The casual insult sparked something hot and angry in her chest.
"I'm not naive, Mr. Drake. I'm perfectly capable of recognizing when someone has ulterior motives."
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Are you? Because you seemed quite charmed by his attention during our meeting.
Blushing at his compliments, nodding along with his idealistic speeches about business ethics."
Heat flooded her cheeks.
She had been charmed by Alex's attention—had enjoyed being treated like an intelligent person rather than a possession.
But the way Lucien said it made her feel foolish, like a child taken in by candy from a stranger.
"He was being polite," she said defensively.
"He was being calculating.
And apparently, it worked."
Lucien moved closer, his presence overwhelming in the suddenly small-feeling office.
"Which brings me to my next point.
When he contacts you—and he will—you are to hang up immediately and report the call to me."
The order was delivered in the same tone he used to dictate letters or schedule meetings, as if her compliance were a given.
The casualness of it, the complete lack of consultation, made something snap inside her.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me.
No conversation, no polite excuses.
Hang up and tell me immediately."
"And what if it's work-related?
What if he has legitimate business with Drake Enterprises?"
Lucien's smile was sharp as a blade.
"Any legitimate business Alexander Vance has with this company will go through proper channels.
It won't involve personal phone calls to my assistant."
"Your assistant," Ava repeated slowly, "not your property."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Lucien went very still, his dark eyes locking on her face with laser intensity.
"What did you say?"
"I said I'm your assistant, not your property.
I can handle a phone call from a business associate without running to you like a child who needs permission to speak."
The words came out stronger than she'd intended, fueled by weeks of suppressed resentment and the humiliation of being treated like she couldn't think for herself.
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or anger.
Maybe both.
"You think you can handle Alexander Vance?"
His voice was dangerously quiet.
"I think I can handle a conversation without compromising company secrets or falling for whatever scheme you think he's planning."
"Do you?"
He moved closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
"Because from where I'm standing, you've already been compromised.
He sent you a fifty-thousand-dollar necklace, and instead of immediately returning it, you sat at your desk staring at it like Cinderella with her glass slipper."
The comparison stung because there was truth in it.
She had been dazzled by the gift, had allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to wear something so beautiful, so expensive.
But that didn't mean she was a fool.
"I was shocked," she said firmly.
"I've never received anything like that before.
But I wasn't planning to keep it."
"Weren't you?"
His head tilted slightly, studying her face.
"Not even for a moment?
Didn't you think about what it might mean to have someone who could afford to give you things like that?
Someone who wasn't your boss, who didn't hold your job and your mother's medical care over your head like a sword?"
Each word was precisely chosen, designed to cut deep.
He knew exactly what buttons to push, how to make her feel small, trapped, desperate.
But this time, instead of shrinking away from his psychological warfare, her anger crystallized into something hard and bright.
"Yes," she said, lifting her chin defiantly.
"For a moment, I did think about that.
I thought about what it would be like to work for someone who treats me like a human being instead of a possession he can order around at will."
The admission hung between them like a declaration of war.
Lucien's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching with barely controlled fury.
"Is that what you think this is about?
Your wounded pride because I expect you to follow reasonable security protocols?"
"Security protocols?"
She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"Is that what you call monitoring my phone calls and photographing me for months before we even met?
Is that what you call controlling what I wear and where I go and who I'm allowed to speak to?"
"I call it protecting my interests," he said coldly.
"You work for me, Ava.
Everything you do reflects on this company and on me personally.
When you accept expensive gifts from competitors, when you flirt with men actively trying to damage my business, you become a liability."
"I wasn't flirting—"
"You were hanging on his every word.
Smiling at his jokes.
Agreeing with his thinly veiled criticisms of how I run my company."
His voice grew quieter, more controlled, which somehow made it even more frightening.
"You gave him exactly what he was looking for—validation that there are cracks in my organization, weaknesses he can exploit."
"That's not what happened, and you know it!"
"What I know is that you're naive enough to think a man like Alexander Vance gives away fifty-thousand-dollar necklaces out of the kindness of his heart.
What I know is that you're so desperate for someone to treat you like an equal that you'll ignore obvious manipulation."
Each word felt like a slap.
He painted her as pathetic, desperate, easily manipulated—everything she'd spent her life trying not to be.
The worst part was that some of it was true.
She had been charmed by Alex's attention.
She had been grateful for someone who seemed to see her potential rather than just her desperation.
"Maybe I am desperate," she said, her voice shaking with emotion.
"Maybe I am tired of being treated like I can't think for myself.
Maybe I'm sick of having every decision made for me by someone who thinks his money gives him the right to control my life!"
"My money is the only thing standing between your mother and a state-run facility where she'll die slowly and alone," Lucien said, his voice like ice.
"My money is the only reason you're not counting change for bus fare and living on ramen noodles.
Don't forget that."
The threat was clear.
It hit exactly where he intended.
Her mother. Always her mother.
The one leverage he had that she couldn't fight against, couldn't argue with, couldn't escape.
But this time, instead of backing down, Ava felt something inside her harden.
Yes, she needed his help.
Yes, she was trapped by circumstances and debt and desperation.
But that didn't mean she had to accept being treated like a child who couldn't be trusted with basic human interactions.
"I won't forget," she said quietly.
"But I also won't be treated like a puppet whose strings you can pull whenever you feel threatened by someone treating me with basic human decency."
Lucien's eyes went completely cold, all pretense of emotion draining until he looked like a statue carved from marble and fury.
When he spoke, his voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear it.
"Let me be very clear about something, Ava.
This isn't a discussion.
This isn't a negotiation.
This is a command, and you will obey it."
He stepped closer—close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the dangerous glitter in his dark eyes.
"If Alexander Vance contacts you in any way—phone, email, text, carrier pigeon—you will hang up, delete the message, and report it to me immediately.
You will not engage.
You will not be polite.
You will not give him so much as a 'hello' before cutting off contact."
"And if I refuse?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it, fueled by anger, humiliation, and a desperate need to assert control over her own life.
She saw the shift in his expression, the moment when his carefully controlled facade cracked to reveal the ruthless businessman underneath.
"Your mother's private hospital room—the one with the view of the garden, the specialized equipment, the round-the-clock nursing care—disappears.
She goes back to the state facility where she was slowly dying before I intervened.
The experimental treatments stop.
The physical therapy ends.
And you get to watch her fade away knowing your pride cost her the chance at recovery."
The words hit her like blows, each one aimed at her deepest fears, her greatest vulnerabilities.
He wasn't just threatening to withdraw his support—he was threatening to let her mother die to make a point about obedience.
The casual cruelty of it, the way he could speak about her mother's life as a bargaining chip, made her feel sick.
But it also crystallized what she'd been trying to ignore: this wasn't about protecting her, or about business security.
This was about ownership.
Control.
The absolute certainty that he could manipulate her into compliance by threatening the one thing she loved most.
And the worst part was that it worked.
Because she would do anything—endure anything—to keep her mother safe and comfortable.
Even if it meant surrendering every scrap of independence she had left.
"Do we understand each other?"
His voice was deadly quiet.
Satisfaction flickered in his eyes as he watched her face crumble under the weight of impossible choices.
Ava looked at him standing there, perfectly controlled, absolutely certain of his power, and felt something break inside her chest.
Not her spirit—that would take more than threats to destroy.
But her illusions.
Illusions about what this relationship really was.
About whether there was any genuine care beneath his obsessive control.
"Yes," she whispered, the word tasting like ashes in her mouth.
"We understand each other."