The morning sun filtered weakly through Elena's curtains, soft light spilling across the floorboards. She stood in front of the mirror, blouse buttoned, skirt smoothed, blazer straightened. Her reflection looked polished, crisp, every strand of her hair pinned into place. On the outside, she was the perfect image of professionalism.
Inside, her stomach was a churning mess.
She closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. "Please," she whispered softly, hands clutching the sink edge, "let me just get through today. Let me not run into him. Not at the elevator, not in the hall, not anywhere."
Her voice cracked at the end. She pressed her lips together, hating the tremor in them.
Damien Cross was away. That was her only blessing these past two days, space to breathe, space to think. But he was back today. She knew it. She could feel it. The city seemed sharper, the air heavier, like it was bracing for a storm.
She grabbed her bag, slipped on her heels, and forced herself out the door.
******************************************************
The lobby of Steel & Cross was its usual gleaming self, marble floors, polished glass, security guards who barely blinked as executives swept in. Elena clutched her coffee like a lifeline, weaving through the crowd.
"Morning, sunshine." Marcy's voice came from her side, cheerful and grounding.
Elena smiled weakly. "You're too awake for this hour."
"That's because I've accepted caffeine as my religion," Marcy said, holding up her own cup. She gave Elena a quick once-over. "You look sharp. Nervous?"
Elena hesitated, then sighed. "Terrified."
"Don't be. Just another day at the zoo."
If only that were true.
The tension hit her fully the moment she entered the conference room.
Damien was already there.
He sat at the head of the table, dark suit immaculate, tie knotted precisely, storm-gray eyes scanning documents with lazy authority. Power radiated from him, subtle yet overwhelming, like gravity itself bent to his will.
Elena's breath caught in her throat. Her prayer that morning shattered into dust.
He looked up as if he'd felt her presence enter the room. His gaze locked on her instantly, a flicker of something primal flashing across his eyes. For one dizzying second, the whole room seemed to disappear.
"Elena," Marcy whispered, nudging her. "Sit."
She snapped back to herself, cheeks burning, and slid into her seat between Marcy and Lily.
Sophie, sitting opposite her, smirked knowingly.
The meeting began. Senior executives laid out reports; assistants distributed papers. Elena's notes and drafts sat neatly in her folder, or so she thought.
When it came time for her to present the draft schedule for the Shanghai project, she reached into her folder… and froze.
It wasn't there.
Her pulse spiked. She rifled frantically, flipping through every paper. Nothing.
Her throat dried. She could feel Sophie's eyes on her, smug and gleaming.
"Elena?" Mr. Kline prompted from his end of the table. "The draft, please."
Her hands trembled. Words lodged in her throat. Around her, whispers rippled.
Sophie's voice slid across the silence like a blade. "Perhaps she's… misplaced it?"
A few heads turned, frowns forming.
Heat climbed Elena's neck. Her chest tightened painfully.
But before she could crumble, Marcy spoke. "Actually, I have a backup copy."
She pulled a file neatly from her folder and slid it down the table. "Elena and I cross-checked yesterday. Just in case."
Elena blinked, stunned. Relief flooded her so fast it made her dizzy.
Mr. Kline barely looked up, already skimming the document. "Good. Efficient thinking."
The crisis passed, but Elena didn't miss the exchange of looks. Priya's sharp eyes darted between Sophie and Elena. Lily leaned closer, whispering, "Don't let her rattle you. We all saw her smirk."
Even Aria, usually unreadable, raised an eyebrow in Sophie's direction.
Sophie's expression remained composed, but her jaw tightened ever so slightly.
The rest of the meeting dragged, but Elena barely heard it. Her heart was still racing, her palms clammy. She could feel Damien's gaze occasionally flicker toward her, not accusing, not indifferent, but something hotter. Something that made her skin flush.
When it finally ended, chairs scraping back, people gathering their things, she forced herself to stand.
"Elena."
Her stomach plummeted. Damien's voice was deep, calm, commanding.
"Yes, sir?" she managed.
He regarded her with a faint curve of his lips. "You handled that well."
Her pulse jumped. She opened her mouth, but he continued, tone deceptively casual.
"Meet me in my office."
To anyone else, it sounded like a normal directive. But the subtle weight in his voice, the lingering look, it was anything but normal.
Marcy nudged her discreetly, eyes wide with a grin. Lily mouthed, Good luck. Priya gave a tiny nod of encouragement. Even Aria's lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile.
Elena's knees felt like water as she gathered her things.
Sophie watched with a razor-sharp smile.
On her way out, Sophie blocked her path.
"Don't get comfortable," she whispered, her perfume sharp and cloying. "You escaped today because of Marcy. But luck runs out, Elena. And when it does, I'll be there to make sure everyone sees you for what you are."
Elena stiffened, forcing herself not to flinch.
Sophie's smirk deepened. "Damien Cross is not your class. Don't even think of trying to catch his attention. It won't end well."
Then she swept past, heels clicking like gunshots.
Elena stood frozen for a moment, her pulse hammering, before Marcy tugged her sleeve.
"Don't let her get in your head," Marcy whispered. "Just go. And breathe."
Elena nodded faintly, clutching her bag. But as she made her way toward Damien's office, one thought consumed her:
She wasn't ready for this.
And yet, she couldn't turn back.
*****************************************************
The walk to Damien's office felt like walking toward an execution. Elena's heels clicked softly against the marble floors, each step echoing in her chest like a drumbeat.
She reached the heavy glass door, heart hammering so violently she thought it might burst.
Her hand trembled as she turned the handle and stepped inside.
Damien was behind his desk, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. He looked devastatingly at ease, leaning back in his chair as though he'd been waiting only for her.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Before she could even take a breath, Damien was on his feet.
In three long strides, he crossed the room. His hand slammed the door fully closed; his other caught her wrist, spinning her back against it.
Elena gasped, her bag tumbling from her shoulder.
"Mr. Cross..."
His mouth cut her off.
The kiss was hard, searing, bruising. His lips claimed hers with raw hunger, tongue sliding past her parted mouth as though he had every right. Her knees buckled, her hands flying to his chest, not to push him away, but to cling, desperate for balance.
"Damien..." she managed between ragged breaths, but his name came out a moan.
He growled low in his throat, pressing harder, his body a wall of heat against hers. "Don't pretend, Elena. Don't you dare pretend you don't want me."
Her pulse thundered. She twisted slightly, trying to slip free, but his grip only tightened. His thigh pushed between her legs, grinding up against her core, stealing the air from her lungs.
"I...this is...wrong..." she stammered, but her body betrayed her, arching into him.
"Wrong?" His laugh was dark, edged with hunger. "You're trembling for me."
His mouth descended again, devouring hers, as though he couldn't get enough. His hand slid up, tugging her blazer open, deft fingers slipping over the buttons of her blouse.
"Damien...stop..."
"You don't want me to stop," he whispered against her lips, hot breath mingling with hers. "Say it."
Her eyes squeezed shut, torn between resistance and the molten ache spreading through her.
In one swift motion, he pushed her toward the desk. She stumbled back, palms bracing against the polished surface, breathless.
He followed, towering over her, his hand dragging her blouse open. Buttons popped loose, fabric gaping to reveal lace.
Damien's mouth closed over her breast without hesitation, lips hot, tongue circling her nipple through the lace until she cried out.
Her hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling. "God..."
"That's it," he murmured against her skin, teeth scraping lightly. "Let me hear you."
His hips pressed against hers, grinding, hard length unmistakable against the curve of her. She gasped, thighs clenching, the friction making her dizzy.
Every nerve screamed with want. Every ounce of reason begged her to run.
"Damien," she whispered, voice breaking. "Please… I can't…"
He lifted his head, eyes dark, lips slick with her skin. "Can't what? Can't resist me?"
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from the unbearable storm inside her.
In a sudden rush of will, she shoved him back just enough to slip away.
Breathless, blouse gaping, cheeks flushed, she grabbed her bag and stumbled to the door.
"Elena—" His voice was rough, guttural, almost broken.
She didn't look back. She fled.
******************************************************
Damien's Pov
The door slammed behind her, leaving the office heavy with her scent, warm, sweet, intoxicating. Damien stood frozen, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. Desire coiled so violently inside him it was almost pain.
"Damn it," he growled, yanking at his tie.
His arousal strained painfully against his slacks, throbbing with every breath. He paced once, twice, but the image of her beneath him, blouse open, lips parted, body trembling, consumed him.
His control snapped.
With a guttural curse, he dropped into his chair, unbuckling his belt. His hand wrapped around his aching length, stroking hard, fast, desperate.
"Fuck, Elena," he hissed, head falling back. Her name ripped from his throat as he spilled into his palm, breath ragged, body shaking.
Still unsatisfied. Still furious.
And more determined than ever.
She wouldn't run forever.
A sharp knock rattled the door. Damien cursed under his breath, hastily straightening his clothes, wiping his hand with a tissue.
"Enter," he barked.
Sophie slipped inside, perfectly composed, a file tucked under her arm. Her gaze flickered around the room, sharp and knowing.
"You seemed… occupied," she said lightly.
Damien's glare was lethal. "State your purpose, Sophie."
She smiled thinly. "Just here to deliver the updated reports for Finance." She placed the file on his desk. "I'll make sure Elena completes the summary draft for you by end of day."
He said nothing, merely dismissing her with a look sharp enough to cut glass.
She left, but not before her eyes lingered too long on the damp tissue in his bin.
*************************************************
Back at the assistants' floor, Elena dropped into her chair, still flushed, blouse hastily rebuttoned. Her hands trembled as she opened her laptop, trying to steady her breathing.
Sophie appeared moments later, her heels sharp against the floor, the same file in her hand.
"Elena," Sophie said sweetly, placing it on her desk. "Mr. Cross asked you to finish this and submit it before you leave."
Elena blinked, confused. "He… he did?"
Sophie's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. I'd suggest you don't disappoint him again."
She turned and left, leaving a faint trail of perfume.
Marcy leaned over immediately. "Did he actually ask you to do that?"
"I… I don't know," Elena admitted, throat tight.
Lily snorted. "Of course not. Sophie's playing you."
Priya adjusted her glasses. "She's trying to overload you, hoping you'll slip."
Aria's calm voice followed. "Don't let her see you flustered. Just finish it. Hand it in. She wants a reaction, don't give her one."
Elena swallowed hard, nodding. "Right. No reaction."
But inside, her pulse still raced with the memory of Damien's mouth, his hands, his voice.
No reaction was impossible.