Chapter 5 — Office Tension
Arielle
The elevator whispered open to reveal the twenty-fifth floor of ValenCor Holdings—sleek, silent, and unnervingly pristine. The air smelled faintly of citrus and money, the kind of wealth that hummed under your skin. She adjusted the cuffs of her cream blazer, her reflection gliding across the mirrored walls like she belonged there, even if half the building was already buzzing about her arrival.
The CEO's new strategist… brought in personally.
Who is she?
Did you hear he met her last night?
Rumors traveled faster than the elevator itself.
"Miss Monroe," came a smooth, professional voice. Lila, Damian's long-time assistant, stood by the reception desk. Impeccable in black, her expression was the definition of polite hostility. "Mr. Valen asked me to escort you to the boardroom."
Arielle smiled—cool, unshaken. "Thank you, Lila."
Their heels clicked in harmony, the sound echoing off the marble like a private duel.
The meeting was already in session when Arielle stepped inside. Twelve executives sat around a glass table, heads lifting in near-synchronized curiosity. Damian stood at the far end, dark suit immaculate, his presence magnetic enough to still the air. His gaze caught hers immediately—one unreadable second—and then he turned away, professional mask in place.
"Everyone, this is Arielle Monroe," he said, voice even. "She'll be leading the strategic direction for our upcoming ECLAT launch."
Her pulse jumped slightly at the way he said her name—slow, deliberate, as if tasting it again after too long.
Arielle's presentation went flawlessly. Calm. Controlled. Efficient. Until the moment Lila "accidentally" misplaced one of the financial projection files.
"Oh dear," Lila murmured, flipping through folders. "I could've sworn I sent the revised version to your email, Miss Monroe."
Arielle's jaw tightened, but her tone stayed smooth. "No problem. I memorized the figures."
And she did—every one. She walked the room through the profit margins, the European market variables, the rebranding concept, while Damian's expression flickered between admiration and something far more dangerous.
When the meeting ended, the others left in a low murmur. Lila lingered—until Damian said without looking at her, "Close the door on your way out."
Arielle turned, spine straight, chin lifted. "Something to discuss?"
He leaned against the edge of his desk, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. The picture of control unraveling just slightly. "Yes. About your strategy."
She folded her arms. "You mean the one your executives just approved unanimously?"
He smiled faintly. "You've always had a way with people."
"I have a way with logic, Damian. Not charm."
His eyes darkened. "You had both once."
The words landed between them like static. The city's skyline reflected on the glass wall behind him, twin images of two people pretending not to remember.
"You can drop the act," she said finally. "I'm here for business. That's all."
"Then stop looking at me like that."
Her breath hitched. "Like what?"
He pushed off the desk, closing the distance between them. "Like you're remembering too."
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched taut, heartbeat against heartbeat. Then—
A knock shattered it.
"Sir?" Lila's voice, far too timely.
"Later," he said curtly.
Arielle stepped back, mask reassembling with precision. "We're done here." She grabbed her tablet, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt. "I'll have the ECLAT report finalized by Friday."
And before he could answer, she was gone—leaving her perfume and defiance hanging in the air.
---
Damian
The door clicked shut behind her, and the room felt colder for it.
He should've been thinking about the upcoming investor call, the volatile French partnership, the millions at stake—but all he could focus on was the ghost of her voice, low and steady, threading through his thoughts like music he shouldn't replay.
Damn her.
He'd told himself that bringing Arielle in was purely business. She was the sharpest strategist he'd ever known, and ValenCor needed brilliance right now. But seeing her across that boardroom table—poised, fearless, untouchable—had cracked something he thought had long since healed.
He moved to the window, staring down at the grid of glass and movement below. His reflection stared back—hard lines, tired eyes. She'd changed, but then again, so had he.
One year, he reminded himself. That's all the contract binds her for.
One year to work together without losing control. Without falling back into the storm that had destroyed them once before.
But the way she'd looked at him today…
He wasn't sure either of them would last that long.
He reached for the intercom. "Lila."
"Yes, sir?"
"Clear my afternoon. No meetings."
"Understood, sir."
He turned back to the desk, but his mind wasn't on paperwork anymore. It was on her—her calm defiance, her steady voice, the way sunlight had caught in her hair when she left the room.
For the first time in years, Damian Valen didn't trust himself.
Xoxo Eloura 😘 😘