The Wolfe Tower didn't just scrape the sky—it dared the heavens to challenge its reign.
Polished glass shimmered under the late morning sun, casting reflections of power and wealth down onto the mere mortals below. Inside, the air itself seemed expensive, scented faintly with aged leather, vetiver, and ambition. Selena Hart stepped into the 55th floor like a woman walking toward judgment day, though she masked the weight in her chest with each crisp click of her stilettos against imported Italian marble.
Everything in this place whispered excellence, screamed money, and hissed danger. Her breath caught for a second. Her instincts, always sharp and rarely wrong, screamed at her to turn around, take the elevator back down, and forget this ever happened. But she didn't. Not this time.
She tightened her grip on her structured black bag, adjusted the lapel of her dove-grey blazer, and walked forward like a soldier stepping into a battlefield she hadn't chosen but refused to lose.
The assistant barely looked up from her screen. "He's waiting," the woman said, gesturing casually toward the massive smoked-glass doors at the end of the hall. Selena swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
Beyond those doors waited Julian Wolfe.
The lion in the den.
She stepped through them, and the world seemed to narrow into sharp lines and sharper consequences. The office was vast—glass walls, dark wood accents, and a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. It was a space built for intimidation. Power radiated from every clean angle.
And in the center of it, standing like a sculpture born of shadow and storm, was Julian Wolfe.
Tall. Impossibly tall. Broad-shouldered and razor-cut in a charcoal suit that cost more than her monthly rent. He turned with an elegance that was almost too slow, as though he had all the time in the world and she was just another meeting. His dark eyes were unreadable, his jaw sharp enough to wound, and in his hands, he held a sleek tablet like it was a weapon of war.
His gaze flicked over her, cool and precise.
"You're early," he said, voice low and smooth like silk pulled taut over a blade.
Selena didn't flinch. She met his gaze, chin lifting by instinct. "I'm exactly on time."
He arched one dark brow, lips curling into something too cold to be a smile. "Then you're late for me."
In that moment, she hated him.
Not with fire—but with ice. Quiet, clean, immediate. The way you hate someone who sees right through your defenses and dares to keep looking.
Still, she moved forward and sat, crossing one leg over the other, her posture flawless.
Julian circled behind his massive desk, his presence like gravity—silent, heavy, undeniable. He tapped his screen once, not looking at her.
"I've reviewed your situation," he began, as if reading a spreadsheet. "You're trending for all the wrong reasons."
Selena's jaw clenched. "I didn't ask to be dragged by the internet."
"No one does," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "But now... you're useful."
The words landed like a slap. Her breath hitched—but only briefly. She was too practiced to show weakness for long.
Julian continued, voice smooth and clinical. "My firm was preparing to launch a clean beauty campaign. We invested heavily in Brianna Leigh. Unfortunately, she turned out to be... volatile. Radioactive, now. PR nightmare."
Selena knew. Everyone knew. The scandal had been trending for days. Brianna Leigh, the golden girl turned venomous after a leaked audio rant.
"My team," Julian said, pacing slowly now, "suggested a pivot. A new face. One the public could root for."
He turned the tablet and slid it across the desk toward her.
A digital mockup glowed on the screen. The Wolfe x Hart Collection — Real Beauty for Real People.
Selena blinked. Her name, paired with his empire. Her scandal, turned into strategy. Her downfall... a selling point.
"You're serious?" she asked.
"Always," Julian replied.
"You want me as the face of your campaign?" Her laugh came sharp and bitter. "After everything?"
"Precisely because of everything," he said coolly.
The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. He let her sit in it, watching the wheels turn in her mind.
"Imagine this," he said at last. "We spin your comeback as a story of resilience. The phoenix narrative. America loves a redemption arc. You rise from the ashes. And I—" he paused with a faint smirk, "—look like the visionary who bet on the underdog."
Selena stared at him. "So I'm your marketing prop?"
"No." His tone shifted. "You're my partner. For a time."
Her brows furrowed.
"We sign a temporary deal," he explained. "You become the face of the Wolfe x Hart campaign. We build a carefully curated narrative. Fake relationship. Fake romance. The public eats it up."
"And when the show's over?"
"We part ways. Quietly. Cleanly."
Selena leaned back, heart pounding with the weight of what he was proposing. "You really think people will believe it? That we're together?"
Julian stepped closer, stopping just on the other side of the desk. His voice dropped, low and direct. "If they don't…"
He held her gaze, sharp and unflinching.
"…then we act better."
A chill moved down her spine. Not fear—something else. Danger wrapped in elegance. Temptation with teeth.
He was offering her a ladder out of the pit she'd fallen into.
But at what cost?
Selena straightened, meeting him eye for eye. "And if I say no?"
Julian's expression didn't change. "Then you stay the villain in your story. Or you become the comeback no one saw coming."
It wasn't a deal.
It was a dare.
And in her gut, Selena already knew—she was going to say yes.