The elevator climbed in a silent, awful rush. Raine stared at her reflection in the glossy brass doors—a pale woman in a navy blouse, a stranger playing a part.
"First day jitters?" A guy beside her adjusted his tie nervously. "I'm Ben. You look like you're about to face a firing squad."
"Raine," she managed. "Just... trying to remember everything from the orientation packet."
"Right?" Another intern, a woman with bright red lipstick, leaned in. "Forty pages of policies. My brain's already fried."
The memory of Saturday night clung to Raine's skin like humidity. She clenched her fists, her short nails biting into her palms. The sharp pain was an anchor.
The doors slid open onto the second executive floor. The air changed. It was colder, quieter, smelling of expensive coffee and ambition. A severe woman with a headset met them.
"Intern associates, follow me. The CEO has graciously agreed to address you before your orientation begins."
"Wait, the actual CEO?" Ben whispered. "I thought we wouldn't see him for weeks."
"Lucky us," the redhead muttered.
A collective, nervous energy moved through the group of fifteen. Raine's stomach turned to liquid. She followed, her legs moving unsteadily.
"I heard he's brutal," someone behind her said.
"My cousin interned here two years ago. Said he fired someone for being three minutes late to a presentation."
"That can't be true."
"Want to bet?"
The boardroom was a temple of power. A wall of glass showed the entire city, reduced to a map of ambition. The table was a slab of dark wood, long enough to land a plane on. They were arranged along one side, standing like soldiers awaiting inspection.
"Stand up straight," Ben whispered to Raine. "Try to look competent."
"I am competent," she whispered back, but her voice shook.
The door opened again.
He entered, and the room's oxygen seemed to vanish.
"Oh shit," someone breathed.
Declan Montgomery in daylight was a different creature. At the gala, there had been shadows, mystery, a shared loneliness. Here, under the sterile glow of recessed lighting, he was pure, polished force. His suit was dark grey, perfectly fitted, without a single wrinkle. His face was a study in controlled intensity—the sharp jaw, the cool grey eyes she knew could warm to a stormy sea, now flat and assessing. He moved with an unsettling, silent efficiency to the head of the table.
"Good morning."
His voice.
It was the same low, resonant sound that had spoken promises into her ear. It vibrated through the floor and up into her bones. Her heart gave a frantic kick against her ribs. She forced her eyes to the table's shining surface, praying her face was a mask of calm interest.
"You are here because you represent a statistical rarity," he began, his hands resting loosely on the back of the chair. He did not sit. He owned the space simply by standing in it. "Out of thousands of applicants, you were the anomalies. The outliers. Do not mistake that for an accomplishment. It is a beginning."
He paced slowly along the length of the table, his gaze sweeping over them. Raine kept her head slightly bowed, her focus on the grain of the wood. She could feel the heat of his attention pass over her like a physical touch. Her skin prickled.
"Montgomery Industries operates on precision. On discipline. We deal in data, not drama. In results, not rumors." He paused, his voice dropping, becoming even more deliberate. "This brings me to the foundation of our professional environment. It is non-negotiable."
He stopped directly across the table from her. She could see the fine weave of his suit from her peripheral vision. If she lifted her head, she would be looking at his hands. She remembered how those hands had felt on her back, in her hair. Her throat went dry.
"There is a zero-tolerance policy for unprofessional conduct of any kind," he said, the words clear and hard as ice chips. "This includes the smearing of personal and professional boundaries. Relationships between senior executives and junior staff are strictly prohibited. It is a conflict of interest. It is a distraction. It undermines merit and creates toxic environments."
Each word was a hammer strike. Zero-tolerance. Prohibited. Conflict. Toxic. They echoed in the hollow space he had carved inside her on Saturday night. That connection, that heated moment of understanding, was now classified as a toxic distraction. A policy violation.
"Violation of this boundary," he continued, his eyes moving coolly from one intern to the next, "will result in immediate termination for the junior staff member involved, and severe disciplinary action for the executive. We do not make exceptions. We do not give second chances. Your careers here depend on your judgment. Do not let poor judgment be the reason your internship is revoked."
The silence that followed was absolute. Raine's blood roared in her ears. She felt exposed, as if he were speaking directly to her, as if he knew. She risked a glance upward.
His eyes met hers.
For a fraction of a second, a lifetime, there was nothing. No spark, no recognition, no memory. Just the flat, analytical gaze of a CEO assessing a new resource. A piece of office furniture. She was nothing to him. The woman from the terrace had been erased by the mask, by the darkness, by the simple improbability of it all.
The relief was so profound it felt like a new kind of sickness. He didn't know. She was safe.
But as he held her gaze, something else flickered in the back of his eyes. Not recognition, but… a slight narrowing. A pause. As if something about her—her stillness, perhaps, or the way she held his stare—struck a faint note in his assessment.
He broke the look first, turning his attention to a young man at the end of the table who was sweating visibly. "Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir," a mumbled chorus replied. Raine's lips moved, but no sound came out.
He gave a single, brief nod. "Your orientation will now begin. Work hard. Make your anomaly meaningful."
He turned and left the room as swiftly and silently as he had entered. The door clicked shut behind him.
The room exhaled.
"Jesus Christ," Ben breathed. "That was—"
"Terrifying," the redhead finished. "Did you see the way he looked at us? Like we were lab specimens."
"I think I forgot how to breathe for a second," another intern said.
Someone laughed, a high, strained sound. "Zero tolerance. He wasn't kidding."
"My cousin was right. This place is intense."
"Did anyone else feel like he was looking right through them?"
"Yeah," Ben said. "Like an X-ray machine."
The severe woman cleared her throat. "If we're quite finished? We have IT protocols to cover, security clearances to process, and departmental assignments to distribute. Please take your seats."
They shuffled to chairs around the table, the nervous energy scattering into exhausted relief.
"You okay?" Ben whispered to Raine as they sat. "You look pale."
"Fine," she managed. "Just... a lot to take in."
"Tell me about it. I've never felt more judged in my life."
The orientation was a blur of employee handbooks, security badges, and departmental overviews. Raine smiled when required, nodded at appropriate moments. Inside, she was breaking.
"Your badge will give you access to floors one through forty-five," the severe woman—whose name was apparently Helen—explained. "Executive floors require special clearance. Do not attempt to access restricted areas."
"What happens if we do?" someone asked.
"Immediate dismissal." Helen's smile was cold. "Any other questions?"
Silence.
"Good. Your department assignments are in your folders. Report to your supervisors by 2 PM. Dismissed."
The interns gathered their materials and filed out. In the hallway, they clustered in small groups.
"I got Corporate Strategy," Ben said, checking his folder. "You?"
"Same," Raine replied.
"At least we'll know someone." He grinned. "Want to grab lunch before we report in? There's a café on the thirty-second floor."
"I should probably—"
"Come on," the redhead—whose name tag read JESSICA—interrupted. "We need to decompress after that. I feel like I just survived a military inspection."
"Fine," Raine agreed, if only to avoid being alone with her thoughts. "Lunch."
The café was sleek and modern, full of employees in expensive suits talking in low, urgent voices. They found a table by the window.
"So," Jessica said, unwrapping her sandwich. "What did everyone think of the infamous Declan Montgomery?"
"Scary," Ben said immediately. "Like, genuinely intimidating."
"Hot though," Jessica added. "In a 'I could ruin your life' kind of way."
Raine focused on her salad, saying nothing.
"Did you see his suit?" another intern, a guy named Dev, leaned in. "That was easily five thousand dollars. Maybe more."
"Everything about him screamed money and power," Jessica agreed. "No wonder he's legendary."
"I heard he built this company from the ground up after his father retired as Chairman," Ben said. "Took over at twenty-five and turned it into an empire."
"Twenty-five?" Dev whistled. "That's younger than my brother, and he still lives in our parents' basement."
They laughed. Raine pushed lettuce around her plate.
"You're quiet," Jessica observed, looking at Raine. "What did you think?"
Raine looked up, forcing herself to meet Jessica's curious gaze. "Professional," she said carefully. "Very... clear about expectations."
"That's diplomatic," Jessica grinned. "Come on, you can admit he was terrifying."
"He was... intense," Raine confessed.
"Intense," Ben repeated, laughing. "That's one word for it. I thought he was going to vaporize that guy at the end who was sweating."
"Poor bastard," Dev said. "Wrong place, wrong time."
"Did anyone else think the zero-tolerance speech was weirdly specific?" Jessica asked. "Like, has that been a problem here?"
"Probably," Ben shrugged. "Big company, lots of people, bound to be drama."
"Well, I'm not risking my internship for anyone," Jessica declared. "Executive or not. This opportunity is too good."
"Agreed," Dev said. "Keep your head down, do the work, get the reference letter."
"Words to live by," Ben raised his water glass. "To survival."
They clinked glasses. Raine managed a weak smile.
Her first assignment was in the corporate strategy department, on the forty-second floor. Her new supervisor, a sharp woman named Brenda, handed her a stack of financial reports without preamble.
"Due diligence for the Mercury Project," Brenda said, her voice clipped. "Cross-reference every figure with the source filings. Find the irregularities."
"What kind of irregularities am I looking for?" Raine asked.
"Any kind. Revenue misreporting, inflated projections, hidden liabilities." Brenda's smile was thin. "Your first test. Don't be the irregularity."
"Understood."
"You'll be sharing that cubicle by the window with the other strategy interns. Questions?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. I expect introductory findings by end of week." Brenda turned to leave, then paused. "And Sterling? Mr. Montgomery reviews all Mercury-related work personally. Accuracy is not optional."
Raine's stomach dropped. "Noted."
She took the files to the small, shared cubicle by the window. Another intern was already there, a quiet guy with glasses who looked up briefly.
"Hi," he said. "I'm James."
"Raine."
"First day?"
"Yeah."
"Welcome to strategy. It's brutal but fair." He gestured to the empty desk. "That's yours. Fair warning—Brenda's a hard ass, but if you do good work, she'll go to bat for you."
"Good to know."
"What did she give you?"
"Mercury due diligence."
James whistled low. "Wow. That's... ambitious for day one. Good luck."
"Thanks," Raine said dryly. "I think I'll need it."
She opened the first folder, the numbers swimming before her eyes. She forced herself to focus, to use the sharp, analytical part of her mind that had gotten her here. The part that wasn't rattled by grey eyes or the memory of a terrace.
For two hours, she worked in focused silence. The work was complex, demanding. It soothed the chaos in her head. This was why she was here. This was real.
"You're fast," James observed, glancing at her growing stack of annotated pages. "Most people take a week to get through what you've done in two hours."
"I like numbers," Raine said, not looking up. "They make sense."
"Unlike people?"
She paused, then smiled slightly. "Unlike people."
The bubble popped when a presence filled the doorway of the cubicle.
She knew it was him before she looked up. The air moved, grew heavier. The faint, familiar scent of his cologne washed over her, subtle and devastating.
"Marcus, the projections from Singapore are unrealistic," a voice said—his voice, low and sharp. "Send them back. I want new numbers by close of business."
"Understood," another voice replied—older, tired.
James sat up straighter immediately. "That's Montgomery," he whispered. "And Marcus Wright, the COO."
Raine lifted her head slowly.
Declan Montgomery stood there, one hand resting on the doorframe. He was speaking quietly to Marcus Wright, a tall man with a kind face that looked perpetually worried. They were reviewing a document.
"The Singapore team keeps padding their forecasts," Declan continued, his voice cold with impatience. "I want conservative numbers, not fantasies."
"They're concerned about the quarterly—"
"I'm concerned about accuracy, Marcus. Make it happen."
"Yes, sir."
Then, as if sensing her stare, Declan's eyes slid from Marcus and landed on her.
It was not the blank, corporate look from the boardroom. This was different. He was seeing her now—not as part of a group, but as a person at a desk. His gaze was invasive, scanning her face, her posture, the open files before her.
Raine's pen slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the desk.
"Sorry," she breathed, reaching for it with shaking hands.
James looked between them, sensing the sudden tension.
Declan didn't smile. He didn't frown. His expression was unreadable, a mask of pure executive focus. But his eyes lingered. For three long seconds, the world narrowed to the space between them.
Marcus cleared his throat. "Declan? The call with Zurich is in five minutes."
Declan blinked, the spell broken. He gave a final, dismissive glance at the files on her desk. "The due diligence on the Mercury acquisition?"
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She couldn't find her voice. She nodded, her throat tight.
"Accuracy is paramount," he said, his voice like a lash. "A single decimal point out of place could cost millions. Are you capable of that level of accuracy?"
"Yes, sir," she managed, her voice barely audible.
"See that you are." He turned to James. "You're supervising?"
"No, sir," James said quickly. "We're both interns. Brenda assigned—"
"I see." Declan's jaw tightened almost unnoticeably. "Tell Brenda I want a senior analyst reviewing all intern work on Mercury. No exceptions."
"Yes, sir," James said.
Declan turned and walked away, Marcus following in his wake.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Holy shit," James breathed. "That was—"
"Awful," Raine finished, trembling.
"Did you see the way he looked at you? Like he was..." James trailed off. "I don't know. Like he was trying to figure something out."
"He was making sure I'm not incompetent," Raine said, picking up her pen with shaking hands.
"No, that was different." James leaned closer. "That was weird. Like... personal."
"It wasn't personal," Raine insisted, her voice sharper than intended. "He's just thorough."
"If you say so." James didn't sound convinced. "But Raine? Be careful. Montgomery doesn't usually come down to the intern level. The fact that he did, and that he spoke to you specifically? That's... unusual."
"Great," Raine muttered. "Just what I needed. Unusual."
She looked down at the columns of numbers, but they were just black marks now. The professional focus she had built was shattered.
At the end of the day, exhausted and emotionally scraped hollow, she rode the elevator down with the other interns.
"So how was everyone's first day?" Jessica asked, sounding slightly manic.
"Survived," Dev said. "Barely."
"I got assigned the most boring database project in existence," Ben groaned. "How was strategy, Raine?"
"Fine," she said automatically.
"Just fine?" Jessica pressed. "Come on, details. Was Brenda as scary as they say?"
"She's... direct."
"Did you see Declan?" Ben asked, his voice lowering to a whisper. "He's even more intense up close. I heard he fired a VP last month for having a personal lunch with a junior analyst."
"Seriously?" Dev's eyes widened.
"Zero tolerance," Ben said, mimicking Declan's low voice. "He wasn't kidding about that policy."
They laughed, a nervous sound.
"I saw him," Jessica said. "In the hallway on thirty-seven. He didn't even look at me. Just walked past like I was a potted plant."
"That's probably a good thing," Dev said. "Better to be invisible than on his radar."
"True," Jessica agreed. "Invisibility is survival."
Raine stared at the descending floor numbers, silent. Ben glanced at her.
"You okay?" he asked quietly. "You've been weird all day."
"Just tired," she said. "First day nerves."
"Tell me about it." He smiled sympathetically. "Want to grab drinks with us? There's a place around the corner. Cheap beer, good for decompressing."
"I can't," Raine said. "I have... things to do."
"Next time then," Jessica said. "We need to stick together, right? Intern solidarity."
"Right," Raine managed a weak smile. "Solidarity."
The elevator doors opened onto the grand, marble lobby. The group scattered toward the exits, making plans, exchanging numbers.
"See you tomorrow!" Ben called after her.
"Tomorrow," she echoed.
As she pushed through the heavy glass doors onto the sidewalk, the late afternoon sun hit her face. She took a deep breath of city air, trying to clear the sterile, controlled atmosphere of the tower from her lungs.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. A text from her mother: How was your first day, sweetheart? So proud of you!
The simple love in the message was an anchor. This was why she was here. For stability. For a future. Not for a reckless fantasy with a man who would never see her.
She was about to type a reply when a sleek, black Mercedes pulled smoothly to the curb directly in front of her. The rear window was tinted, opaque. For a ridiculous, heart-stopping moment, she thought it was him.
The front passenger window slid down instead. The man inside was younger, handsome in a careless, golden way. He wore a brilliant, charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Lysander Montgomery. She recognized him from the society pages she'd studied when researching the company.
"Raine Sterling?" he called, his voice friendly, warm.
She stopped, wary. "Yes?"
"Lysander Montgomery. Welcome to the family business." His smile widened. "My brother mentioned the new intern cohort was exceptionally sharp this year. He's not one for compliments, so that's high praise."
"He mentioned me?" The words were out before she could stop them.
"Not you specifically," Lysander said smoothly. "The group. But I make it my business to know the promising ones. And you, Miss Sterling, have a very impressive resume."
"Thank you."
He leaned forward slightly. "Listen, I'm heading to a dreadfully boring art gallery opening. Could use some intelligent conversation to survive it. Can I offer you a ride? We can talk about your... aspirations here at Montgomery Industries."
The offer was smooth, flattering, and felt as dangerous as a snake. He was a Montgomery. He was Declan's brother. And he was looking at her with a keen, knowing interest that felt entirely different from his brother's cold assessment.
"I appreciate the offer, but I have plans," she said carefully.
"Pity." His smile didn't waver. "Another time, then. I'm sure our paths will cross. I like to get to know the people working for my brother. Especially the interesting ones."
"Why am I interesting?"
"Because you're still standing there instead of running away," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Most people would have bolted by now. You're either brave or foolish."
"Maybe both."
He laughed, a genuine sound. "I like you already, Miss Sterling. Take care. And welcome, truly, to Montgomery Industries. It's going to be an... educational experience."
The window slid up, and the car drove away, merging into traffic.
Raine stood on the crowded sidewalk, the city noise crashing around her. A woman bumped into her, muttering an apology. Taxis honked. Sirens wailed in the distance.
The first-day nerves were gone, replaced by a deep, chilling certainty. She was not just an intern at Montgomery Industries.
She was in the middle of a game. And she didn't know the rules, or who was really playing.