The conference room gleamed under the fluorescent lights, its glass walls catching reflections of the bustling 28th floor beyond. Courtney straightened her blazer, inhaling deeply as she set her files on the long mahogany table. This was her moment.
"Good morning, everyone," she said, projecting her voice with practiced confidence. "I'll be walking you through a fresh angle for the Steele campaign. It centers on not just selling a product, but creating an identity that customers feel proud to wear."
The room quieted. A dozen sharp-eyed executives turned their attention to her. She guided them through slides filled with crisp visuals and numbers she'd double-checked at least five times. Her ideas flowed like water—sharp, innovative, and exactly the kind of pitch Empire Brands was known for.
When she finished, a brief silence followed. Then one of the directors nodded approvingly. "Impressive, Miss Taylor."
Another chimed in, "This has real traction. Dwayne, thoughts?"
Courtney turned toward him. He sat at the head of the table, unreadable, his fingers steepled under his chin. For one suspended second, she thought he might actually praise her.
Then his voice cut through the air, cold as glass.
"It's competent," he said. "But not exceptional. Let's not mistake enthusiasm for innovation."
A flicker of discomfort rippled through the room.
Courtney's pulse faltered. Competent? After all her work? She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing her expression to remain neutral.
"Yes, sir," she murmured, gathering her notes.
The meeting moved on, but the words clung like burrs under her skin.
Later, as the executives dispersed, Dwayne remained seated. Harold had slipped into the room during the presentation, lounging in the corner like a king observing his court.
When the last director left, Harold rose and closed the door.
"You're hard on her," Harold said casually, moving closer. "Most men in your position would be tripping over themselves to spotlight talent like that."
"She's an assistant," Dwayne replied evenly, though his jaw tightened.
"Mm." Harold tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "And yet she pitches with the skill of a senior exec. Curious, isn't it? Where exactly did you find her?"
Dwayne's voice was clipped. "That's irrelevant."
"On the contrary." Harold leaned against the table, his tone dropping into something more serpentine. "A woman that polished doesn't just land in a role like hers by accident. She's ambitious. Hungry. That can be an asset… or a liability."
Dwayne's gaze sharpened. "What are you implying?"
"Only that attachments cloud judgment." Harold adjusted his cufflinks with leisurely grace. "You've always been disciplined, Dwayne. But I've noticed the way your eyes track her when she's not looking. Others will notice too. And in this game, perception is everything."
Dwayne said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
Harold smirked, satisfied. "Besides… I happened to spot her outside the building last week. With a man. Tall, smug type. They looked… familiar. You might want to ask yourself why your assistant spends so much time with someone who clearly doesn't belong in our world."
Ethan.
The name thundered unspoken in Dwayne's mind, along with the unwelcome image of Courtney's laughter outside the café. He forced his expression into stone, but Harold had already seen the flicker in his eyes.
"Careful, nephew," Harold murmured, patting his shoulder. "Empire Brands is no place for weakness. And right now… she looks like yours."
Courtney tugged her scarf tighter against the evening wind as she stepped out of Empire Brands' glass tower. The day had been brutal. No matter how many tasks she completed, no matter how perfect her presentation had been, Dwayne's dismissal gnawed at her.
Was it her work? Or was it her?
"Courtney."
She froze at the familiar voice. Turning, she saw Ethan leaning casually against the curb, hands in his pockets, his easy smile intact.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her tone wary.
"Relax." He held up his hands. "I just wanted to talk. No ambush this time."
She sighed. "Ethan, we don't have anything to talk about."
"That's not true." His eyes softened, almost boyish. "I miss you. And I hate seeing you throw yourself into work like this. You deserve more than being someone's assistant."
Courtney stiffened. "You don't know what I deserve."
"I know enough," Ethan said gently. "I know you're too good for Knight. He'll grind you down until there's nothing left."
Something in her chest wavered. Ethan had always known how to needle her insecurities, how to twist her ambition into doubt.
But she wasn't the same girl he'd walked away from.
"I appreciate your concern," she said firmly. "But my life is my own now. Please respect that."
For once, Ethan looked at a loss for words. She brushed past him, heels clicking against the pavement, her heart hammering.
From across the street, half-shielded in the shadow of a sleek black car, Dwayne watched.
He had told himself he wasn't following her. That he simply happened to leave the office late. That coincidence had placed him here.
But as he saw Ethan's hand brush Courtney's arm, saw the way her face tightened with something between anger and confusion, Harold's words echoed like poison in his ears.
A liability.
An attachment.
Your weakness.
Dwayne's fists clenched at his sides.
It wasn't just Harold's warnings. It was the heat that surged in his chest, the sharp, ugly flare of jealousy that he hated himself for feeling. He didn't want to imagine Ethan's lips on hers, her laughter belonging to someone else.
And yet he couldn't stop.
What unsettled him most wasn't suspicion of betrayal. It was the truth he couldn't bear to face:
He wanted her.
Not as an assistant. Not as a passing distraction. But as a woman who made the air feel different when she entered a room. Who challenged him, defied him, stood her ground when no one else dared.
And that made her dangerous.
Because desire blurred lines. And blurred lines broke empires.
Dwayne turned away sharply, forcing the image from his mind. By the time Courtney reached her apartment, she would find no trace of him in the streetlight shadows.
The next morning, the office hummed as usual. Courtney arrived early, determined to bury herself in work, to prove—if only to herself—that she belonged at Empire Brands.
But when Dwayne walked past her desk, he didn't offer his usual clipped nod.
He didn't even look at her.
"Mr. Knight, the Calder briefing is ready for review," she said, standing quickly.
"Leave it on my desk," he replied curtly, not breaking stride.
Her chest tightened. She told herself it didn't matter. That she didn't care about his approval. That her worth wasn't tied to the flicker of acknowledgment in his storm-gray eyes.
But as she sank back into her chair, staring at the stack of files she'd prepared with meticulous care, she felt the sting anyway.
She would prove herself. Even if he refused to see it.
Especially if he refused to see it.
From behind the tinted glass of his office, Dwayne sat at his desk, staring at her reflection. His hands moved over spreadsheets, his voice answered calls, but his mind was elsewhere—caught between the echo of Harold's warnings and the pull of a woman he couldn't allow himself to want.
For the first time in years, discipline faltered.
And Dwayne Knight hated himself for it.