Amelia's heart pounded in her throat as she smoothed her skirt outside Damien Raven's private conference room.
Inside, a few executives, their suits sharper than knives, whispered among themselves around the shiny black table. Every motion was managed. Every look was deliberate.
Young and inexperienced, she saw her reflection in the glass wall.
You are deserving of this place. This is what you fought for.
She took a slow breath and intervened.
With a tablet in his hand, Damien stood at the centre of the room. As she walked in, his eyes darted to her—sharp, evaluating—and his mouth quirked. Disapproval? Laughter?
She was unable to tell.
"Miss Vale," he began, his voice cutting through velvet like a razor.
"Yes, sir."
"Today's session will be recorded by you. Summarize key actions. No mistakes.
She nodded despite the knot in her stomach.
"Begin," said Damien.
The meeting descended into anarchy.
Names, numbers, and tactics were exchanged. mergers. changes in assets. threats of lawsuits. Million-dollar deals were exchanged in the blink of an eye.
Amelia's fingers clenched around the pen as she scrawled in an uncontrolled manner.
A smug, grey-suited VP turned to Damien halfway through.
"We're finalising the Langston contract today, correct?"
"Correct," responded Damien calmly and confidently.
The vice president grinned. "All right. I wouldn't want to deal with Stratton Holdings again.
The room changed in some way.
The air became thinner.
Like a closure, silence cut down.
The name Stratton Holdings rang in Amelia's ears as she froze.
Her former employer.
She made a mistake.
She hadn't considered... hadn't recognised... Everything was known to Damien Raven.
Slowly and deliberately, his eyes shifted to her.
His tone was deceptively light as he said, "You were with Stratton during their collapse, weren't you, Miss Vale?"
All the executives looked.
The room wobbled a little.
"I—" Amelia took a swallow. "Yes, sir. However, I had nothing to do with—"
"Not involved?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or just unaware?"
Her cheeks burned from embarrassment.
The judgement was thick as smoke in the room, and she could feel it.
"I was a junior assistant," she adamantly stated. "I wasn't part of management."
"And yet you survived when others didn't."
His voice was unintelligible. Neither praise nor accusation.
A test.
Everything in her screamed to turn away.
However, she didn't.
Stable and unwavering, she looked him in the eye.
According to Amelia, "I learnt from it," "I'm better because of it."
No one moved for a heartbeat.
Then something flickered over Damien's face, just, barely a second.
Acceptance.
He casually tapped his palm against his iPad.
"Good answer," he said. "Continue."
The assembly came alive with a shout.
Amelia, however, was aware that she had just crossed a minefield and managed to live.
A few hours later, she sat by herself at her small desk, her bones aching from tiredness.
The tablet made a ping sound.
Fresh Message:
"Today, most would have fallen apart. You didn't. Keep it that way.
— D.R.
Amelia's pulse was racing as she gazed at the television.
No comments. No tenderness.
Just cold respect.
And it had greater significance than a simple pat on the back or a handshake.
She had not yet left the woods.
However, she wasn't drowning for the first time.
Sharks were swimming with her.
And perhaps—just possibly—she was destined for it.
By the time Amelia got her second summons, the sun had already set.
A brief, clipped message read, "Conference Room B," as the iPad chimed once. Bring the reports for today. —D.R.
No "please." No justification.
Putting her fatigue aside, Amelia collected the carefully arranged reports she had spent hours gathering.
Errors were no longer a possibility.
Damien was sitting at the enormous wood table, jacket off, sleeves rolled back, as she got to Conference Room B.
Lean, accurate, and deadly, he appeared even more menacing without the armour of his suit.
When she walked in, he didn't glance up.
"Sit."
Amelia placed herself into the chair opposite him and smoothed her skirt in compliance.
He continued to read his tablet as he added, "Today's performance was... acceptable."
Not commendation. It could as well have been a standing ovation, though, from Damien Raven.
She responded, "Thank you, sir," in a firm voice.
Finally, he put the iPad down and fixed her with his eyes.
"Miss Vale, I manage an empire. Not a charity. One thing you must know if you wish to live here is that loyalty equals money.
Her throat was dry as she nodded.
His hands were steepled as he leaned forward.
"You're not the only new face in the company," he stated. "A leak has occurred. Someone is giving rivals access to private information.
Amelia blinked. "You think it's… me?"
"If I did," he continued in a kind yet deadly voice, "you wouldn't be sitting here."
Unspoken threats flared in the air between them.
"You want to prove yourself, Miss Vale?" he said. "Find out who it is."
Her stomach churned. "I'm… not trained for corporate investigations—"
"You're perceptive. You want to keep this job badly. And others aren't aware of your access yet."
His mouth curled, the barest hint of a smile.
"Use it."
Amelia gripped the edges of the report folder until her knuckles whitened.
"If I find something," she said slowly, "what happens to them?"
Damien's smile vanished.
"They learn," he said coldly, "that betrayal has consequences."
He rose smoothly from his seat, gathering his tablet.
Meeting over.
As he passed by, he paused just long enough to murmur:
"And so will you, Miss Vale. Depending on where your loyalty lies."
Then he was gone.
Leaving Amelia alone at the vast, gleaming table, reports trembling in her hands—and the weight of a choice she never asked to make crashing down around her.
She sat there for about 15 minutes quietly before she stood up and headed to the elevator.