———-
The elevator ride to the 42nd floor felt like a climb to judgment day.
Elenor Vale smoothed her black pencil skirt, silently praying the rain hadn't ruined her edges. Her reflection in the mirrored doors showed a woman who looked far more confident than she felt — chin up, shoulders back, lipstick just bold enough to fake bravery.
Alexander Wolfe.
The CEO of Wolfe Holdings.
The man who shattered her confidence three years ago with one cold, humiliating sentence during a business pitch competition:
"Stick to dreams that fit in your mouth. This one's too big for you."
She'd stood frozen on that stage, blinking back the sting of tears, while he'd dismissed her like an afterthought.
He didn't even remember her name.
But she remembered everything — the sting, the shame, the fury. If it weren't for the absurd salary attached to this job, she'd have run the moment she saw his name on the contract.
A knock on opportunity's door was still a knock — even if it came from the same hands that once slammed it in her face.
The elevator chimed open.
The office floor was pristine, intimidating. White marble. Glass walls. Air so crisp it could cut. It smelled like wealth and power — or maybe that was just him. Because the moment she stepped in, Elenor felt it. A shift in gravity.
Her heels clicked across the floor as a woman in navy approached her with a clipped smile. "Miss Elenor Vale?"
"Yes," she replied, voice steady. She'd rehearsed it a dozen times.
"The CEO will see you now."
She followed her down a corridor of stares and whispers, all as sharp as the office's architecture. Then the assistant opened the door.
And there he was.
Standing by the window, back turned, clad in a black suit tailored like a second skin. No tie. Shirt open just enough to reveal the faint curve of a chiseled chest.
God, how could a man that handsome be so rude?
Her breath caught. She hated that it did.
"Mr. Wolfe," the assistant said.
He turned — slowly, like the world revolved on his time. His gaze landed on her.
Grey eyes. Cold, unreadable. A pause, as though he were trying to place her.
He didn't.
Of course he didn't.
"Good morning, sir," she said, her smile thin and professional.
"You're the new assistant?" His voice was deeper than she remembered. More dangerous.
"Yes. Elenor Vale."
Something flickered in his eyes — not recognition, not quite — but curiosity. "You look… familiar."
"Maybe I just have one of those faces."
He didn't push. Men like him never looked back at the damage they caused.
"Have a seat," he said, rounding the desk like he owned the earth beneath it.
She sat.
He didn't.
"Why do you want this job?" he asked, arms folded.
Elenor met his gaze head-on. "I want to learn. Grow. And I like a challenge."
A twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile — more like a warning.
"You'll get one here," he said.
The silence that followed was taut. Heavy. Then his eyes dropped — first to her lips, then lower. Not long. Just long enough to notice. Long enough to make her pulse skip.
He was seeing her now. Not just a résumé on legs.
His voice dropped a fraction. "You'll report directly to me. I don't tolerate mistakes."
"I don't make them," she said evenly.
"Everyone does."
"Not me."
Their eyes locked. And suddenly, the room felt warmer. Like something dangerous had just been lit between them.
He finally stood, grabbed a folder from the desk, and handed it to her.
"You start tomorrow. Don't be late."
"I never am."
He arched a brow, amused. "We'll see."
She stood, matching his energy. Chin high. "I look forward to proving you wrong."
As she walked out, she felt his eyes follow her, hot against her spine.
She was no longer the girl he crushed on a stage.
She was the woman who was going to undo him.
And he didn't even know it yet.