The office lights flickered as the cleaning staff moved between desks, vacuuming carpets and wiping down empty workstations. Most of the employees had left hours ago, but Clara still sat hunched over her desk, her laptop glowing faintly in the dim space.
Stacks of files and scribbled notes surrounded her, but she didn't complain. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, piecing together the last sections of a presentation Damien had demanded from her team. It wasn't technically her responsibility, but Clara was determined. If he challenged her to prove herself, then she would.
Her stomach growled faintly, reminding her she'd skipped dinner, but she ignored it. She wasn't going to leave a single stone unturned — not when people were whispering about how long she would survive here.
By the time she packed up and finally stepped out of the building, the night air was crisp and cool, brushing against her tired face. She tugged her coat closer and headed home, thinking only of her warm bed.
Her apartment wasn't large, but it was hers. A little corner of the city where she could breathe freely without worrying about harsh stares or sharp words. The living room was painted in soft pastels, with mismatched cushions piled high on a secondhand sofa. A bookshelf stood against the wall, crowded with well-loved novels, half-burned candles, and a small plant struggling to survive under her care.
The kitchen was tiny, barely enough space for two people to stand side by side, but she'd decorated it with magnets and sticky notes — some reminders, others little doodles from Lila whenever she visited. A warm rug spread across the floor, and fairy lights hung lazily along the window, casting a soft, golden glow that made the space feel like a cozy retreat from the world.
When Clara pushed open the door, she was startled to find Lila already sprawled on her sofa, scrolling through her phone with a mug of hot chocolate in hand.
"Finally," Lila announced dramatically. "Do you know how long I've been waiting? I nearly drank all your cocoa powder out of boredom."
Clara blinked, then let out a laugh. "You could have texted me first before breaking into my apartment."
"Please," Lila said with a grin. "You gave me the spare key. Don't act surprised when I use it." She waved her mug. "Also, this hot chocolate tastes like heaven. I added extra marshmallows. You're welcome."
Clara dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes, sinking into the sofa beside her. "I'm exhausted."
Lila studied her closely. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. Let me guess — you stayed late again, didn't you?"
Clara groaned, covering her face with a pillow. "It's not like I had a choice. Mr. Damien told me to prove myself, so I have to."
"Damien, Damien, Damien," Lila sang teasingly. "You know, you say his name way too often for someone who 'can't stand him.'"
Clara shot her a glare from behind the pillow. "Don't start."
But Lila was already smirking, leaning closer. "You're telling me you don't think about him? Not even a tiny little bit? Cold, broody boss with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass? You're living a romance novel, Clara."
Clara sat up straight, horrified. "Absolutely not! He's impossible, arrogant, and—" She waved her hands helplessly. "Not interested in anyone, least of all me."
"Uh-huh," Lila drawled, sipping her cocoa. "That's exactly what a girl with a crush would say."
"I don't have a crush!" Clara buried her face in the pillow again, muffling her words.
Lila laughed, patting her back. "Relax, I'm just teasing. Still… be careful. Men like him don't let anyone close. You're better off keeping your heart out of it."
Clara didn't answer. She told herself Lila was right, that there was nothing about Damien Cross worth losing sleep over. He was her boss, nothing more.
And yet, later that night, after Lila left and the apartment grew quiet again, Clara found herself remembering the brief moment in the break room a few days ago — the way he had paused when he saw her trying not to cry, only to turn and walk away.
She shook her head quickly, refusing to dwell on it.
Later that night, after Lila had left, Clara returned to the office to pick up a file she'd forgotten. The building was quiet, its hallways bathed in dim light. As she approached her desk, she heard a low voice coming from Damien's office.
She froze.
The door was slightly ajar, his voice drifting out into the corridor. But it wasn't the sharp, commanding tone she knew from meetings. It was softer, almost raw.
She wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but something in his tone made her pause.
It wasn't the usual clipped, commanding Damien Cross she'd grown accustomed to. His voice was lower, softer—weighted with something she couldn't name.
"I told you before," he was saying, each word deliberate, "trust isn't something I give lightly. Not anymore."
Clara's hand tightened around the folder.
There was a long silence before he continued. "When people get close, they use it. They take what they want, and they leave you with nothing. I won't make that mistake again."
The sound of a chair scraping echoed faintly, and Clara panicked, darting behind the nearest cubicle wall before the door could open. Her heart raced as she pressed her back against the partition, clutching the folder to her chest.
The hallway remained quiet, but Clara didn't dare move until she was certain the conversation had ended. Slowly, she peeked out. Damien was still inside, standing by the window now, his phone still to his ear, but his profile looked different somehow—less like the untouchable CEO and more like a man carrying invisible scars.
She slipped away quietly, unsettled.
Damien Cross, the man who seemed carved from stone, had spoken with raw vulnerability. For the first time, Clara glimpsed the humanity beneath his armor.
It didn't make her hate him less for the way he treated her. But it made her… curious.
What kind of betrayal had left him so guarded? What kind of man hid behind those cold walls?
As she hailed a cab and finally slid into the backseat, Clara pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window.
He was a mystery she wasn't sure she wanted to unravel… but couldn't stop thinking about.