The elevator hummed softly as it carried Aria upward, floor after floor of gleaming glass and steel rushing past. She tightened her grip on her portfolio, palms damp. She had worked in offices before—small, cramped spaces where the copy machine rattled and people fought over the last packet of sugar—but nothing could have prepared her for this.
Blackwood Enterprises wasn't an office. It was an empire.
When the elevator doors slid open, her breath caught. The top floor stretched out like something from another world. Polished marble gleamed beneath her heels, and the walls were lined with abstract art that probably cost more than her entire apartment building. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Manhattan that made the city look like a glittering toy.
And in the middle of it all, behind a sleek desk carved from black glass, sat Damian Blackwood.
He didn't look up immediately, but his presence filled the room all the same. Dark suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. Power rolled off him in waves, thick and suffocating. When his gaze finally lifted, it pinned her in place, sharp as ice and just as unforgiving.
"You're late," he said.
Aria glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten on the dot. "I'm not."
One dark brow arched, the barest flicker of challenge in his expression. "In my world, Miss Lane, on time is late. Five minutes early is punctual."
Her spine straightened. She refused to be intimidated, not by him. "Then perhaps you should have specified your definition of time when your assistant scheduled me."
The silence that followed was heavy, but instead of snapping at her, his lips curved—just slightly. Like he was amused she dared to talk back.
"Sit."
The chair in front of his desk was soft leather, but Aria felt no comfort as she lowered herself into it. Damian leaned back, folding his arms, studying her like a specimen under glass.
"This is your first taste of my world," he said. "Do you think you belong here?"
Aria's heart hammered, but she lifted her chin. "That's what I intend to prove."
Something flickered in his gray eyes—approval, maybe—but it vanished as quickly as it came. He reached for a file on his desk and slid it toward her.
"Your assignment. You'll have forty-eight hours."
She opened the folder and nearly choked. Pages of numbers, graphs, marketing strategies—all complex, detailed, and overwhelming. "This… this would take a whole department."
"You're not a department," he said calmly. "You're you. Forty-eight hours."
Aria's mouth opened, then shut again. Every instinct screamed at her to walk away. But she remembered her landlord's warning about overdue rent, the student loans piling up, and the ache of always being one step away from losing everything.
"I'll do it," she said, her voice steady.
His lips curved again, this time more like a predator baring his teeth. "Good. Let's see if you can survive in my world."
The next two days blurred into chaos. Aria worked until her eyes burned, fueled by cheap coffee and sheer stubbornness. Her apartment became a battlefield of scattered papers, sticky notes plastered across the walls like desperate prayers. She barely slept. But each time exhaustion clawed at her, she pictured Damian's smug smirk, his cutting words—Let's see if you can survive—and rage gave her strength.
When she finally walked back into his office with the finished report clutched in her hands, she felt like she was dragging her entire soul across the marble floor.
Damian took the file without a word, flipping through it with infuriating calm. The silence stretched until she thought she'd scream.
"Well?" she demanded, unable to stop herself.
His eyes lifted, slow and deliberate. "Not bad."
Aria's jaw dropped. "Not bad? I worked for two days straight—"
"You exceeded my expectations." He closed the folder, tapping it against the desk. "Few people do."
The words weren't extravagant, but from him they felt like a crown, heavy and undeserved. Heat crept into her cheeks before she could stop it.
"Congratulations, Miss Lane. You're still employed."
Aria released a shaky breath, both relief and irritation mixing inside her. "I should hope so."
"Don't get comfortable," Damian warned, standing. His height, his sheer presence, was overwhelming up close. "Comfort is dangerous. In my world, comfort gets you crushed."
She swallowed, but forced herself to hold his gaze. "I don't plan on being crushed."
His eyes darkened. For a moment, the air between them thickened, sparking with something unspoken, dangerous. Then he turned away, slipping into his jacket with fluid grace.
"Come with me," he said.
"What? Where?"
"A dinner meeting. You'll observe, take notes, and keep quiet."
Aria barely had time to grab her bag before she was swept into the sleek black car waiting downstairs. The city flashed past in neon streaks, but all she could think about was the man sitting beside her—silent, unreadable, radiating power like it was stitched into his skin.
When they arrived at the restaurant, Aria froze. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above linen-draped tables, waiters in white gloves gliding silently between them. This wasn't dinner. This was royalty.
And Damian walked through it like he owned it. People straightened when he passed. Powerful men shook his hand, women whispered behind manicured nails, eyes following him with a mix of awe and fear.
Aria trailed behind, feeling small, out of place… invisible.
At the table, she sat quietly while Damian handled the clients with ruthless charm. Every smile was calculated, every word a blade wrapped in silk. He was terrifyingly good at this, bending people to his will without ever raising his voice.
Halfway through, his gaze flicked to her, a silent command. She scribbled notes with trembling fingers, heat crawling up her neck.
Later, as they left, he leaned down, his breath ghosting against her ear. "You handled yourself well."
Aria blinked at him, stunned. It wasn't quite praise—but it wasn't dismissal either.
And as she sank back into the car's leather seat, she realized something terrifying.
She had just had her first true glimpse into Damian Blackwood's world.
A world of power, money, and danger.
A world she wasn't sure she could survive… but one she was already caught in.