The next morning, Aria walked into Blackwood Enterprises determined not to be rattled.
After the dinner meeting, she had lain awake all night replaying the way Damian moved through that glittering restaurant like a king among pawns. Everyone bent toward him, deferential, cautious, desperate for his approval. But what haunted her most wasn't the power he commanded—it was the way he had leaned in, voice low and deliberate, to tell her she'd handled herself well.
It shouldn't matter. It couldn't matter. She wasn't here for compliments or his approval. She was here to survive.
Still, when she entered his office, she felt that same shift in the air—the invisible weight of him filling the room before he even looked at her.
"Miss Lane," he said, not glancing up from the documents on his desk. "You're late again."
Aria's brows snapped together. "It's nine-fifty-five. You said—"
"Five minutes early is punctual. You've already forgotten?" His tone was smooth, but his eyes lifted now, cool gray, sharp enough to cut.
She exhaled slowly through her nose. "You don't get to make up your own rules of time."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "On the contrary. In my world, I make all the rules."
Aria stepped closer, dropping her folder onto his desk with a decisive thud. "Then maybe your world needs a reminder that not everyone plays by them."
The silence stretched, and she could feel the tension coil between them, alive and dangerous. His gaze swept over her slowly, deliberately, as though assessing how far she'd bend before she broke.
Then, like a predator circling prey, he leaned back in his chair. "Interesting. Most people sit quietly and take notes when I speak. They don't challenge me."
"I'm not most people," Aria said, heat flaring in her chest.
"No," he agreed softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "You're not."
The morning spiraled into tests.
Damian summoned her into the boardroom, where half a dozen executives were already seated. Aria froze, caught off guard. She hadn't been warned about a meeting.
"This is Miss Lane," Damian said smoothly. "She'll be presenting the analysis I assigned her."
Aria's eyes widened. What? Her pulse roared in her ears. She hadn't prepared a presentation—he hadn't asked for one.
She looked at him, fury sparking, but his expression was calm, unreadable. A test.
Her hands trembled as she flipped open her folder, scanning the room. A half-dozen expectant faces stared back at her. She wanted to run. But then Damian's words echoed in her head: In my world, comfort gets you crushed.
She swallowed, steadied her breath, and began.
At first, her voice shook. But as she spoke, her confidence grew. She knew the numbers, the strategies, the weaknesses. She had bled over this project for forty-eight hours, and she wouldn't let him—or anyone—see her falter now.
When she finished, silence filled the room. Aria's stomach dropped—until the executives began nodding, murmuring to one another. One of them even smiled.
"Impressive," one said.
Damian didn't move. His face gave nothing away. But when the room cleared, leaving only the two of them, his eyes locked on hers.
"You adapted," he said.
Aria's fists clenched at her sides. "You set me up to fail."
His lips curved—wolfish, dangerous. "I set you up to prove yourself. You did."
The heat in her chest turned molten. "You enjoy this, don't you? Pushing people until they break."
He rose from his chair, slow and deliberate, his height overwhelming when he crossed the room to stand in front of her. "Most people do break, Miss Lane. You didn't. That intrigues me."
Aria's breath caught. He was too close, his presence too consuming. But she forced herself to hold his gaze, refusing to retreat.
"Don't mistake survival for obedience," she said, her voice low, steady. "I won't bow to you."
Something flickered in his eyes—dark, dangerous, hungry. For a heartbeat, it felt like the air between them might ignite.
Then he stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets as though nothing had happened. "We'll see."
Later that day, he summoned her to accompany him on another meeting. This one wasn't in a boardroom—it was on the construction site of a new luxury hotel he was building.
The site was chaos: workers shouting, cranes looming overhead, the smell of dust and concrete filling the air. Damian moved through it all like it was a chessboard he owned, issuing commands with clipped precision. Everyone listened. Everyone obeyed.
Aria trailed behind, watching, absorbing. She had never seen someone wield power so effortlessly. But she also saw something else—ruthlessness. When one of the foremen faltered, stammering over a mistake in the schedule, Damian cut him down with words so sharp that the man paled.
"That was unnecessary," Aria muttered under her breath.
Damian's head turned, those gray eyes pinning her. "Excuse me?"
"You didn't have to humiliate him in front of everyone. There are other ways to lead."
For a moment, silence. Then, in a low, dangerous tone: "Careful, Miss Lane."
"No," she shot back, surprising even herself with the strength in her voice. "You can scare people into obedience, sure. But respect? That's earned."
The workers nearby pretended not to hear, but she could feel the shift in the air. No one—no one—challenged Damian Blackwood in public.
And yet, he didn't explode. Instead, a slow smile curved his lips, something predatory glinting in his eyes.
"You keep testing me," he said softly, almost like a promise. "Most people wouldn't dare."
"Maybe they should," Aria said, chin lifted.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and electric. For the first time, she saw something raw flicker across his expression—something that looked like hunger, or maybe danger.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone. He turned back to the foreman, issuing another order as though nothing had happened.
But Aria knew. She had crossed a line. And for reasons she couldn't fully understand, Damian seemed to like it.
That evening, when she returned to her tiny apartment, exhaustion finally caught up with her. She dropped onto the couch, replaying every moment of the day.
The presentation. His words. The way he had stood so close, daring her to bow and thrilled when she didn't.
Her head fell back against the cushion. She should hate him. He was arrogant, manipulative, ruthless.
But beneath all that, something pulled at her. The danger of it. The fire of it.
She clenched her fists, forcing the thought away.
She couldn't afford to be drawn into his games.
But deep down, Aria knew the truth.
She already was.