The office was nearly silent at night.
Most of Blackwood Enterprises had long since gone home, leaving only the faint hum of air conditioning and the occasional echo of footsteps down distant hallways. The skyline glittered beyond the glass windows like a sea of stars, Manhattan alive with energy even as the building slept.
Aria sat at the boardroom table, her laptop open, papers spread out in neat piles around her. She rubbed her temples, exhaustion creeping into her bones. Damian had insisted she stay late to finish refining the pitch deck for an upcoming merger.
She told herself she wasn't nervous. That it didn't matter he was across the table from her, his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms she absolutely should not have been staring at.
But the truth was, she was very, very aware of him.
"Focus, Miss Lane," he said without looking up from his own laptop, as though he had read her thoughts.
Her cheeks flamed. "I am focusing."
His lips curved, the barest hint of a smirk. "You're distracted."
Aria's fingers tightened on her pen. "Maybe because some people think it's appropriate to keep their employees working until midnight."
"Discomfort sharpens the mind." He leaned back, eyes flicking up to catch hers. "Or it breaks you. Which do you think it will be for you?"
She met his gaze steadily, even as her pulse betrayed her. "Neither. I don't break, and I don't sharpen on command. I work on my own terms."
For a moment, silence. Then Damian closed his laptop with a decisive snap and stood. The sound of his footsteps echoed as he circled the table, coming closer, deliberate, like a predator closing in.
Aria's heart pounded, but she refused to shrink back.
He stopped just behind her chair, leaning down until his voice brushed against her ear. "You keep telling yourself you won't bend," he murmured. "But everyone bends eventually."
Her breath caught. Heat skittered across her skin, every nerve sparking. But she forced herself to turn, tilting her head so her eyes met his from inches away.
"Maybe you've just never met someone who doesn't," she whispered back.
The air between them thickened. For a heartbeat, she thought—hoped—he might close the space, that his mouth would finally crash against hers.
But then, just as suddenly, he pulled back, his expression unreadable, shuttered.
"Get the presentation finished," he said smoothly, as though nothing had happened. He moved to the coffee machine in the corner, pouring himself a cup with calm precision.
Aria's hands trembled on the keyboard. She hated him in that moment—for the way he played these games, for the way her body responded despite her mind screaming against it.
But she couldn't deny it: part of her thrilled at the danger of it.
The hours dragged. She typed, edited, rearranged slides. He reviewed documents with a predator's patience, every now and then glancing at her like he was measuring her endurance.
At one point, she stretched, rolling her stiff shoulders. His gaze lingered a moment too long, tracing the movement before flicking back to his work.
"You're relentless," she muttered.
"Relentless is what built this empire," he replied.
"Or destroyed the people who tried to keep up with you."
His eyes lifted again, sharp. "Is that you? Destroyed already?"
"No." She swallowed hard, then forced a smirk. "But maybe you should worry that I'll outlast you."
For a second, Damian froze. Then he laughed, low and dangerous. The sound slid down her spine like silk and fire.
"You have no idea how dangerous it is to challenge me," he said, voice low.
"Maybe I like dangerous."
His eyes darkened, and for the first time, he didn't immediately look away. He let the silence stretch, thick with tension, until she couldn't breathe.
By two in the morning, the presentation was finally done. Aria closed her laptop with a sigh of relief and pushed it toward him.
"Finished," she said.
Damian flipped through the slides in silence. His expression gave nothing away until he reached the last page. Then he shut the laptop with a click and looked at her.
"Good," he said simply.
Aria blinked. "That's it? Just 'good'?"
"You're learning."
She rolled her eyes. "You're infuriating."
That smirk tugged at his mouth again. "And yet, here you are."
She stood, gathering her things, determined to leave before the weight of his presence broke her composure. But when she turned toward the door, his voice stopped her.
"Aria."
Her name on his lips was a caress and a command all at once. She froze, heart slamming against her ribs, then slowly turned back.
Damian was still seated, but his gaze burned into hers. "You did well tonight. Better than I expected."
It wasn't just the words—it was the way he said them, low and deliberate, his voice rich with something almost… intimate.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She swallowed hard, nodding. "Thank you."
He didn't look away, and she couldn't either. The air between them pulsed with something unspoken, something dangerous.
For one reckless second, she thought about crossing the room, about leaning into the magnetic pull that dragged her toward him.
But instead, she forced herself to turn and walk out the door.
Her hands trembled the entire way to the elevator.
Because she knew if she had stayed a second longer, she would have let him win that power play.
And she wasn't ready to surrender. Not yet.
That night, lying in bed, Aria stared at the ceiling, sleep impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—Damian in that darkened boardroom, his voice low in her ear, his gaze burning through her.
She hated the way he unsettled her. She hated even more that she wanted him to.
She whispered into the darkness, a promise to herself.
"I won't let you control me, Damian Blackwood."
But deep down, she feared it was already too late.