The manila file should have been weightless. Paper, ink, numbers neatly arranged in black and white. Yet in Amara Blakes' grip, it may as well have been a stone, dragging at her as she moved through the empty hallways of Sterling Enterprises.
The building was a skeleton after hours, its glass and steel frame humming with a sterile kind of silence. Even the fluorescent bulbs seemed quieter, their low buzz almost drowned out by the click of her heels on polished marble. Each step echoed like a trespass.
She told herself again what she had been repeating since she left her cubicle: Deliver the file. Leave. Go home. Sleep. Tomorrow will be another day.
But her gut whispered otherwise. Nothing with Damian Sterling was that easy.
When she reached the thirty-first floor, the air felt heavier. As though even the walls knew who ruled this floor. The corridor stretched long and quiet, her reflection fractured in the glass panels that lined it. One light still burned at the far end: Damian's office.
Of course he was still here.
Amara stopped outside his door. Frosted glass blurred his outline, a shadow hunched over, then shifting. She swallowed, adjusted the strap of her bag, and knocked.
The response was immediate. "Enter."
The single word coiled tight in her chest. She turned the handle.
Inside, Damian stood behind his desk, the city sprawling in lights behind him. His jacket was gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, collar open. Papers were scattered across his desk in organized chaos, lit by a single desk lamp that threw sharp shadows across his jaw.
He didn't look tired. He looked alive in this hour, as though the night belonged to him.
"You're late." His eyes, cool and assessing, locked onto hers the moment she stepped inside.
Amara steadied herself. "It wasn't negligence. The board requested revisions, and Adrian intercepted me in the hallway. That delayed me."
Something flickered across Damian's expression at the name. His jaw ticked, but his voice stayed smooth. "Adrian." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling. "Of course."
Her brow furrowed. "Of course what?"
Damian's lips curved faintly. Not a smile. Not even amusement. More like recognition of a pattern. "He's sniffing around again. And you let him."
Her pulse jumped. "I didn't"
"You did." Damian's tone cut her off like a blade. He rose slowly, pushing his chair back. The movement was deliberate, every step as he came around the desk calculated. "You think I don't notice when my people drift too close to the sharks circling this company?"
Amara's spine straightened, pride bristling even as his proximity made the air harder to breathe. "I'm not your possession, Mr. Sterling."
Damian stopped in front of her, close enough that she caught the faint trace of his cologne cedar, spice, something darker lingering beneath. His gaze was unflinching, like he could see straight through the layers she used to armor herself.
"Not yet," he said softly.
Her breath caught. She hated the way her body betrayed her heart stuttering, throat tightening. She hated even more that a part of her wanted to lean into that heat, to test just how far he would go.
She tore her gaze away, stepping forward to place the file on his desk harder than necessary. The sound echoed. "Here's your report. Nothing more, nothing less."
Damian's hand came down on the file, fingers brushing the edge of hers. The touch was light, almost accidental, but it seared. He didn't move his hand immediately.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Miss Blakes." His voice was low, measured, meant only for her ears in this empty office.
"And maybe," she shot back before she could stop herself, "so are you."
The silence stretched. The city glittered in the glass wall behind him, a hundred thousand lights burning in the dark, but in that moment the office felt smaller than ever just the two of them locked in an invisible tug of-war neither could name aloud.
Damian's gaze darkened, unreadable. "Do you know what Adrian wants from you?"
Amara blinked, caught off guard. "He hasn't"
"He will," Damian cut in, stepping closer again, forcing her to look up at him. "Adrian doesn't care about your career, or your talent. He'll use you because he thinks you're vulnerable. He's calculating. He's patient. And he's watching."
Her throat tightened. He's watching. The memory of the parking garage Adrian's voice like smoke in the shadows, his warning laced with too much knowledge slid back into her mind.
"You're projecting." She forced steel into her voice. "You're just as calculating as he is."
Something flickered in his eyes, not anger but something more dangerous: interest. "At least I don't lie about it."
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She turned sharply, needing space, needing air. "This is insane. I came to deliver a file, not be interrogated."
Damian let her walk toward the door. For a moment, she thought he'd let her leave. But then his voice followed her, low and rough around the edges.
"You'll learn, Amara. This isn't just business. This is survival."
She froze, hand on the door handle, pulse unsteady. He'd said her first name not Miss Blakes, not Collins as others still mistook her for, but Amara. Intimate. Deliberate.
When she finally left the office, the echo of his words stayed with her, shadowing every step down the hallway.
But she wasn't alone.
At the far end of the corridor, leaning casually against the glass, Adrian waited. His tie loosened, his grin sharp. He clapped slowly, mocking.
"Quite the late-night session," he drawled. "Tell me, Amara… does Sterling make all his employees work this hard, or just the ones he wants under his thumb?"
Her breath stilled. The shadow Damian warned her about wasn't just real it was standing right there, smirking in the dim glow of midnight.