Aria Hale had one plan for the morning: be normal.
She would get up, drink her coffee, dress like a competent adult, and go to work without making eye contact with Damian Blackwood. A flawless plan. Foolproof.
Until Claire got involved.
"Stop right there," Claire barked the second Aria stepped out of her room. She circled Aria like a fashion critic on a reality show. "Black pencil skirt, white blouse, neutral flats… yawn. No wonder you keep embarrassing yourself. You need to dazzle, Aria. Slay. Maybe even faint from the sheer power of your own aura."
Aria clutched her travel mug like a shield. "I'm not trying to dazzle, I'm trying to survive. There's a difference."
Claire ignored her. "Add a splash of red lipstick. Maybe stilettos. A power bun. You'll look like the kind of woman who eats CEOs for breakfast."
Aria groaned. "Claire, I don't want to eat my CEO. I just want to avoid calling him a vampire again."
But Claire was already rummaging in the bathroom cabinet. Five minutes later, Aria found herself shoved in front of the mirror with crimson lips, sky-high heels, and hair so tightly wound she thought her brain cells were being squeezed.
"I look like a lawyer going to court for murder," Aria muttered.
"Exactly. Confidence," Claire said smugly.
---
The confidence lasted all of ten minutes—right until she wobbled into the office lobby, tripped on her stilettos, and almost face-planted into the security desk.
"Morning," the guard said dryly, watching her flail.
"Morning!" she squeaked, cheeks flaming.
By the time she reached her floor, she was already rethinking her life choices. And things only spiraled when she walked into the breakroom to find her coworkers huddled around the coffee machine like mourners at a funeral.
"It's dead," one announced solemnly. "The coffee machine has officially given up."
Aria gasped. "What? No, it can't be. I need it."
She shoved through the crowd and pressed the button. The machine sputtered, groaned, and emitted a noise that sounded disturbingly like a dying walrus. Then it hissed steam straight into her face.
Aria staggered back, coughing. "Okay. It's possessed. Burn it. Exorcise it. Whatever it takes."
Her coworkers snickered. Jenna fanned herself dramatically. "First the late-night tryst with Mr. Blackwood, now the cursed coffee machine. You're on a roll, Aria."
"It wasn't a tryst!" Aria hissed, but no one was listening.
The crowd parted suddenly, and silence swept the room. Damian Blackwood had arrived.
Of course. Of course he had to witness this.
He surveyed the chaos with his usual unreadable expression. "What's the problem?"
No one spoke. Everyone looked at Aria. Traitors, all of them.
She cleared her throat, trying not to wobble in her ridiculous heels. "Uh, sir. The coffee machine. It, um… it hates us. Possibly me specifically."
For the briefest second, something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? No, surely not.
Without a word, he stepped forward, rolled up his sleeves, and knelt by the machine. Watching the CEO of Blackwood Enterprises crouch on the breakroom floor was so surreal Aria nearly forgot to breathe.
He pressed a few buttons, adjusted something under the panel, and the machine purred back to life with a perfectly brewed stream of coffee.
Everyone stared.
Aria blurted, "What can't you do?!"
The words slipped out before she could stop them. The room went deathly quiet. Her coworkers bit back laughter. Damian straightened slowly, turning that dark, intense gaze on her.
For a heartbeat, her heart hammered like she'd just challenged a king to a duel.
Then, in the calmest voice imaginable, he said, "Drink your coffee, Ms. Hale."
She grabbed the nearest cup, nearly spilling it in her haste. "Yes, sir. Immediately, sir. Coffee is life, sir."
The second he left, the room erupted into laughter. Jenna fanned herself. "Oh, honey, you're doomed. He either wants to fire you or marry you. Possibly both."
Aria groaned into her cup.
---
The day didn't get better. By noon, the entire office was buzzing with gossip again, whispers following Aria like bees around honey. She tried to drown herself in spreadsheets, but her concentration cracked when her computer froze mid-report.
"No, no, no," she muttered, stabbing the keyboard. "Not today, Satan."
Her screen flickered. Then—pop!—all the lights in the office dimmed for a split second. A low hum filled the air, vibrating against her bones.
Everyone looked up nervously.
"Power surge?" someone asked.
But Aria had heard something else beneath the hum. Something primal. Like a low, guttural growl that rippled through the wires. It was faint, almost imagined, but it made the hair on her arms rise.
She glanced around, expecting others to react. But no one seemed to notice. Except—
Damian.
Across the room, he stood at the edge of his office doorway, still as stone, eyes locked on the flickering lights. His jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping the room like he was searching for something. Or someone.
When his eyes found Aria, her stomach dropped.
For a split second, she thought she saw it again—that animal sharpness in his pupils, like they had narrowed into slits.
She blinked, and it was gone. Just Damian Blackwood, impassive and terrifyingly composed.
The lights returned to normal. The hum vanished. People resumed their work, muttering about faulty wiring.
But Aria couldn't shake it.
I heard it. I know I did. A growl, not a hum. And he… he heard it too.
---
That night, Claire was waiting on the couch with her usual bag of popcorn. "You're late. Spill. Did the vampire CEO seduce you yet?"
Aria collapsed beside her. "Forget vampire. I'm starting to think he's a werewolf."
Claire blinked. Then burst out laughing so hard she nearly spilled the popcorn. "A werewolf? Oh, Aria, your imagination needs its own Netflix deal."
"I'm serious!" Aria protested. "Weird things keep happening around him. And today I heard this… sound. Like an animal. No one else reacted, but he did. He knew."
Claire waggled her eyebrows. "Or maybe you're just falling for him so hard that your brain is making up supernatural excuses. Classic crush syndrome."
Aria buried her face in a pillow. "This isn't a crush. It's a death sentence."
But as she lay awake later, she couldn't stop replaying that moment: the lights dimming, the growl, the way Damian's eyes seemed to catch her in place like a predator locking on prey.
And for the first time, Aria wondered if her ridiculous slip-ups and gossip weren't the real danger.
Maybe the danger was him.