Aria Hale decided two things that morning:
1. She would avoid Damian Blackwood at all costs.
2. She would not trip, spill, or humiliate herself before noon.
Simple. Logical. Achievable.
She lasted exactly twenty minutes.
---
It began in the elevator. She'd been humming to herself, clutching her overstuffed bag, when the doors slid open and there he was—Damian, six feet of unnerving calm in a charcoal suit.
Aria froze, wide-eyed. "Oh! I, uh—I'll take the next one."
His gaze flicked to her bag, then to her face. "You'll be late."
The doors began to close. On impulse, Aria lunged forward, forgetting she was in Claire's death-trap stilettos. Her bag strap snagged the elevator frame, jerking her sideways. She flailed, bracing for impact with the floor.
Except she didn't fall.
One moment she was plummeting. The next, Damian's hand was wrapped around her wrist, pulling her upright with inhuman steadiness. It wasn't just quick—it was too quick. Reflexes that sharp didn't belong in the human handbook.
Aria's heart slammed against her ribs. She managed a strangled, "Thanks," and stared at the ground like it had all the answers.
He released her slowly, as though measuring his strength. "Be careful," he said simply, but his voice held a weight she couldn't place.
The ride up stretched forever, thick with silence. She swore she could hear his breathing, steady and controlled, and—if she wasn't losing her mind—the faintest sound of a heartbeat not her own.
When the doors opened, she bolted like she'd just escaped a predator.
---
By mid-morning, she'd convinced herself she was being ridiculous. So he has fast reflexes. So what? Maybe he practices yoga. Or martial arts. Or drinks too much coffee. Perfectly normal things. Totally not supernatural at all.
She repeated this mantra as she settled at her desk. Unfortunately, the universe seemed intent on testing her sanity.
Her computer froze again during a presentation run-through. She smacked the mouse. Nothing. She smacked the keyboard. Still nothing. Finally, in desperation, she gave the monitor a little shake.
The screen lit up with a screech that sounded like a banshee having a meltdown. The speakers blasted static across the entire office.
Everyone jumped. Aria jumped so hard she knocked her coffee over, drenching her notes. "Oh no no no no—!"
Her coworkers stared. Jenna from marketing whispered, "It's happening again. Hale's cursed."
Aria frantically dabbed at the spill with napkins. "I'm not cursed, I'm just… accident-prone!"
Then, before anyone could comment further, the screen flickered again. For a split second, an image appeared—dark forest, glowing eyes. Then it vanished, leaving her spreadsheet in place as though nothing had happened.
Aria's jaw dropped. "Did anyone else see—?"
No one had. They were already muttering about IT.
But she knew what she saw. Golden eyes. Animal eyes.
Her pulse raced. Okay. Okay, calm down. It was probably just a glitch. A stock photo. Or maybe I need sleep. Definitely not a sign that my boss is secretly a werewolf.
She risked a glance across the floor. Damian was standing in his office doorway, watching her.
Not the room. Not the chaos. Her.
When their eyes met, it was like a jolt of electricity. She looked away instantly, pretending to type.
---
By lunchtime, she was determined to reset. A little cafeteria banter, some gossip with coworkers, and she'd laugh this all off.
The plan lasted until she spotted Damian in line at the salad bar.
Her brain short-circuited. He eats salad? The most terrifying man alive eats… cucumbers?
Jenna slid up beside her, smirking. "Don't stare too hard. You'll combust."
"I'm not staring," Aria hissed. She was absolutely staring.
Damian moved past, and she noticed something odd—his tray was stacked high with rare steak slices, practically bleeding. No dressing, no carbs, no vegetables except a few token greens.
Her stomach twisted. Who eats meat that raw?
As if sensing her thoughts, he glanced over. Their gazes locked again. He didn't blink. Didn't look away. Just studied her like she was an equation only he could solve.
Aria snapped her attention back to her tray, face burning. Okay. Definitely weird. But not conclusive. Maybe he's on a caveman diet. Paleo or whatever. Totally normal… ish.
---
Back at her desk, she tried to focus on numbers. But her brain wouldn't cooperate. Instead, it replayed every odd thing: the growl in the wires, the inhuman reflexes, the golden eyes on her computer screen.
She scribbled a list on a sticky note:
Shows up at weird hours
Moves faster than possible
Broods like Batman
Eats raw steak like it's candy
People whisper about growling in the building
Possible werewolf???
She stared at the last line. Then tore the note to pieces and stuffed it in the trash. Nope. I am not the crazy woman who suspects her boss is a werewolf.
Still, when the lights flickered later that afternoon and she heard—faint, low, almost imagined—a growl near her cubicle, she couldn't stop the shiver that ran down her spine.
---
That evening, Aria stayed late to catch up on work. The office was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that hummed in her ears.
She packed her bag quickly, determined not to repeat last week's after-hours nightmare. But just as she reached the elevator, voices echoed from the floor above.
Deep, urgent voices.
She froze. The top floor? Isn't that restricted after hours?
Curiosity tugged at her. She crept up the stairwell, heart hammering. At the landing, she pressed her ear to the door.
"…she's getting suspicious," one voice murmured. Male. Steady.
Another voice answered, lower, rougher. "She doesn't know enough. Yet."
Aria's blood went cold.
"She heard it," the first voice said. "The surge earlier—she reacted."
Her stomach dropped. They were talking about her.
"She's human," the second voice growled. "If she becomes a liability…"
A long pause. Then Damian's voice, unmistakable, calm and cutting:
"She's under my watch. No one touches her."
Aria's breath caught. Her heart raced so loud she feared they'd hear it. She stumbled back quietly, hand clamped over her mouth.
By the time she made it to the lobby, her knees were trembling.
He knows. He knows I noticed. And he's hiding something.
Something dangerous.
---
That night, Claire found her pacing the apartment like a trapped animal.
"Okay," Claire said, setting down her popcorn. "Either you saw a ghost, or you finally realized you're in love with your scary-hot boss. Which is it?"
Aria stopped, wild-eyed. "Neither. He's not just scary. He's… wrong. I overheard him tonight. He and some other guy. They were talking about me, Claire. About keeping me quiet."
Claire blinked. "Okay, creepy. But maybe you misheard? Or maybe he's just a super intense CEO with trust issues?"
Aria shook her head. "No. I heard them. And Claire—he growled. Not like a metaphor. A literal growl."
Claire laughed nervously. "You've been watching too many horror movies."
But when Aria lay awake that night, Damian's words echoed in her head. She's under my watch. No one touches her.
It should have comforted her. Instead, it felt like a warning.