The morning after the investor meeting felt like stepping back into a storm that hadn't fully passed. The office buzzed with nervous energy—whispers carried down the hallways, people hunched over laptops as if their lives depended on whatever numbers flashed across their screens. It wasn't just work anymore; it was survival.
And somehow, I had to blend right into it, like I was just another assistant trying to keep her boss from exploding.
Cole Maddox had kept his cool during the meeting yesterday, but I knew better than to mistake calm for softness. His control wasn't weakness—it was strategy. That much I'd picked up from the endless reports the agency had shoved down my throat before placing me here. The man was a shark. He smiled when he needed to, charmed when it was useful, and cut throats clean when he had to.
But the reports hadn't prepared me for the… cracks. The little moments when his guard slipped—like yesterday when he touched the bridge of his nose after the meeting, exhaling so slowly it almost sounded like a sigh. I wasn't supposed to notice those things. Not as Aurora-the-spy, anyway. But Aurora-the-woman? She noticed.
And that was dangerous.
I was halfway through setting Cole's schedule for the day when his office door opened.
"Aurora," his voice carried—sharp, low, commanding.
I glanced up from my laptop, trying not to look startled. "Yes, Mr. Maddox?"
He didn't answer right away, just gestured me inside with a flick of his hand. My stomach twisted. Walking into his office always felt like stepping onto a stage with only one spotlight, and he was the audience, the judge, and the executioner rolled into one.
Inside, he leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, jacket hanging perfectly from his broad shoulders like it had been tailored by a god. His eyes flicked over me quickly—assessing, like he was trying to measure how much I could handle before breaking.
"We're meeting with the legal department by 11 o'clock," he said. "I'll need every file related to the Cross deal on hand. Physical copies, not digital."
Cross. My pulse stumbled. Seraphina.
Of course.
I nodded, hiding the sudden rush of heat under my collar. "I'll have them ready."
He studied me for a second too long. "Good." Then his jaw tightened. "And, Aurora… no mistakes."
The words weren't loud, but they landed with weight. My throat dried instantly. "There won't be."
His gaze lingered, sharp and unreadable, before he pushed off the desk and walked past me. "I'll be in the conference room. Bring the files by 10:55."
The second the door shut behind him, I finally let my breath go. My heart was hammering like I'd just run up ten flights of stairs. He always did that—came close enough to rattle me without ever breaking the ice himself.
And Seraphina's name being thrown into the mix? That wasn't just rattling. That was shaking loose the ground I was standing on.
I spent the next two hours buried in paper—contracts, memos, printed emails, financial breakdowns. It was a maze, and somewhere in it was the thread I needed to pull. Seraphina Cross wasn't just some ex-girlfriend who'd left behind broken champagne glasses and expensive perfume. She was dangerous. My agency believed she was framing Cole for insider trading and leaking trade secrets.
Which meant one of two things: either she really was behind it, or Cole was the mastermind hiding behind her name like a mask.
And I still hadn't figured out which.
"Aurora?"
I looked up and nearly jumped. Cole stood at my desk again, silent as always. The man had a gift for appearing without sound—like a predator in a suit.
"It's 10:55," he said, a flicker of impatience in his voice.
I scrambled to gather the files into a neat stack. "Right—yes, I've got them."
His eyes narrowed slightly, not at the files, but at me—as if he could sense the nerves crawling under my skin. He didn't say anything though, just turned and expected me to follow.
The conference room was glass-walled, high-ceilinged, and suffocating in the worst way. Every lawyer in the department sat like soldiers awaiting orders, their pens lined perfectly beside their notepads. Cole took his seat at the head of the table, motioning for me to sit behind him.
I placed the files carefully in front of him, keeping my movements steady. My role here was clear: invisible support. The assistant who made things happen without ever stepping into the spotlight.
But then Seraphina Cross herself walked in.
She was magnetic in the way only women who knew their own power could be. Tall, poised, every strand of her dark hair in place, her dress sleek and black like armor. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step measured, claiming the room as if it already belonged to her.
And the way Cole's jaw clenched when she entered told me one thing: he hated that she still had that effect.
"Cole," she greeted smoothly, her voice dripping with a mix of nostalgia and challenge. "It's been too long."
"Not long enough," he replied flatly.
The room thickened with tension. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my stomach twisted tighter with every glance they exchanged.
Seraphina's eyes flicked to me for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at her lips before she looked away. That single look felt like she'd reached across the table and pulled the rug out from under me. She knew. Or at least suspected.
The meeting droned on, filled with legal jargon and icy undertones. But I barely heard a word. My focus stayed locked on the way Cole's hand flexed around his pen, the way Seraphina leaned in a fraction too close whenever she spoke. Every move was a power play.
And me? I was caught in the middle.
By the end, nothing had been resolved except one thing: the war between Cole Maddox and Seraphina Cross was far from over.
Back in his office, Cole paced like a caged animal, his tie loosened, his usual composure fraying at the edges. I sat quietly, waiting, knowing better than to interrupt.
Finally, he stopped, turned toward me, and asked the last thing I expected.
"What did you think?"
It took me a beat to realize he was serious. "About the meeting?"
"About her." His tone sharpened. "About Seraphina."
I swallowed hard. "She's… persuasive."
His eyes darkened. "That's one word for it."
There was something in his stare then—something raw, almost vulnerable, like he wanted me to say more, to cut through the armor he wore so carefully. But I couldn't. Not without risking exposing too much of myself.
So instead, I just said, "I'll keep the files in order, in case you need them again."
His jaw ticked, but he nodded. "Good."
As I stood to leave, his voice stopped me.
"Aurora."
I turned.
"Don't let her get in your head."
The warning sank deep, but so did the unspoken truth behind it: she already had.
That night, as I lay in my too-pristine apartment, staring at the ceiling, I replayed everything—Cole's questions, Seraphina's smirk, the way my heart had skipped when his eyes had softened for a split second.
I wasn't just undercover anymore.
I was in over my head.