Rain dripped from the edge of Ava's umbrella as the black car pulled to a stop.
The driver stepped out and opened the door.
"Miss Hart," he said smoothly, "Mr. Lucan is expecting you upstairs."
"Upstairs where?"
The man only gestured toward the towering building behind him—its glass shimmering against the city's night lights.
Ava's heart gave a small, nervous skip.
She'd seen this building before—in magazines, whispered about by designers as untouchable.
Lucan Tower Penthouse. Ethan Lucan's private residence.
Her throat went dry.
He can't possibly be bringing me here… right?
The elevator rose in silence, floor after floor disappearing beneath her.
By the time it stopped, her palms were slick against her clutch.
The doors opened to reveal a penthouse bathed in soft gold light.
Minimalist. Perfect.
And completely silent.
Ava stepped in cautiously.
No assistants, no guards. Just her reflection in the glass walls—and a single figure standing near the window, holding a glass of whiskey.
Ethan Lucan didn't turn around.
But his voice reached her instantly, deep and calm as ever.
"You're late."
"I'm three minutes early," she said before she could stop herself.
He glanced at his watch, then back to her with the faintest lift of his brow.
"Confidence. Noted."
"Rudeness. Also noted," she muttered.
The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile.
Almost.
He gestured toward the table behind him.
"Sit."
The table held several sketches and color palettes—hers.
From projects she hadn't shown anyone since her old company collapsed.
Ava froze. "How did you get these?"
"I told you," Ethan said, turning slightly toward her. "I make it my business to know."
"You went through my private drive?"
"I prefer the term research."
She glared at him. "That's not research. That's invasion."
"Semantics," he replied coolly, swirling his drink. "I needed to see who you were before I invested in you."
"You call this an investment?"
"I call it insurance."
Ava exhaled sharply. "You really don't understand boundaries, do you?"
His gaze flicked to her, sharp and unyielding.
"I understand them perfectly. I just don't let them stop me."
Silence filled the space between them—thick, electric.
Ava felt her pulse racing, half from anger, half from something else entirely.
He stepped closer, the faint scent of cedar and smoke surrounding her.
"Tell me," he said softly. "What do you see when you look at this room?"
Caught off guard, she glanced around.
It was beautiful but cold—gray marble, steel, glass. No warmth. No life.
"It's impressive," she said carefully, "but it feels… empty."
He tilted his head. "Empty?"
"Yes. Like it was designed by someone who wanted perfection but not comfort."
He said nothing.
Just looked at her.
Long enough that she began to fidget under his stare.
"Good," he murmured finally. "You notice more than you speak."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It's a warning."
Her pulse jumped again. "About what?"
He stepped close enough that she could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the faint reflection of the city lights in his eyes.
"About me."
She took a small step back. "Mr. Lucan, if this is some sort of test—"
"It is."
Her breath caught. "What kind of test?"
"The kind that shows me what you're afraid of."
Before she could react, he reached past her and switched off the main lights.
The room plunged into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the faint city glow.
Ava's heartbeat roared in her ears. "What are you doing?"
Ethan's voice came from somewhere behind her.
"I want you to design this room again," he said quietly. "But this time, not for me. For you."
"For me?"
"Yes. Right now. Tell me what you'd change."
She hesitated. "In the dark?"
"In the dark," he confirmed.
Ava took a shaky breath.
Fine. If he wanted her fear, he'd get her focus instead.
"I'd start with warmth," she said slowly, eyes adjusting to the shadows. "Something soft to offset all this glass.
Maybe textured walls. Dimmer lighting near the edges. A touch of amber tone. You hide too much behind sharp edges, Mr. Lucan. Your space reflects that."
He said nothing.
But she could feel him moving behind her, close—too close.
"Go on," he murmured.
Her voice trembled slightly. "And maybe… music. Something quiet. Not silence. Silence makes you think too much."
"Does it?"
She turned—and found him standing directly behind her.
Her breath caught.
He wasn't smiling, but his expression had changed. Softer. Almost intrigued.
"You analyze people through design," he said. "Interesting."
"I analyze spaces," she corrected. "People just live in them."
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. "You'd be surprised how easily one becomes the other."
Ava's pulse spiked. "You said this was a test."
"It is."
"Did I pass?"
"Not yet."
He reached for the folder on the table and slid it toward her.
Inside were several photos—blueprints, press shots, event sketches.
"I have a gala next week," he said. "Every major investor in Lucan Corporation will be there. I want you to redesign the venue in three days."
Her eyes widened. "Three days?"
"Do you need more?"
"Usually people get weeks for this sort of project!"
He stepped closer again, voice low. "I'm not people."
She bit her lip. "Why rush it?"
"Because I want to see how you work under pressure."
"And if I fail?"
"Then you'll know exactly how far you're willing to go for what you want."
Her jaw tightened. "You really like testing people, don't you?"
"I like truth. And pressure brings it out."
He moved even closer, the air between them hot and cold at once.
"You can leave, Ava. No one's forcing you to stay."
She met his eyes, steady this time. "You're not that lucky."
For the first time, Ethan's expression cracked—a small, genuine smirk tugging at his lips.
"Then we understand each other," he said quietly.
The tension broke just slightly, but the air remained charged.
Ava gathered the folder, straightening her shoulders.
"I'll have drafts ready by morning," she said. "Try not to invade my personal drive again."
"No promises."
She glared. "You're unbelievable."
"So I've been told."
When she finally left, the elevator doors closed behind her, but her heartbeat refused to slow.
Somewhere between anger and attraction, something dangerous had begun to stir.
In the penthouse above, Ethan Lucan stood by the window again, watching the city lights flicker across the rain-streaked glass.
Natalie, his assistant, entered quietly.
"You like her," she said simply.
Ethan didn't turn. "I don't like anyone."
"But she's different," Natalie pressed. "Why her?"
He swirled his whiskey, his reflection cold and unreadable.
"She looks at my world and calls it empty," he murmured. "Everyone else calls it perfect."
He took a slow sip, his gaze distant.
"That's either foolish… or dangerous."
Meanwhile, in the car below, Ava leaned her head against the seat, the city blurring past the window.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the folder in her lap.
She should've been terrified. She should've quit.
But instead, all she could think about was the way he looked at her—like he already knew she'd come back.
A shiver ran down her spine, followed by a rush of something that felt too close to thrill.
Damn him.
He's turning fear into fascination.
She looked out at the city lights again and whispered to herself:
"Game on, Mr. Lucan."
To be continued…