Lina Hart had always believed she handled pressure well.
University deadlines, part-time jobs, family expectations—she had survived them all with quiet determination and carefully written to-do lists. But none of that prepared her for the moment she stood in the lobby of Foxworth Corporation, staring up at a building so tall it seemed to scrape the clouds.
Glass and steel reflected the pale morning sun, turning the structure into something sharp and untouchable. It didn't feel like a workplace. It felt like a warning.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and took a steadying breath.
This is just a job, she told herself. A really good job.
The lobby was vast, echoing softly with the hum of activity. Polished marble floors reflected hurried footsteps. Men and women in perfectly pressed suits moved like clockwork—focused, efficient, distant. No one laughed. No one lingered.
Lina suddenly became acutely aware of how plain she felt among them.
Her blouse was neat, her skirt modest, her hair pulled into a low ponytail, but she still felt like an intruder. Like someone who had wandered into a world she wasn't meant to touch.
"Can I help you?"
The receptionist's voice snapped Lina out of her thoughts. She was immaculately put together, with a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Yes," Lina said quickly. "I'm Lina Hart. I'm—um—starting today. Assistant to the CEO."
The receptionist froze.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
Her fingers paused over the keyboard. Her smile tightened by a fraction. And in that brief silence, something cold settled in Lina's stomach.
"I see," the receptionist said at last. She typed for a moment, then slid a sleek visitor badge across the counter. "Executive floor. Top level."
"Thank you," Lina replied.
As she turned away, the woman added softly, "You'll need it."
Lina didn't ask what she'd need.
She already had a feeling.
---
The elevator ride was smooth and silent, rising at a speed that made her ears pop slightly. Lina clasped her hands together, staring at the glowing numbers as they climbed higher and higher.
Twenty-five.
Thirty.
Forty.
Each floor felt like another step away from the version of herself she knew.
Her reflection stared back at her from the mirrored walls. Brown eyes. Calm face. Determined, even if her heart was racing.
"You worked hard for this," she whispered. "Don't mess it up."
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
And the silence that greeted her was different from the lobby's—heavier, sharper, almost watchful.
The executive floor was vast but sparsely populated. Thick carpet muted every sound, making her footsteps feel intrusive. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the walls, revealing the city spread far below, distant and unreal.
At the far end of the hall stood a glass office.
Every wall was transparent.
And inside it stood a man with his back to her.
Lina stopped walking.
He was tall—taller than she expected—and dressed in a black suit that looked custom-made to fit him perfectly. His posture was straight, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out over the city like it belonged to him.
Something about him felt… still.
Not relaxed. Not tense.
Controlled.
"Mr. Foxworth?" Lina asked softly, stepping closer to the door.
He didn't turn.
"You're late," he said.
His voice was calm, deep, and utterly unforgiving.
Lina's heart dropped into her stomach. "I—I'm sorry, sir. The elevator—"
"I know how long the elevator takes," he interrupted. "I also know when it arrives."
Her throat tightened. "It won't happen again."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he turned.
Lina forgot every carefully prepared sentence in her head.
Damien Foxworth was… not what she expected.
He was devastatingly handsome, yes, but it wasn't the kind of beauty that felt warm or inviting. His features were sharp, sculpted—dark hair neatly styled, jawline precise, lips set in a neutral line that suggested disapproval came easily to him.
But it was his eyes that stopped her breath.
They were amber.
Not light brown. Not hazel.
Amber, flecked faintly with gold, like fire caught behind glass.
When his gaze met hers, Lina felt as though he could see straight through her—past her clothes, her résumé, her practiced confidence—and into the parts of her she kept carefully hidden.
"Lina Hart," he said.
He said her name like a statement, not a greeting.
"Yes, sir."
"Twenty-two. Graduated top of your class. No corporate background. Excellent organizational skills." He took a step toward her, his eyes never leaving her face. "And a tendency to underestimate the environments you enter."
Her fingers curled around her folder. "I won't disappoint you."
"That remains to be seen."
He stopped an arm's length away.
Too close.
Up close, she noticed things she hadn't from a distance—the faint scar near his collarbone, the barely perceptible warmth radiating from him, the subtle scent of something unfamiliar. Not cologne. Something earthy. Smoky.
Autumn leaves and firelight.
Her pulse stumbled.
"You will be punctual," Damien continued coolly. "You will not bring personal problems into this office. You will not ask questions unrelated to your duties. And you will never assume familiarity with me."
"Yes, sir," Lina said, a little breathless.
His gaze lingered, sharp and intent, as though searching for something beneath her skin. For a heartbeat—just one—his eyes flickered.
They glowed.
Gold, bright and unmistakable.
Lina blinked hard.
When she looked again, they were normal—still amber, still intense, but human.
Her heart pounded.
You imagined it, she told herself. Nerves. That's all.
"Follow me," Damien said, turning away.
The glass door slid open soundlessly as he stepped inside. Lina hesitated for half a second before following him into the office.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt it.
A pressure in the air. A shift.
The office was immaculate—sleek desk, minimalist décor, shelves lined with carefully arranged files and books. Everything had its place. Nothing felt accidental.
Damien moved behind his desk and picked up a tablet.
"You'll manage my schedule," he said. "Filter calls. Handle correspondence. You will anticipate my needs before I voice them."
She nodded quickly. "I'll do my best."
"I don't want your best," he replied. "I want results."
Of course he did.
He glanced at her again, eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't belong here."
The words hit harder than she expected.
"I know," Lina said quietly. "But I earned this position."
A pause.
Something unreadable flickered across his face—interest, perhaps. Or irritation.
"Confidence," he murmured. "Interesting."
He handed her the tablet. Their fingers brushed.
A sharp jolt raced up Lina's arm.
She gasped softly, stepping back. Damien stiffened.
For a moment, the air seemed to vibrate.
Then it passed.
His expression darkened. "That won't happen again."
"I—sorry," Lina said, though she wasn't sure why.
"Your desk is outside," he said curtly. "You start immediately."
"Yes, sir."
As she turned to leave, she felt his gaze on her back—heavy, piercing, unsettling.
The glass door closed behind her with a quiet click.
Lina leaned against her desk, exhaling shakily.
Her heart wouldn't slow down.
Get it together, she scolded herself. He's just your boss.
But deep inside, she knew that wasn't true.
Because as Damien Foxworth turned back toward the window, his reflection didn't move quite right.
And somewhere beneath the tailored suit and cold arrogance, something ancient stirred.
Nine unseen tails shifted in the shadows.
Watching.
Waiting.
And for the first time in centuries, Damien Foxworth felt something dangerously close to curiosity.
Fate, silent and amused, had just begun its work.