The restaurant occupied the top floor of a glass tower Elena had passed a hundred times without ever imagining she'd step inside.
Blackwood Tower.
Not a public venue. No signage. No reservations for ordinary people. The elevator required biometric clearance, and Victor didn't even glance at her as he pressed his thumb to the panel.
The doors sealed them inside.
Soft music hummed. Expensive. Controlled. Like everything about him.
Elena folded her arms. "You enjoy ambushes."
"I enjoy efficiency," Victor replied. "And truth surfaces faster under pressure."
She said nothing.
The doors opened onto a private dining floor—marble, low lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city like a kingdom laid bare. A long table waited at the center, already set for six.
Only four chairs were occupied.
The moment Elena stepped in, the conversation stopped.
Eyes turned.
Measured.
Weighed.
Victor rested a hand lightly at the small of her back—not guiding, not touching enough to violate his own rule, but enough to signal possession.
The message landed.
This woman is mine.
"Victor," a silver-haired man at the head of the table said warmly. "You're late."
"I'm precise," Victor replied. "This is Elena Moreno."
Not my assistant.
Not my employee.
Just her name.
The omission was deliberate.
The man's gaze slid to Elena. "Ah. The daughter."
Her pulse spiked.
Victor took his seat beside her. "Chairman Halvorsen," he said. "And the board."
Introductions followed—names Elena recognized from headlines and scandals alike. Power disguised as civility. Predators wearing tailored smiles.
Wine was poured.
Menus were unnecessary.
The chairman studied her over his glass. "You resemble your father."
Elena met his eyes. "So I've been told."
"Stubborn?" another board member asked lightly.
"Persistent," Victor corrected.
She shot him a look.
His lips twitched. Almost a smile.
The first course arrived, immaculate and untouched.
"So," Halvorsen said, steepling his fingers. "Victor tells us you'll be overseeing the Moreno Assets integration."
Elena froze.
That wasn't what the contract said.
She turned to Victor. He didn't look at her.
"Yes," Victor said calmly. "She knows the infrastructure intimately."
"And the skeletons?" a woman across the table asked. Young. Sharp-eyed. Dangerous. "Family closets tend to be… crowded."
Elena inhaled slowly. "I'm not here to defend my father."
"Pity," the woman replied. "Some of us enjoy a good tragedy."
Victor's gaze snapped to her—cold, warning.
The woman smiled and leaned back. "Relax, Victor. I'm merely curious."
Curious wasn't the word.
Calculating was.
Halvorsen cleared his throat. "There are… concerns. Your father's conviction destabilized certain partnerships."
Elena stiffened. "You mean illegal ones."
Silence.
Then laughter.
Not kind.
"Straight to the point," Halvorsen said approvingly. "I like her."
Victor finally looked at Elena. His eyes were unreadable.
"You'll learn," he said quietly, "that morality is a luxury item in this room."
Elena set her fork down. "Then why bring me?"
A beat.
Victor didn't answer.
The young woman across the table leaned forward instead. "Because you're leverage."
Elena's stomach dropped.
"My name is Cassandra Vale," the woman continued smoothly. "And I was engaged to Victor once."
The air changed.
Elena felt it before she understood it.
Engaged.
Victor didn't react.
Didn't deny it.
Didn't explain.
Cassandra's gaze sharpened on Elena. "He doesn't keep people close unless they're useful. Or dangerous."
Elena forced herself to breathe. "Which am I?"
Cassandra smiled. "We're about to find out."
The chairman clapped his hands softly. "Enough games. Victor, the vote is next week. If this girl is your solution—"
"She is," Victor said.
Final. Absolute.
Cassandra arched a brow. "Since when do you trust unfinished business?"
Victor's jaw tightened.
Just slightly.
Elena noticed.
He turned to her then, voice low enough only she could hear. "This is where you decide who you are."
Her throat went dry. "I didn't agree to be bait."
"No," he said. "You agreed to survive."
The table watched them.
Waiting.
Judging.
Elena lifted her chin.
"Then let's be clear," she said to the room. "I won't clean my father's sins for you. But I will dismantle them—properly. Publicly. Permanently."
Murmurs rippled.
Interest sparked.
Cassandra laughed softly. "Oh, Victor. You didn't hire an assistant."
Victor's eyes never left Elena.
"I know," he said.
For the first time that night, something dangerous surfaced beneath his control.
Pride.
"Dinner's over," Halvorsen announced. "We'll see if she lives up to the promise."
Chairs scraped back.
The board dispersed.
Cassandra paused beside Elena, close enough that her perfume lingered like a threat.
"Careful," she whispered. "Victor destroys what he can't control."
Elena didn't look away. "Then why are you still here?"
Cassandra's smile faltered.
Just for a second.
When they were alone again, the city glowing beneath them, Elena turned to Victor.
"You didn't tell me about her."
"You didn't ask."
"You used me," she said.
"Yes," he replied.
No apology.
No denial.
She laughed bitterly. "At least you're honest."
Victor studied her like a blade being tested for balance.
"You impressed them," he said. "And you survived your first execution dinner."
She folded her arms. "What happens now?"
Victor stepped closer.
Not touching.
Never touching.
"Now," he said, voice dark and deliberate, "you become indispensable."
She met his gaze—and for the first time, she understood the rules.
This wasn't employment.
It was war.
And Victor Blackwood had just placed her on the front line.