The elevator ascended with an irritating smoothness, as if it were cradling me toward the serpent's nest. I checked my reflection in the cabin's polished gold mirror. The neckline of my dress was a masterpiece of precision engineering. I adjusted it slightly lower, ensuring the black lace of my lingerie offered just a sinful glimpse, making the curve of my breasts look as though they were a single millimeter away from bursting out of the fabric.
I knew exactly what I was doing. Men like Arthur Cavalcanti don't look at your resume; they look at your throat, your mouth, the roll of your hips. I was going to give him the show he didn't even know he wanted.
The doors opened on the 40th floor. The carpet was so plush it muffled my footsteps, but the scent of luxury was deafening. I was led to his office.
Arthur was standing with his back to me, staring at the city view. He was younger than his father, with narrower shoulders and a posture that screamed insecurity masked by money. When he turned around, I saw the exact moment the oxygen abandoned his lungs.
"Miss... Martins?" He stammered, his eyes dropping immediately to my chest before darting, embarrassed, back to my face.
"Elena. Please," I said, my voice coming out like velvet over a razor blade.
I walked toward his desk, exaggerating the sway of my hips. I didn't sit down immediately. I leaned over the glass desk to hand him my folder, letting gravity do the heavy lifting. I watched the sweat break out on his forehead as he stared, mesmerized, at the volume of my breasts nearly escaping my dress just inches from his face.
I could hear his heart hammering. Poor Arthur. So predictable.
"It's an impressive resume," he said, his voice an octave higher, while he tried uselessly to focus on the papers.
"I'm a woman of many talents, Mr. Cavalcanti," I replied, sitting down and slowly crossing my legs, letting the slit of my dress slide to the very edge of the forbidden. "And I always get what I want. Especially when the challenge is... stimulating."
I ran the tip of my tongue over my lips, holding his gaze. He was in a trance. I wasn't just a candidate; I was the personification of every fantasy his father had likely forbidden him from having.
"What do you want, Elena?" He asked, his voice now a husky whisper, completely forgetting his professionalism.
I leaned forward again, closing the space between us until he could feel the heat of my skin and the scent of my expensive perfume.
"I want to be close to power," I whispered, my eyes gleaming with a malice he mistook for passion. "And I want you to show me what it's like to be at the top."
Arthur reached out his hand, as if he wanted to touch the exposed skin above my neckline, but he recoiled at the last second. The control was mine. I felt his arousal emanating from him like heatwaves. He was my passport, my master key to the mansion and to Lorenzo's throat.
"The job is yours," he said, breathless. "We start now."
I smiled—a smile that didn't reach my cold eyes. The first domino had fallen. Arthur thought he had just hired a secretary, but he had just opened the gates for the virus that would destroy his bloodline.
As he stood up to show me the office, I felt his gaze burning into my back. I was the Predator, and dinner was just beginning.