The private elevator hummed up toward the top floor, almost silent. Emma stood still, looking at her own reflection in the polished brass doors. She straightened her blazer once, twice, then stopped her hands from fiddling.

This you can do.

The doors slid open into a corridor so silent she could hear the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. Dark marble stretched to a massive set of black doors at the far end. No pictures on the wall No plant life. Not a bit of warmth.

Near the doors, a young assistant sat at a desk, her posture stiff, her smile tight. Miss Carter?

Yup.

"Mr. Blackwood will see you now.

Emma's stomach knotted. She had expected HR. She'd been expecting Sophia Grant. Not the man whose reputation made grown men shake--not the CEO himself.

But she pressed forward, heels clicking softly on the marble. The assistant opened the heavy doors and Emma went inside.

The office took her breath away for a second. One wall was all floor-to-ceiling windows and Manhattan looked like a toy city below. The recessed lighting made the dark wood furniture glow. Everything was in its right place, not a surface out of place.

Damien Blackwood sat behind the big desk.

He did not look up when she came in. He sat with his head bent over a pile of papers, his pen moving in quick, sure strokes. The morning light caught the angles of his face, the line of his jaw, the little furrow between his brows.

He was weary. For just a moment Emma saw the faint shadows under his eyes, the weight in his shoulders that had nothing to do with his suit.

Then he raised his eyes.

His eyes met hers and the tiredness was gone. What was left was cold, pure assessment -- as if he were reviewing a balance sheet, deciding whether to sign off on it.

"Emma Carter." His voice was calm and deep, but without warmth. Sit down.

Emma did not move toward the chair. Instead she took in a slow breath and held his gaze. "Good morning Mr. Blackwood. Thank you for seeing me.

His eyes narrowed, just a little, a tiny crack in his expression, as if he wasn't used to being greeted before being obeyed.

"You're not what I was expecting."

"What did you think?

'Someone who looks more nervous.

A small smile hovered on her mouth. I am nervous, I just do not show it.

He sat back and regarded her with renewed interest. "Why not?

"Because it wouldn't do any good.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough. He pointed again at the chair. "Sit down.

This time she did. She sank into the leather chair, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. The chair was too comfortable, too expensive, clearly designed to make people relax, let their guard down.

She would not be relaxed.

He looked at her for a long moment. His fingers tapped once on the desk. "Three assistants in one month. You know why?

"I heard something about high standards.

'That's not right,' he said, leaning forward, his forearms on the desk. I don't have high standards. I have baseline expectations. Most people can't meet them."

She didn't bat an eye. "What expectations?"

"Organization. Efficiency. Discretion." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Knowing what I want before I do. Taking care of things before they come to my desk. Being there when I need you, but invisible when I don't.

That's what the job description is.

Most of the assistants can't do.

Her eyes met his. "I can."

"Yeah.

"Truthful.

The word was hanging in the air between them. Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, or curiosity, maybe. He took a folder and opened it.

"Your résumé says you graduated at the top of your class. Columbia. Business Administration."

"Yes."

"You say you worked as project coordinator for 3 years.

"Yes.

Then you left. He looked up. "No explanation.

Her fingers pressed a little harder on her lap. "My mother had a stroke and needed full time care. I took off to help her recover.

"Now you're returned.

"She's stable. She has caregivers. But the medical bills--" Emma stopped herself. She was about to say too much. I am ready to work again.

He examined her features. "You gave up a good job for your mother.

"Yup.

"Most people would have taken on help earlier."

"My mother had need of me."

He was silent for a moment, a look passing across his face that was unreadable. He closed the folder with a snap and put it away.

"I've got seventy-two meetings this week. I've got a crazy schedule. My last assistant walked out three days ago without notice and everything's a mess right now." He stopped. "I don't have time to teach anyone.

"I don't need training.

"No?"

"I've been corralling chaos all my life." She met his gaze steadily. "I know how to handle impossible situations. I know how to handle people who don't want to be handled. And I know how to work without being told I'm doing a good job.

Again his expression changed, narrowing of the eyes, but not angrily. Thanks for the interesting post.

"What are you going to put up with?" he said quietly.

"I'd rather have a boss who expects excellence," Emma said. "I will not stand for disrespect. Screaming. Being talked down to. Being treated like less than human.

A long silence followed. He tightened his jaw slightly, but didn't look away.

"You don't seem afraid of me," he said finally.

"Not me."

"Most of us are"

"Most people never knew true fear.

Something softened in his face, a little, just a hint, but Emma saw it. He picked up his pen again, turning it in his fingers.

"Seven days," he said. "That's how long your trial period is. If you can't hack it, you're gone.

Got it.

"Questions?

Emma gazed at the man in front of her. The tiredness in the coldness of his eyes, the isolation that radiated from his perfect office, the loneliness she could feel despite his stiff posture.

"When do I start?"

He nearly smiled. Nearly. "Now.

Day 1 was a disaster.

Emma's desk was just outside his office, a beautiful piece of furniture that obviously had not been touched in weeks. No file. No provisions. No coffee mug, no picture, no sign that anyone ever worked there.

She breathed in, and got to work.

In an hour she'd pulled up his calendar and gone through his schedule, finding three separate conflicts that his last assistant apparently just ignored. She made a couple of cool phone calls and straightened out irritated executives on the other end almost immediately.

By noon she had organized the mountain of papers on his desk into neat folders, color coded by priority.

By two she'd restocked his office supplies, ordered lunch for his afternoon meeting and learned the name and face of every exec who reported to him.

Damien emerged from his office and stopped at three, staring at his desk as if he didn't know what it was.

"What did you do?"

"Organized," Emma said, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"It was a disaster an hour ago."

"It is not anymore."

He walked over, picked up the first folder, read the label and the color coding and the neatly arranged papers inside. His face betrayed nothing as he looked up.

The board meeting was to be at four," he said, slowly. My last assistant had it at five.

"I did. I've fixed it.

Without consulting me?"

She gazed steadily into his eyes. "The board's schedules were already set. Moving it would've created a chain reaction. Five wouldn't work for Vice President Chen, and the chairman has a flight at six-thirty. Four was the only option that worked."

'How did you know all that?'

I checked. I figured it out. Called each one to confirm."

"And they agreed?

They were happy that somebody had finally fixed it.

There was something on his face, surprise, perhaps even respect. He put the folder down.

"Your first day" he said quietly "and already you have done more than my last assistant did in three weeks.

I told you I could take it.

He turned to go back to his office, but stopped at the door. "I have a meeting with finance at four-thirty. I need the quarterly reports.

"Already on your desk.

He looked at the neatly stacked books, and then at her, expression inscrutable.

'Don't let the pressure get under your skin,' he said. "Everyone cracks up sometime."

She smiled. " "Then I suppose I will be the first one who doesn't.

He ducked into his office but Emma saw the ghost of a smile before the door closed.

She turned back to her computer, her heart beating a little faster than she would care to admit. The man was impossible. Cold. Difficult. Pompous.

But there was something else there too. Something she couldn't quite name. A flash of loneliness under all that control. A tiredness that was more than just a few hours work.

She shook her head and turned back to work. This was the job. Nope. She needed that pay check. She needed to save her mum.

But as the afternoon passed she found herself glancing at his closed door more than she had planned.

Days went by. Every morning Emma was there before Damien. Every night she went out after him. She learned his coffee order, how he liked his meetings run, the little signs that stress was building, the way his jaw tightened, the way he rubbed his temples right before a headache hit.

She began to keep painkillers in her desk drawer, just in case.

Her schedule was so packed for him he actually had time to eat lunch for the first time in months. She read his mail before he did, filtering out the noise and flagging what was important.

She became irreplaceable.

And Damien saw it.

Every time he looked at her, she saw something new in his eyes. Maybe confusion. Caution. And something else, something that made her stomach turn if she allowed herself to dwell on it too long.

Day five, he passed her desk on his way to a meeting on Friday. He stood for a moment, hands in his pockets, looking at her.

"You're still here," he said.

"I told you I could do this."

"I didn't believe you.

"I know.

He cocked his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You're the first one to make it a week."

"Great for me.

"You don't appear very excited about it,"

She put her pen down and looked at him. I don't celebrate things until they're done.

"What makes you think this is over?

"Because I'm not quitting. And you're not firing me." A small smile. "That's us right now."

He stared at her for a long time. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile, but near it.

'You don't treat me like everybody else,' he said softly.

Why would I?"

He didn't answer. He stood there, staring at her as if she were some sort of puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. Then someone in the lift called his name, and the moment was broken.

He walked off without a word.

Emma watched him go, her heart pounding a little too fast for comfort. She placed a hand on her chest and tried to breathe.

It is just a job. It's just a job.

She turned back to her computer and then she noticed a small note on her desk that had not been there before.

Great job this week. Don't let it go to your head.

No signature. That was not necessary.

Emma smiled and carefully folded it, sliding it into the drawer with the painkillers she kept for him.

The week-end came, and Emma kept it at the side of her mother. Linda's health had improved somewhat but the bills kept piling up. Some of it was insured, not nearly enough. The cost of the care facility was beyond Emma's old salary.

"I'll work it out," she said to her mother, squeezing her hand.

Linda smiled faintly. You always do.

Emma stayed until visiting hours were over and then she walked home through the quiet streets of her neighborhood. Her apartment was small, slightly bigger than a studio, but clean and warm.

She sat on her bed and looked up at the ceiling, letting herself feel the full weight of it all for a moment - her mother's health, the crushing debt, the impossible job with the impossible boss.

But when she closed her eyes, she did not see any of that. She saw the face of Damien. The tiredness in his eyes. The near-smile he'd flashed her. The note she'd stowed in her drawer.

She sat up and shook her head. This is absurd. He's the boss. Cold. Cruel. Completely impossible.

But even as she thought it, she knew that was not the whole truth.

Monday came sooner than she expected it to.

Emma entered Blackwood Global, coffee fresh and tank full of determination. She stepped out of the elevator onto the executive floor, ready for another week of work.

But as soon as she sat at her desk she knew something was wrong.

The folders she had laid out were scattered across the surface. Her computer was shut off. And there was a man in a fancy suit she didn't recognize, sitting in her chair, waiting.

Miss Carter?' He got up slowly.

"Yes.

Victor Hayes. I am Chairman of the Board.

Emma felt her blood chill. That name was known by everyone. He was the most powerful man in the company, the one whose decisions echoed through thousands of employees.

"Mr. Hayes," she said, her voice steady. How may I help?

He smiled. But it never reached his eyes. "I need to talk to you. Somewhere we can be alone."

Her eyes flickered toward Damien's office. Door closed. He wouldn't be another thirty minutes.

"Now?"

"Now," Victor gestured to the empty conference room across the hall. "Not long.

And she stopped. Every instinct told her not to. But there was something in his eyes that told her this was not a request.

She followed him inside. The door clicked closed behind them.

Victor turned to her, his hands behind his back. "Miss Carter, I know why you're here. You needed the money. And they put you here because they wanted you close to Damien."

Her heart seized. "I don't know what you're talking about.

"Yes you do." His smile returned, cold and calculated. "The board has a proposal for you. A way to make a hell of a lot more than a salary.

"What proposal?"

He pulled a folded paper out of his jacket and pushed it across the table towards her.

"Easy," he said. We want to know about Damien Blackwood. Every move he makes, who he sees, every mistake he makes.

She eyed the document as if it would bite her. "You want me to watch him."

"Damien's not stable. He's dangerous. He's been making decisions that could destroy everything we've built."

"So you want to take him out first.

Victor smiled even wider. I want to save Blackwood Global. How doesn't matter. Results do.' He pushed the paper closer. "Sign here. Give us what we want. And your mother's medical bills are paid. All of them."

She caught her breath. Her mum. Stacking the debt. The weight of it all pressing on her.

Her eyes flickered up to his cold eyes, then to the paper waiting for her signature, and the floor tilted beneath her.

"What if I say no?" she asked softly.

His smile disappeared. "Then you will never work in this town again. And your mother's care will become... costly.

She froze, caught between loyalty and survival, knowing that her next choice would change everything.

Victor patted her on the shoulder as he passed. 'I'll give you a day to think about it. "Don't let me down."

The door snicked shut behind him.

And Emma was left alone, her fingers trembling as she reached out for the paper, staring at it.

That afternoon Damien summoned her into his office.

"You look tired," he said, looking at her face.

She attempted to grin. "I'm okay."

He didn't buy that. She saw it in the narrowing of his eyes, in the way he leaned forward a little, as if he were going to go further.

But he didn't.

He said instead, " Do you need anything?

Something flickered in his eyes for an instant. Concern? Care? It was there and then gone almost as fast but Emma had seen it.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Really."

He watched her another moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But if you ever need anything" he broke off, almost awkward saying it, "you can tell me."

Emma nodded in silence.

She walked out of his office and back to her desk with the folded document from Victor still tucked away in her bag.

Her phone vibrated. Message from hospital.

Your mother's bill is overdue. Please contact billing right away.

Emma closed her eyes and tears welled up.

What was she to do?

(Trust the man who would destroy her, or betray the only person who'd ever asked if she needed anything?)

Emma sat in her apartment long after midnight, staring at the document spread across her coffee table.

The words blurred together. She'd read them so many times they'd stopped making sense, legal jargon, promises, threats dressed up in professional language.

In exchange for full cooperation.

All information regarding the CEO's conduct.

Complete financial compensation.

She pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw stars.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message from hospital billing. Another reminder that her mother's care was hanging by a thread.

She picked up the phone and read it.

Payment of $4,872.35 is now 30 days overdue. Please remit immediately to avoid service interruption.

Service interruption.

She pictured the nurses walking away from her mother's bed. The machines are going silent. The care keeping Linda alive, gone in an instant.

Her stomach lurched. She set the phone down and picked up Victor's document again, her fingers tracing the blank signature line at the bottom. Waiting.

All she had to do was sign. One signature. One betrayal. One small act of destruction. And her mother would be safe.

Her hand shook as she reached for a pen. She uncapped it. Hold it over the paper.

A memory surfaced, unbidden, her father walking out the front door years ago, the door closing behind him, her mother's quiet sobs in the kitchen afterward.

"We don't break promises in this family," Linda had told her that night. "We don't break people either."

Emma dropped the pen like it had burned her.

She shoved the document into her bag and stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor. Her chest heaved. Her eyes burned.

What am I supposed to do?

She paced the tiny apartment, footsteps echoing off the thin walls, back and forth, the same questions circling her head like vultures.

If she signed, she betrayed Damien.

If she refused, she lost her mother.

She stopped pacing and pressed her forehead against the cold window glass. The city glittered below, thousands of lights, millions of people, none of them carrying what she carried.

"I can't do this," she whispered to her own reflection. "I can't."

But she already knew she couldn't walk away either.

Morning came too fast.

Emma dragged herself through her routine, cold shower, cheap coffee, the same navy blazer she'd worn all week. She looked in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back. Dark circles under her eyes. Pale skin. A smile that wouldn't hold its shape.

Get it together. You can't fall apart now.

She reached Blackwood Global at 7:45, earlier than usual. The building was quiet, the receptionists not yet in. The security guard nodded as she badged through.

"Early today, Miss Carter?"

"Lots to do," she said, forcing a brightness she didn't feel.

The elevator carried her up to the executive floor. She walked to her desk, set down her bag, sat, and took a breath.

Just get through today. One day at a time.

She opened her laptop and started sorting Damien's schedule meetings, calls, a lunch he'd probably skip if she didn't remind him twice. Typing notes, making adjustments, filling gaps.

Normal. She could do normal.

The elevator chimed at 8:15.

She looked up expecting Damien. Instead Noah Brooks strolled over with a coffee in each hand and set one down in front of her.

"You look like you need this."

She blinked. "What?"

Noah grinned and dropped into the chair beside her desk. "Coffee. You're a coffee person, right? Everyone who works for Damien becomes a coffee person."

"I, thank you."

She wrapped her hands around the warm cup, letting the heat sink into her cold fingers. Noah watched her, curious.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"Sure? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days."

She forced a smile. "Rough night, that's all."

He studied her a moment longer, then shrugged. "Okay. But if Damien's too much, you can talk to me. I've dealt with him for years. I know all the secrets."

"What secrets?"

"He actually has a heart. Don't tell anyone I said that." He winked. "He'd kill me."

Emma laughed despite herself, shaky, but real. Noah grinned like he'd won something.

"See? Better already."

"Mr. Brooks." Damien's voice cut through the morning quiet like a blade.

Noah turned to find him standing by the elevator, expression stone-cold. "I don't pay you to loiter at my assistant's desk."

"I'm not loitering. I'm mentoring."

"You're annoying her."

"I'm making her laugh. There's a difference."

Damien's jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to Emma, scanning her face with an intensity that made her breath catch. Something in his expression shifted, barely, as he clocked the exhaustion she couldn't hide.

"Get to work," he told Noah. "Quarterly review in an hour."

Noah gave a lazy salute and headed for the elevators. "Yes, sir. Bright and early. I wouldn't dream of it."

He disappeared around the corner, leaving Emma alone with Damien. The silence between them stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

Damien didn't move, just stood there, hands in his pockets, studying her like a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"You look tired," he said finally.

"I'm fine."

"You said that yesterday."

"Because it's true."

His eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, stopping just in front of her desk, close enough that she caught his cologne, something clean and expensive with a hint of cedar underneath.

"You're lying," he said quietly.

Her heart stuttered. "I'm not"

"I know what exhaustion looks like, Miss Carter. I live it every day." He leaned down, bracing his hands on her desk. "You're running on empty. I can see it in your eyes. In the way you're holding your shoulders. In fact, you haven't touched your coffee, and you usually finish it in the first five minutes."

Emma glanced at the untouched cup. He was right. She hadn't even thought about it.

"Personal stuff," she said. "Doesn't affect my work."

"It's affecting you. That's the same thing."

She finally met his eyes. "My work is perfect. You know it is."

He held her gaze for a long moment. Something flickered across his face, frustration, maybe, or concern. He straightened slowly, eyes never leaving hers.

"If something's wrong," he said, "you can tell me."

"Can I?"

The question hung there. Something flickered in his expression, surprise, then something close to hurt, quickly buried under his usual cold control.

"I'm your employer," he said. "It's my job to make sure you're functioning."

"Functioning." Emma repeated the word. "Right. That's all this is."

His jaw tightened. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his hands flexing at his sides like he was physically holding something back.

"Just... take care of yourself," he said finally. "I can't afford to lose another assistant."

He turned and walked into his office, the door clicking shut behind him.

Emma sat frozen, her heart hammering.

I can't afford to lose another assistant.

No, I don't want to lose you. Now I care about you. Just the same cold, practical logic she'd learned to expect from him.

And yet, she replayed the moment. The way his eyes had softened at "Can I?" The way his hands had flexed, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her. The way "take care of yourself" had seemed to cost him something to say.

Stop reading into things, she told herself. He's your boss. Nothing more.

But her heart wasn't listening to logic. The day blurred into meetings, phone calls, endless paperwork.

Emma threw herself into the work, burying her anxiety under a mountain of tasks, scheduling, organizing, catching conflicts before they ever reached Damien's desk. Perfect. Efficient. Untouchable.

But every time he looked at her, she felt the weight of Victor's document sitting in her bag like a stone.

At lunch, she slipped off to a quiet corner and called the hospital.

"Hi, this is Emma Carter. I'm calling about my mother's account."

"One moment, please."

The music played. Her foot tapped against the floor, nerves fraying with every second.

"Miss Carter? Thank you for calling. We received your payment."

She froze. "I'm sorry?"

"Your payment of four thousand, eight hundred seventy-two dollars and thirty-five cents came through this morning. It's been applied to your mother's account."

Her mouth went dry. "I didn't, I haven't, are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am. Cleared first thing. Your account's current through the end of the month."

"Who made the payment?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have that information. It just shows as paid in full."

Emma thanked her and hung up, hands shaking.

She hadn't made that payment. She couldn't have made that payment.

So who had?

Her mind ran through the possibilities, insurance, already maxed out. A relative she had no one left.

Victor.

The thought hit her like a fist to the stomach.

Victor Hayes had paid for it. He was showing her exactly what he could do. How easily he could fix her problems. How fast he could make everything better or so much worse.

She leaned against the cold wall and pressed her hands to her face.

He's trapping me. Making sure I have no way out.

But the payment had cleared. Her mother was safe. For now.

Which meant she owed Victor something.

She walked back to her desk on autopilot, mind churning, and sat staring at her screen without seeing it.

"What's wrong with you today?"

She looked up. Damien stood in his doorway, arms crossed, watching her with sharp eyes.

"I said I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar."

She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came. Too tired. Too scared. Too torn.

He walked over and sat on the edge of her desk, long legs stretched out in front of him. Close. Too close. She could see the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes, the shadow of stubble on his jaw.

"Miss Carter." His voice dropped lower, softer. "I'm not going to bite. Just tell me what's going on."

She looked at his face, the real concern hiding under the cold mask and felt something inside her crack.

"I can't," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because..." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

He reached out, his fingers brushing hers. The touch went through her like a current. She looked down at his hand on hers, then back up at his face.

"Whatever it is," he said quietly, "you can trust me."

Can I?

The question screamed in her head. Could she trust the man Victor had called unstable? The boss everyone feared? Or should she trust the man who'd asked if she needed anything, whose hand was warm against hers, who was looking at her like she actually mattered?

She pulled her hand away.

"I need to make some calls," she said flatly. "I have work to do."

He stared at her for a moment, unreadable, then stood, jaw tight. "Fine. Keep your secrets." He walked back toward his office. "But I'm not the one hiding something."

The door clicked shut.

Emma pressed her forehead to her desk and tried not to cry.

The document sat in her bag like a bomb.

She pulled it out that night and spread it across her coffee table again, reading it over, hunting for a loophole, a way out, anything she'd missed.

Nothing.

She was trapped. Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

She answered with trembling fingers. "Hello?"

"Miss Carter." Victor's voice slid smoothly into her ear. "I trust you received my gift."

"Gift?" Her voice cracked. "You paid my mother's medical bills."

"Consider it a gesture of good faith. A demonstration of what I can do for you."

"I didn't ask for this."

"You didn't have to. I know what you need, Miss Carter. I've been watching you for a long time."

Her stomach turned. "What do you want from me?"

"Everything. His schedule. His weaknesses. Anything that could be used against him." A pause. "And when the time comes, I need you to testify."

"Testify?"

"At the board meeting. We're removing Damien Blackwood. And when we do, we'll need proof he's unfit to lead."

Her hand shook so hard she nearly dropped the phone. "I can't do that."

"You can. And you will." His voice hardened. "Unless you'd like your mother's care to get, complicated again."

The threat sat in the air between them.

She closed her eyes. "What's my deadline?"

"Three weeks. Bring me something useful. Or else."

The line went dead.

She stared at the phone, then threw it across the room and collapsed onto her bed.Three weeks.

Three weeks to betray the one man who had ever looked at her like she was more than just a tool. Or three weeks to find a way out.

The next morning, Emma got to work even earlier than usual.

She needed to be normal, routine. Anything to drown out the clock ticking down in her head.

But stepping off the elevator, she found Damien already waiting at her desk.

He stood beside her chair holding a small cardboard box. Suit perfect, hair perfectly in place but his eyes were red-rimmed, like he hadn't slept either.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

She stopped short. "You're early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Neither could I."

They stood there, two exhausted people pretending everything was fine. He held out the box.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

She lifted the lid. Inside was a small ceramic pot with a delicate plant, green leaves, tiny white flowers and a card taped to the side.

Because everyone needs something alive on their desk. D.B.

She looked up, throat tight. "You bought me a plant?"

"I walked past a shop yesterday. It looked like it needed a home." He shrugged, almost embarrassed. "You looked like you needed something cheerful."

Something inside Emma broke open, gently.

She set the plant on her desk and turned back to him. "Thank you. Really."

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. "I should get to work."

"Damien."

He stopped. Turned back.

She stepped closer, heart pounding. "Yesterday. When you asked what was wrong. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to trust you."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared that..." She swallowed hard. "Scared that if I told you everything, you'd hate me. And I can't stand the thought of that. I don't know why."

The words hung there like a confession.

His expression shifted, surprise, then something softer, something that made her breath catch.

"Emma." Her first name, for the first time. "Whatever you're afraid of, whatever you're hiding I promise I won't hate you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She stared at him, Victor's threat pressing against her chest. She opened her mouth. The truth sat right there on her tongue.

I was sent to destroy you. They're paying me to destroy you. And I'm terrified that I don't want to anymore.

Before she could speak, the elevator chimed behind them. Sophia Grant stepped out, folder in hand, looking rattled.

"Damien, we have a problem. The board called an emergency meeting."

His face hardened. "About what?"

"The article." Sophia held up her phone. "Someone leaked internal documents to the press. It's everywhere. They're calling for your head."

(Emma had just been taken down, the first victim of the board's scheme, and Damien was completely blindsided.)