The black town car glided to a halt in front of the towering glass-and-steel monolith of the Stirling Group headquarters.

Before the driver could even open her door, a swarm of reporters descended on the vehicle like vultures. Camera flashes exploded against the tinted glass.

Elliana took a deep breath, grabbed the insulated breakfast bag, and pushed the door open.

Microphones were immediately shoved into her face. The noise was deafening.

"Miss Lewis! Is it true your marriage to Damon Stirling is already over?" a reporter named Grant Fletcher shouted over the din, practically shoving his recorder against her chin. "Rumor has it you were discussing divorce terms on your wedding night!"

In her past life, the flashing lights and aggressive questions had triggered her anxiety. She had screamed at them, swatted the cameras away, and stormed into the building looking like a deranged, spoiled brat-giving them exactly the headline they wanted.

This time, Elliana stopped. She stood tall, her posture impeccable in her beige dress. A polite, radiant smile bloomed on her face.

She gently pushed Grant Fletcher's microphone down with two manicured fingers.

"I'm sorry," Elliana said, her voice smooth and carrying perfectly over the crowd. "My husband is waiting for me to join him for breakfast. I really can't keep him waiting."

She emphasized the words my husband and breakfast.

The reporters fell dead silent. The aggressive shouting died in their throats. They stared at her, completely thrown off balance. This wasn't the hostile, Damon-hating heiress they had been told to expect. She looked like a woman deeply in love.

Taking advantage of their shock, Elliana slipped past them, flanked by the building's security guards, and walked through the revolving glass doors.

The lobby of the Stirling Group was a cavernous expanse of white marble and chrome. Elliana walked straight to the massive front reception desk.

The receptionist looked up. Recognition flashed in her eyes, followed instantly by a wall of professional caution. "Mrs. Stirling," the receptionist said, though her eyes held a guarded, almost wary glint, clearly anticipating a tantrum. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Damon," Elliana said, keeping her smile in place.

The receptionist shifted uncomfortably. "I apologize, but Mr. Stirling is in a crucial board meeting. He left strict instructions not to be disturbed by anyone."

It was exactly what Elliana expected. Damon was actively avoiding her, assuming she was coming to cause a scene.

Instead of slamming her hands on the desk and screaming, Elliana simply nodded. "That's perfectly fine. I'll just wait for him here."

She pointed to the sleek leather sofas in the waiting area. "I won't be in the way."

The receptionist blinked, clearly not knowing how to handle this calm, compliant version of Elliana. "Uh... alright."

Elliana walked over to the sofa, sat down, and placed the breakfast bag neatly on the glass coffee table. She crossed her legs and waited.

Her quiet presence sent ripples of whispered gossip throughout the lobby. Employees walked by, casting covert glances at the CEO's notorious new wife, who was sitting as still and patient as a statue.

An hour ticked by. Elliana's back ached slightly, but she didn't move.

Finally, the chime of the private VIP elevator echoed through the lobby. The polished steel doors slid open.

Damon Stirling stepped out.

He was surrounded by a phalanx of nervous-looking executives, but he eclipsed them all. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that hugged his broad shoulders perfectly. His face was a masterpiece of sharp angles and cold, ruthless authority. The sheer power rolling off him made the air in the lobby feel thin.

His executive assistant, Campbell Gibson, walked closely beside him, leaning in to whisper something in Damon's ear.

Damon's dark eyes instantly snapped toward the waiting area.

When his gaze locked onto Elliana sitting on the sofa, a microscopic flicker of shock broke through his icy facade. He had expected her to be screaming at the front desk. He had expected shattered glass and a PR nightmare. He hadn't expected her to be sitting there quietly, holding a paper bag.

But the shock vanished in a millisecond. His jaw clenched tight. His footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second, a complex, turbulent emotion flashing through the deep, dark depths of his eyes. But he quickly forced it down, his expression hardening back into an impenetrable mask. He finally tore his gaze away, deciding it was safer to keep walking straight toward the exit rather than risk falling into whatever trap she had set.

The executives noticed Elliana, their eyes darting nervously between her and their boss, but no one dared to speak.

As Damon reached the doors, Elliana stood up. She didn't run, but she walked with urgent purpose.

Just as Campbell reached out to push the glass door open for his boss, Elliana stepped directly into Damon's path.

Campbell froze. The executives stopped breathing.

Damon looked down at her. His eyes were like chips of black ice. There was no warmth, no affection-only a deep, guarded distance.

Elliana felt a sharp pain in her chest at that look, but she forced her brightest smile. She held the insulated bag up toward his chest.

"Damon," she said, her voice sweet and entirely natural, as if they did this every day. "I knew you didn't eat this morning. I brought you breakfast."

The silence in the lobby was so absolute that Elliana could hear the hum of the air conditioning.

Damon stared down at the paper bag, then slowly lifted his gaze to her face. He didn't reach for it. His hands remained firmly at his sides.

"What game are you playing, Elliana?" Damon's voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in her chest. The distrust in his tone was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Campbell Gibson stood awkwardly to the side, his eyes glued to the marble floor, wishing he could evaporate.

Elliana's smile didn't waver. She took a half-step closer, invading his personal space. "What game could I be playing? I just couldn't stand the thought of my husband working on an empty stomach."

She pushed the bag an inch closer, until the paper brushed against the fine wool of his suit jacket. "Or what? Do you think I poisoned your coffee?"

Damon's jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek.

She had hit the nail on the head. Given her explosive hatred for him over the past few months, poison wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility in his mind.

Campbell internally groaned. She's daring him, he thought. She's actually daring the boss.

Damon didn't answer her. He simply turned his body, intending to walk around her and out the door.

Elliana wasn't going to let him escape. Without thinking, she dropped the bag to her side and reached out with her free hand, wrapping her fingers firmly around his bicep.

Damon's entire body went rigid the second her hand touched him. He stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at her small, pale hand gripping his dark sleeve. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in the black depths.

He tried to pull his arm away, a subtle but firm movement.

Elliana held on tighter. Her grip wasn't strong enough to physically restrain him, but the sheer audacity of her touch anchored him to the spot.

"Let go," Damon ordered. His voice was freezing.

Instead of letting go, Elliana took another step forward, closing the remaining distance between them. She leaned her weight against his side, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

"I won't," she murmured, her voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. "It's cold out here, Damon. Take me up to your office."

Campbell's eyes practically bugged out of his head. The executives behind them collectively inhaled. The Elliana Lewis they knew treated Damon like a disease. This woman clinging to his arm was an alien.

Damon stared down at the top of her head. His breathing hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible break in his rhythm. He stood frozen for three agonizing seconds.

Then, without a word, he turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the private VIP elevator.

He didn't shake her off.

Elliana had to practically jog to keep up with his long strides, but she kept her hand firmly wrapped around his arm. Campbell scrambled to press the elevator button, staying outside as the steel doors slid shut, sealing the husband and wife inside.

The ride to the top floor was suffocatingly silent. Damon stared straight ahead at the metal doors, his body as tense as a coiled spring. Elliana stood beside him, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

Damon finally ripped his arm away from her grasp and walked out, his long legs eating up the distance down the hallway. He pushed open the heavy double doors to his CEO office and walked straight to his massive desk, sitting down in his leather chair.

He opened a file folder, completely ignoring her presence.

Elliana followed him inside. The office was a stark reflection of the man: minimalist, cold, decorated entirely in shades of black, white, and slate gray.

She walked over to the glass coffee table in the center of the room. She opened the insulated bag and carefully laid out the club sandwich and the black coffee.

"You need to eat something," Elliana said softly. "It's bad for your stomach to drink coffee on an empty stomach."

Damon didn't look up from his paperwork. "I have no appetite."

Elliana sighed. She walked around the coffee table and approached his desk. She didn't stop until she was standing right in front of him. She placed both hands flat on the polished mahogany surface and leaned over, bringing her face level with his.

The subtle, sweet scent of her shampoo drifted across the desk, invading Damon's senses. His pen stopped moving.

She lowered her voice, injecting a hint of husky warmth into it. "Damon... how about I cook for you tonight? What do you want to eat?"

The words cook for you finally made Damon lift his head.

He looked at her. He looked at this pampered heiress who had never lifted a finger in her life, who had screamed that she would rather die than be his wife.

A harsh, cynical smirk twisted his lips. "What exactly can you cook? Are you planning to burn the kitchen down?"

Elliana wasn't offended. She leaned in even closer, her face mere inches from his. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again.

"For you," she whispered, "I'm willing to learn anything. So... come home for dinner tonight. Please?"

Damon stared at her. The proximity was maddening. He could see the faint pulse beating at the base of her throat, right above the collar of her beige dress.

He forced his eyes back to hers, his expression hardening. He wasn't going to fall into whatever trap she was setting.

"I have a business dinner tonight," Damon said flatly.

It was a lie. His schedule was clear after six. He just needed to put a wall between them before she completely dismantled his sanity.

Elliana didn't flinch. The rejection didn't wipe the smile off her face. Instead, her smile grew softer, more understanding.

"That's okay," she said, standing up straight. "I'll wait up for you."

She turned around, walked back to the sofa, picked up the club sandwich she had brought for him, and took a delicate bite. She chewed slowly, looking around the office as if she owned the place, completely unbothered by his coldness.

Damon watched her back, a surge of intense, irrational irritation flaring in his chest. She wasn't following the rules. She wasn't throwing a tantrum. She was just... sitting there, eating the food he rejected.

He snatched the receiver off his desk phone and hit the speed dial for his assistant. "Campbell. Bring a hot milk to my office."

Two minutes later, Campbell knocked and entered, carrying a steaming mug of milk. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Elliana, casting a bewildered glance at his boss before practically fleeing the room.

Damon glared at Elliana. "Drink it and leave."

Elliana picked up the mug. She brought it to her lips, took a small sip, and then, with a subtle flick of her wrist, tilted the mug just enough.

"Ah!" she gasped.

A splash of hot milk spilled over the rim, landing directly on the front of her beige dress. A dark, wet stain immediately spread across the fabric over her thigh.

Damon's head snapped up. His brow furrowed deeply.

Elliana looked down at the stain, her eyes wide with exaggerated dismay. "Oh no. I spilled it." She looked up at Damon, biting her lower lip. "This dress is a limited edition. It's dry-clean only. I can't walk out of the building looking like this."

Damon saw right through it. The spill was too perfectly timed, too deliberate. But he couldn't exactly call her a liar and throw her out in a stained dress.

Elliana stood up. She looked around the office, her eyes landing on the sleek, unmarked door to the left of his desk.

"That's the executive lounge, right?" she asked innocently. "Do you mind if I use the bathroom to clean up?"

Without waiting for his permission, she walked past his desk, pushed the door open, and disappeared into his private suite.

Damon stared at the closed door, a muscle ticking violently in his jaw. He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was infuriating. She was an absolute menace.

Thirty minutes passed. Damon had aggressively signed his way through a stack of contracts, but the door to the lounge remained shut.

He threw his pen down. He was just about to get up and pound on the door when the handle clicked.

Elliana stepped out.

Damon's breath caught in his throat. The air in his lungs vanished.

She had taken a shower. Her long hair was damp, hanging in loose, dark waves over her shoulders. But it was what she was wearing that paralyzed him.

She was wearing one of his spare white dress shirts.

It swallowed her small frame. The hem barely reached the middle of her thighs, leaving her long, bare legs completely exposed to the cool air of the office. She hadn't buttoned it all the way up; the top three buttons were undone, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbones and the deep shadow of her cleavage.

She walked toward him, barefoot, her toes sinking into the plush carpet.

"My dress is completely soaked," Elliana said, her voice light and airy. She held up the damp beige fabric in one hand. "I had to borrow your shirt. You don't mind, do you?"

Elliana watched as Damon's eyes involuntarily tracked the movement of her bare legs. She saw his Adam's apple bob sharply as he swallowed hard, a clear sign that his throat had gone bone dry. The veins in his neck seemed to pulse with a sudden, violent intensity, revealing the internal battle he was fighting.

He gripped the armrests of his chair so hard the leather creaked. His knuckles turned stark white under the pressure. "Who told you to touch my things?" he growled, his voice an octave lower than normal.

Elliana stopped in front of his desk. She tilted her head, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes that completely contradicted the sinful picture she painted.

"But I didn't have any clothes to wear," she pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. "Damon, you wouldn't expect me to walk out of here naked, would you?"

She took the final step, rounding the desk. She reached out and lightly grabbed the cuff of his suit jacket, tugging on it gently.

"Since I look like this," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his, "you have to take me home now."