Olivia stood in the greeting line, her head tucked low, praying to God for the gift of invisibility.

Amelia Martin stepped forward, her shoulders pulled back with an air of self-importance that usually terrified the interns. She held a lush bouquet of lilies, a practiced, bright smile fixed on her face as she approached the new Chairman.

But before she could even utter a word of welcome, a wall of black suit and muscle moved.

One of Damian's bodyguards intercepted the flowers with a brisk, silent efficiency. Amelia's smile didn't just falter; it died. For a split second, a flash of pure, unadulterated fury crossed her eyes before she plastered on a mask of professional cheer.

"Welcome, sir," Amelia said, her voice a pitch too high as she extended her hand.

Damian didn't take it. Instead, he made a show of checking his watch, his left hand visible as he ignored her outstretched palm. The silence that followed was deafening.

Olivia watched Amelia's face turn a mottled shade of red, the embarrassment radiating off her in waves.

"It will be an honor to be at your service," Amelia forced out, her tone nearing desperation.

"I'll keep that in mind," Damian replied. His voice was cold, dripping with an indifference that made the air in the lobby feel ten degrees colder. "Lead the way."

As the crowd parted like the Red Sea, Damian began to walk. But suddenly, he paused. He felt it, that prickly sensation of someone staring at him with a gaze he couldn't decipher.

 It was something else. He glanced toward the direction, but the person had disappeared behind the  shoulders of a senior executive.

"Mr. Carrington?" his secretary, Nathan, prompted. "Is something wrong?"

Damian lingered for a second longer, a faint sense of deja vu tugging at his mind. Was I imagining her? He shook the thought away and continued toward the elevators, his entourage following like a shadow.

Olivia finally released the breath she'd been holding until her lungs ached. This is it, she thought, her mind spinning in a frantic loop. He's going to recognize me. I'm going to lose my job. I'm going to be blacklisted. She hunched her shoulders, muttering a dark prophecy to herself: "This is definitely going to be a bad day."

***

By late morning, Olivia had almost managed to convince herself she was safe. Damian had stayed in high-level meetings on the top floors. She focused on her filing, answering the phones with a robotic precision, trying to blend into the marble walls.

But then, the elevator chimed.

Damian stepped out, mid-conversation with his assistant Nathan . He was moving toward the exit when he stopped mid-stride.

His eyes locked onto the front desk. There she was.

She wasn't hiding anymore. She was organized, focused, and looked breathtakingly professional, except for the way her eyes widened the moment she saw him.

Olivia's head snapped up instinctively, and she immediately regretted it. For a heartbeat, the world stopped. His blue eyes pierced through her, sparking with a recognition that made her blood turn to ice. Panicked, she grabbed a thick stack of folders and pulled them up, shielding her face like a child playing hide-and-seek.

"What on earth are you doing?" Veronica whispered, staring at her like she'd lost her mind.

Olivia didn't answer. Her heart was a frantic bird trapped in her chest. Did he see me? He had to have seen me.

Across the lobby, Damian watched the folder-shielding performance with a slow, dangerous smirk. It was so classic, so Olivia.

He didn't approach. He didn't make a scene. He simply watched her for a beat longer before turning to leave.

"Found you," he murmured, the words for his ears only.

An hour later, Olivia sat alone at the desk. Veronica had slipped away for a long lunch, leaving the lobby in a heavy, midday silence. Olivia tapped her pen against the wood, trying to read the same sentence for the tenth time.

Then, her phone buzzed. A long, aggressive vibration against the hard desk.

Unknown Number: So, you're avoiding me now? After running away?

The air left Olivia's lungs. She stared at the screen, her mouth dropping open. No. No, no, no. Her fingers shook so hard she almost dropped the device as she typed back.

Olivia: Who is this?

Unknown Number: You know exactly who this is.

She dropped the phone like it had physically burned her. How? How did he get my number? She scrambled through her history, checking for drunk texts she might have sent in her wine-induced haze. Nothing.

Bzzzt.

Unknown Number: Relax. I'm not here to fire you. Yet.

"Yet?" she whispered to the empty room. "What does 'yet' mean?"

Unknown Number: We'll talk soon.

Closing time arrived with agonizing slowness. At 6 p.m., Veronica grabbed her designer bag with a hurried look.

"Olivia, darling, I have to fly! Daycare closes at six and I'm already pushing it. If anyone asks, I'm in the restroom, okay? Love you, bye!"

Olivia didn't even have time to protest before she was left alone in the darkening lobby. By 8 p.m., the building was a ghost town. She stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, ready to run for the bus and never look back.

But a shadow fell across her desk.

One of the bodyguards from the morning, the one who had intercepted the flowers stood there like a monolith.

"Miss Olivia?"

Her heart sank into her shoes. "Yes?"

"Mr. Carrington is expecting you in his office," the man said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Please. Follow me."

The "please" didn't sound like an option.

The elevator climbed with a smooth, silent speed that made Olivia's stomach do somersaults. 10th floor... 20th... 30th...

The doors slid open on the 40th floor. The Executive Level.

The air up here was different-colder, filtered, and smelling of expensive leather.

Even the secretaries had gone home, leaving the vast, marble-floored lobby in a haunting silence. The bodyguard stopped before a set of towering mahogany doors. "Please, go in, Miss."

Olivia took a breath that felt like swallowing glass. She stepped onto the plush carpet, and the door clicked shut behind her with a heavy, final thud.

Damian was seated behind a desk made of dark, polished obsidian. He didn't look up immediately; he was signing a document, the scratch of his pen the only sound in the room.

Olivia stood frozen, her hands bunched into fists at her sides.

He finally looked up, a glint in his blue eyes that made her knees feel weak.

He gestured toward the desk. She took small, agonizingly slow steps until she was a few feet away.

Deciding to play it safe, Olivia forced her face into a professional mask. "Good evening, Mr... Mr. Carrington," she stuttered, the name feeling foreign on her tongue. "Are you having trouble with something? How may I be of help?"

Damian leaned back, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. "Actually, I am having quite some trouble. I'm looking for someone. A very gorgeous lady. She ran away from me on a Sunday morning, and I'm a man who expects people to take responsibility for their actions."

The ground really did need to swallow her now. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what you're talking about. If you're looking for someone, perhaps you should go to the police. I'm sure they can do better, that's their job."

Damian let out a short, dry chuckle. He stood up, and the sheer scale of him seemed to fill the room. He began to walk around the desk, his movements deliberate.

Olivia instinctively backed away. He kept coming. She took another step back, her heel hitting the cold wall. He kept advancing until he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reached out, holding her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Why are you hiding like nothing happened between us, Olivia?"

"Nothing did happen," she whispered, her voice cracking. She felt small, trapped by his height and the overwhelming scent of his cologne. "And if you think you can just buy me... I don't need your money."

Damian's eyes darkened instantly. He looked genuinely offended, his fingers tightening just a fraction on her chin.

"Is that what you think of me? You think I'm trying to pay you?" His voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble. "I carried you back to bed when you passed out on the bathroom floor. spent my entire night nursing you, Olivia.

I sat by that bed and cleaned you up when you were retching so hard you couldn't breathe. I called my personal physician in the middle of the night because your fever spiked so high you were delirious. I stayed awake watching you, making sure you were okay.

And this is the gratitude I get? You think I'm looking for a transaction?"

Olivia blinked, the air leaving her lungs. The "blank spots" in her memory suddenly felt very different. He hadn't taken advantage of her. He had... taken care of her. A wave of intense guilt and embarrassment washed over her, he didn't have to be so detailed.

"I... I..." she stammered, her face flaming. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood. I sincerely apologize." She began to bow her head repeatedly, her hair falling over her face in her frantic attempt to hide her shame.

Her defiance had been a shield, but now it was gone. Damian leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Be my woman. That's the only gratitude and apology I'll accept."

Olivia choked on the air, a violent cough erupting from her throat. "What? You're ridiculous!"

"Do you realize I'm still your boss?" he countered, his expression unreadable.

Olivia bit her lip, her mind racing. "I'm sorry, sir. What happened was a... a misunderstanding. I'd appreciate it if you asked for something else."

Without waiting for his reply, she ducked under his arm and ran. She didn't stop until she was out of the office, down the elevator, and breathing the humid evening air of the street.

Olivia hurried toward the bus station, her mind a chaotic blur. She needed to save every penny; a cab was a luxury she couldn't afford with payday so far away.

"Olivia!"

She froze. That voice made her skin crawl. She turned to see Casper stumbling toward her, smelling of alcohol and something else, she didn't care to know.

"Olivia, I've been waiting for you," he rasped, reaching out to grab her wrist. "I didn't mean for things to end this way, but I had no choice. Ivonne's father is the key to my promotion. Once I'm a manager, I'll come back for you, I'll divorce her. You just have to be obedient, Olivia. Just this once, do as you're told!"

Olivia stared at him, feeling a wave of pure disgust. "You're drunk, Casper. Let go of me."

"I'm doing this for us!" he yelled, his grip tightening until it bruised. "But I saw you going into your apartment yesterday very early in the morning. You're acting differently. You're not listening to me anymore. Swear to me you haven't given your body to another man! Swear it!"

"Let me go!" Olivia screamed, struggling. "It's over, Casper! Go to Ivonne and leave me alone!"

Casper's face contorted with a drunken, ugly rage. He raised his hand, his eyes wild with the need to dominate her. "How dare you!? You're mine, Olivia! Why can't you just be obedient?"

He lunged forward, his palm whistling through the air, aimed directly at her face.

Olivia flinched, closing her eyes and bracing for the impact.

But it never came.

Instead, there was the sound of a heavy, bone-deep thud. A blur of motion moved past her, and a fist connected squarely with Casper's jaw.

The force of the blow was so immense that Casper was lifted off his feet before crashing back onto the pavement like a sack of stones.

Olivia gasped, her eyes flying open as she stared at the crumpled form of her ex-boyfriend on the ground. She looked up, trembling, to see a dark silhouette standing over him.