Chapter 3: After Hours
787 Words
The city buzzed with life far below, neon lights flickering against the black sky. Inside the thirty-seventh floor of Vale International, however, silence reigned.
Sienna should have been home two hours ago. She should have been curled up with a takeout box and a cheap glass of wine, decompressing from her first brutal day. Instead, she sat hunched over her desk, eyes burning as she retyped a report Lucien had requested last minute.
Inside his office, the faint sound of papers shuffling could still be heard.
He was still here too.
Of course he was.
Lucien Vale didn't seem like the kind of man who ever truly went home. He lived in boardrooms and battlegrounds, not in cozy apartments or warm kitchens. His kingdom was built on sacrifice. Hers might very well be too, if she wanted to survive here.
She hit print, watching the pages spit out of the machine. She stacked them neatly, took a deep breath, and knocked once on his door.
"Enter," came the deep voice from inside.
She stepped in, balancing the report in one hand. Lucien was standing behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie long gone. He looked almost... human like this. Less like the intimidating CEO and more like a man fighting exhaustion with sheer force of will.
"I've finished the edits you asked for," Sienna said, setting the report on the edge of his desk.
Lucien’s gaze lifted from his laptop to meet hers. His eyes were tired, but alert. Always alert.
"Good," he said simply.
He didn't dismiss her. Instead, he leaned back against the desk, folding his arms across his chest.
"Tell me, Miss Hart," he said after a moment, "what do you think of me?"
Sienna blinked. It was a trap. It had to be.
"Professionally?" she asked carefully.
"Of course."
She hesitated, then decided honesty might serve her better than diplomacy. After all, rule number one: never lie.
"I think you're relentless," she said. "Demanding. Sharp. You know what you want, and you don't waste time on things that don't matter."
There was a flicker of something in his expression. Amusement, maybe. Approval.
"And personally?"
Sienna's pulse skipped.
"Personally," she said, voice steady despite the hammering of her heart, "I think you're dangerous."
Lucien’s lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. More a warning.
"Smart girl," he murmured.
The tension stretched between them, taut and crackling. Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.
Then, without breaking eye contact, Lucien pushed away from the desk and crossed the space between them.
Sienna didn’t step back. She knew that if she showed weakness now, it would only make things worse. Instead, she tilted her chin up slightly, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on.
He stopped just in front of her. Too close. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne — dark, spicy, unmistakably male.
"You intrigue me, Miss Hart," he said softly.
She swallowed hard. "That wasn't part of the job description."
"No," he agreed. "It wasn't."
For a moment, it felt like the entire world narrowed down to this small pocket of space between them. Like the rules and the professionalism and the walls they had built all day were paper-thin, ready to tear with the slightest touch.
Lucien lifted a hand, and for a terrifying moment she thought he was going to touch her. Her skin tingled in anticipation.
But he only reached past her, grabbing the printed report from the desk behind her.
Their shoulders brushed, and the accidental contact sent a jolt through her body.
Sienna stepped back quickly, clearing her throat. "If that's all, Mr. Vale, I should be going."
Lucien’s eyes lingered on her a second longer than necessary.
"Go home, Miss Hart," he said at last, voice low. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be worse."
It was both a dismissal and a promise.
Sienna turned and left without another word, her legs unsteady beneath her. She didn’t dare look back.
Because she knew if she did, she’d find Lucien Vale still watching her, calculating, deciding exactly how much of her soul he could take — and how soon.
Outside, the night air hit her like a slap, cool and cleansing. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself.
It was just a job.
It had to stay just a job.
But as she hailed a cab and slid into the backseat, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the first rule had already been broken.
She was beginning to fall.
Not for the power.
Not for the money.
For him.
And that, she knew, could destroy her faster than any deadline or demand ever could.
- Writer
