Elara
The Blackwood Tower lobby felt like stepping into another universe.
Marble floors gleamed under my heels. The air smelled of expensive coffee, leather, and power. Everyone moved with purpose — sharp suits, confident strides, quiet voices that carried weight. I clutched my new company tablet like a shield, heart hammering against my ribs.
This was my first official day.
Not as a contract employee.
Not as the girl who signed her body away for a salary.
But as Senior Graphic Designer on Damian Blackwood’s personal creative team.
I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed to this.
The private elevator to the 42nd floor required a thumbprint. Mine had already been programmed. The doors closed with a soft whoosh, and I was alone with my reflection — navy sheath dress, high neckline, m
