My Steel-Hearted Boss

Chapter 3– Power in the Air

The next morning, I woke with the memory of his voice in my head — Go home, Ava.

It wasn’t the words that kept me awake half the night, but the way he’d said them. Quiet, rough-edged.

I’d come to Blackwood Enterprises with a mission — uncover the truth, ruin the man who ruined my father — but that mission was already slipping through my fingers, tangled in the memory of gray eyes that saw too much.

By the time I arrived at the office, my pulse had steadied behind a mask of calm. I greeted the receptionist, rode up the elevator, and told myself it was just another day.

Mark was already at his desk when I walked in. Calm as ever, efficient, and watchful.

“Morning, Miss Sinclair.”

“Morning.”

He offered a brief nod, eyes flicking toward the glass door to Ethan’s office. “He’s in early today.”

Of course, he was. Ethan Blackwood didn’t sleep — he calculated.

When I stepped inside to drop off his reports, he was standing by the window again, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup. The morning light cut through the blinds and cast lines across his face — sharp, unreadable, beautiful in a way that made breathing inconvenient.

He didn’t look at me immediately, but I felt him register my presence. He always did.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, setting the files on his desk.

“Morning, Miss Sinclair.” His voice was low, still rough from disuse. “You’re early again.”

“I like being prepared.”

“Prepared,” he repeated, turning to face me. “For what, exactly?”

My throat went dry. “For work, sir.”

His eyes dropped to the reports, then lifted again — slower this time, tracing up the line of my legs, pausing briefly at my waist before settling on my face. The air between us shifted — quiet, charged.

“Good,” he murmured. “Keep that habit.”

I nodded, pretending not to notice the heat crawling up my neck. “Will you need me in the meeting with the investors?”

“Yes. You’ll take notes.” He moved closer, brushing past me to reach for a document on the credenza. The faint scent of cedar and clean linen hit me like a memory I never had.

When I turned slightly, he was already watching.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

He didn’t blink. “No. You just… seem distracted.”

“Not distracted, sir. Focused.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “On what?”

You, I almost said.

“On my work.”

He hummed — low, skeptical, amused. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

I stepped back to the desk, trying to regain balance. Every word with him felt like walking a tightrope over a fire I’d lit myself.

The morning blurred into a rhythm of meetings, phone calls, and too many stolen glances. Ethan led with precision — sharp mind, sharper tongue. People listened when he spoke; they feared silence when he didn’t.

During the meeting with investors, I sat beside him, typing notes, pretending I didn’t feel his presence like heat radiating through the air. Every time he leaned closer to speak, my pulse stumbled. Once, our hands brushed when I passed him a file — accidental, brief — but his gaze caught mine and held it for a fraction too long.

The investors left impressed. Ethan dismissed the team and shut the door. The silence that followed was deafening.

“You handled that well,” he said, loosening his tie.

“Thank you, sir.”

He studied me across the desk. “You always look like you’re trying to prove something.”

I froze. “I suppose everyone here is.”

“Not like you.” He circled the desk, coming closer. “You have an edge. A reason to be perfect.”

My stomach tightened. He can’t know.

I forced a small smile. “I just like doing my job right.”

He stopped in front of me, inches away, and for one dizzying heartbeat, I thought he’d reach for me. Instead, he said softly, “Whatever drives you — don’t let it destroy you.”

And then he walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine as he left.

I exhaled only when the door clicked shut.

By afternoon, I’d convinced myself the morning had been an overreaction — that Ethan’s glances, his words, were nothing but power dynamics twisted by my own nerves.

Then the storm rolled in.

Thunder cracked outside just as I was finishing his last report. Most of the staff had left early. The air smelled of rain and electricity. Mark had said his goodbyes, leaving only me and Ethan on the top floor.

When I brought the final documents to his office, he was again by the window, watching the rain streak the glass. The city lights blurred behind it, gold and gray.

“Everything’s ready for tomorrow’s presentation,” I said.

“Good.” He turned, eyes dark in the dim light. “You didn’t have to stay this late.”

“I wanted to.”

A beat of silence passed. Then — “You shouldn’t make a habit of that.”

“Of staying late?”

“Of trying too hard.”

“I thought you valued effort.”

“I value restraint,” he said, voice low. “And discipline.”

His words hit harder than they should’ve. I took a breath. “Then I’ll remember that.”

But he was already moving closer again — slow, deliberate. His expression was unreadable, but the air between us throbbed with something unspoken.

“You keep doing that,” he murmured.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you expect me to break first.”

My heart lurched. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiled faintly — dangerous, knowing. “Yes, you do.”

I tried to step back, but the edge of the desk caught me. He noticed. His hand lifted — not touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of it through the air.

“You’re too brave for your own good, Ava.”

The way he said my name — quiet, rough, almost reverent — made every nerve in me tighten.

“Good night, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, breaking the moment.

He didn’t stop me. Just watched as I turned to leave, my voice trailing behind me like a whisper.

“Don’t be late tomorrow.”

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing the tension behind them. My reflection stared back — cheeks flushed, pulse racing.

I should’ve felt victorious.

Instead, I felt shaken.

Because the more time I spent near Ethan Blackwood, the less I remembered why I came here.

And I couldn’t decide which was more dangerous — the man himself, or what he was slowly turning me into.

The storm outside refused to quiet, and neither did my thoughts. Long after I left his office, his voice lingered — low, dangerous, too intimate to forget. You’re too brave for your own good, Ava.