Terms of Surrender

Illusion of Control: Tess

I was pinned against the table, hyper-aware of his grip and his size. My heart was pounding, threatening to break through my ribs. I was completely enveloped in the scent of rain and spice and pomegranate while every nerve and muscle in my body screamed danger. I swallowed, trying to rationalize. I was halfway to the door, and he was just suddenly in front of me. One second he was in his chair, the next, here. Did he teleport? A nervous scoff escaped me as my mind rejected the idea of anything non-human.

Instinctively, I took a step back, trying to create distance between us. Unfortunately, the only distance I wanted to make was out the door he was now blocking. My mind was still reeling, trying to comprehend how he had moved so fast. How he had stepped in front of me in the blink of an eye. My brain was already calculating the number of steps he would’ve had to take, trying to take comfort in numbers.

His voice, using my name, was the final shock. It wasn’t the polished CEO voice. This was rough, absolute, and devoid of compromise. It was primal.

Despite all of my fear, I didn’t break eye contact with him. My grandfather raised me to not let men like Darian Whitmore intimidate me. This must be a power trip. Or a psychotic break. He thinks he can buy me. He’s trying to intimidate me to keep the audit quiet. My plea for him to let me go felt thin and useless. I tried to shift my weight, testing to see if this sudden paralysis was real, or just my fear.

I was fueled by adrenaline and indignation, forcing my voice steady as I attempted to use logic as a weapon. “Mr. Whitmore, this is assault. Release me immediately or I will call security. You’re making a massive mistake.”

His grip tightened, but not painful. It was like he was trying to stake a claim. I held eye contact, but I felt my brows pull together in momentary confusion. His eyes seemed to shift. They weren’t just gray anymore, they were like liquid metal. I blinked hard, my eyes narrowing when they reopened. Was it a trick of the lights? The eye contact felt wrong, like a pressure boring into me, but I refused to look away. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

I could see the tension in his jaw before he said, “You don’t understand the mistake you’ve made, Tess. Security cannot help you. Nothing can.” His voice came out even lower, guttural, and it sent a chill down my spine that caused my stomach to drop. This wasn’t just a threat meant to scare, it was a promise.

He wasn’t acting like a CEO having a breakdown, he was acting like a predator that just caught his prey. And I was completely, terrifyingly alone.

My lips pressed together in a thin line, my mind racing through possibilities. I let go of my briefcase, and he let go of my arm for the briefest moment, catching the briefcase with ease. His reflexes were lightning fast though, and he had me pinned harder against the table before I could move.

I struggled and a sound escaped him. A low, inhuman sound that vibrated against my ear. I heard a rumbling, deep sound, like a growl that had been swallowed. His voice lowered even further, a threat and a command mixed into one, “Do not fight me, Tess. You will not win. Do not make this harder than it needs to be.”

My body gave up before my mind did, going limp for just a moment. My eyes remained fixed on his though, even in this moment of terrified, unwilling surrender.

Darian’s grip softened, though he didn’t fully step back. “I apologize for the scare, Tess,” he started, his voice regaining the polished tone from when I first walked in. It was a practiced control meant to disarm me. “I…I have a very low tolerance for people walking out on me. A bad habit.”

I didn’t buy the excuse, but the physical release was shocking. He expected me to believe that a CEO that commanded billions growled at me because he hates resignations? It was a pathetic lie, but the sudden sense of regained safety was a relief.

He didn’t even wait for me to respond before he was talking again. Commanding again. “We are done with this room. Your things will be moved to a private suite in the penthouse where we can continue this discussion privately. Walk with me, now.”

My mind was racing. If I object, I’ll likely be pinned against the table again. Or worse. Compliance at least gave a temporary illusion of control. I forced my limbs to work, taking my briefcase from him, and refused to break eye contact in the process.

I followed him through the door, realizing I was moving from one cage into another, more expensive cage. I didn’t know what this man was, but the only terms I had were the ones he dictated.