Chapter 9
795 Words
Damian Cole was never an easy man. But since the night of the executive dinner, something about the way he acted around Rhea Blackwell had changed—and not for the better. He was no longer just distant; he was sharp, cold, and almost deliberately cruel.
Rhea noticed it the moment she stepped into the building that morning. Her welcome nod to the receptionist went unanswered, the usual warmth gone. Inside the elevator, two other employees whispered when she stepped in, their eyes flicking between her and their phone screens.
She had barely sat at her desk when the first email came in.
From: Mr. Damian Cole Subject: URGENT - Redo presentation deck "The last presentation lacked the edge expected from someone in your position. I expect a revised version on my desk before 10 a.m."
She blinked at the time—9:06 a.m. Her hands tightened on the mouse. The presentation had taken her days. She had triple-checked everything, down to the last number. Was it truly that bad… or was he simply trying to mess with her?
Still, she got to work.
By the time the clock struck ten, Rhea had emailed the deck and printed out a bound version for his desk. She approached his office with steady feet but a fast-thudding heart.
She knocked once. "Come in," came his deep voice.
Damian didn’t look up from his laptop when she entered. He was dressed in charcoal gray today, sleeves rolled slightly to reveal strong forearms. His pen paused over the file in front of him, but his eyes remained on the screen.
“I revised the presentation, as requested,” Rhea said calmly.
He took the folder, flipped through a few pages, then set it aside.
“Better,” he muttered. Then, louder, “Don’t get too comfortable thinking a few decent slides make you impressive. You still have a lot to learn, Ms. Blackwell.”
Rhea’s lips parted slightly. Her pulse rose.
“Yes, Mr. Cole.” Her tone was even, but inside, her confidence trembled.
She turned to leave, but his voice called her back. “Are you here to cry or work?”
The room spun for a second.
She turned back, expression unreadable. “I’m here to work, sir.”
He stared at her—dark eyes stormy, mouth hard.
She left before she could say something she’d regret.
---
By lunch, her mood had cratered. She sat alone in the cafeteria, pushing pasta around her plate. Her appetite was gone.
Across the room, a few employees chatted near the espresso machine, laughing. One of them—Catherine—caught her eye and offered a small smile. Rhea nodded back, grateful for the sliver of kindness.
The day didn’t get easier. Damian rejected her scheduling plan for the week, corrected her email tone in front of a client, and once, while walking past her desk, muttered, “Try to keep up.”
Each moment felt designed to crush her spirit.
And for a brief moment, she almost let it.
Her chest tightened. Her fingers ached from typing. Her throat burned from the words she swallowed. She leaned back in her chair, eyes stinging.
But then—she remembered.
Her mission. Her purpose.
This man… this empire… they were her target.
She wasn’t here to be liked.
She was here to win.
She straightened in her seat, inhaled, and exhaled slowly.
No, she wouldn’t break. Not now.
---
Later that evening, she found herself in the hallway leading to the conference room. She had left her notebook behind and went back to retrieve it.
She paused when she heard voices.
“Why are you being so hard on her?” It was Thomas. His tone was calm, but there was a note of concern.
Damian’s voice followed. “Because she needs it. She walks in like she owns the place.”
“She’s good at her job.”
There was silence.
“She reminds you of someone?” Thomas asked.
More silence.
Then Damian spoke again, quieter. “She’s too polished. Too controlled. Like she’s hiding something.”
Rhea’s heart pounded. She stepped away from the door and turned back. She had heard enough.
---
That night, Rhea lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
She hated that his words got to her. Hated that she cared what he thought.
But more than that, she hated how much she noticed him. The way his jaw tensed when he was angry. The calm, commanding way he carried himself. The rare glimpses of vulnerability in his eyes.
He was her enemy.
And she was falling apart.
Not again, she told herself.
Not this time.
She would win.
Even if it cost her everything.
--- End of Chapter 9 ---
- Writer
