CHAPTER 6
812 Words
If there were an award for “most unexpected plot twist in life,” Ariella Monteverde would’ve won it hands down.
Last week, she caught her boyfriend cheating.
This week, she was working for a billionaire with a god complex Damian Vale.
And for some reason, he personally requested her as his new assistant.
The HR lady said, “Congratulations, Miss Monteverde! Mr. Vale specifically asked for you.”
Her brain screamed, “Can I say no?”
But rent doesn’t pay itself. And revenge always looks better when you’re wearing a sharp blazer.
“Miss Monteverde, coffee,” Damian said without even glancing up from his laptop.
“Good morning to you too, sir,” she replied sweetly, biting back her sarcasm.
“Black, two sugars?”
“One sugar,” he corrected. “You should know that by now.”
“Oh, my bad. I thought a little more sweetness might help your mood.”
A faint smirk appeared on his lips. “Careful, Miss Monteverde. You’re starting to sound like you enjoy my company.”
“Ha! In your dreams, Mr. Vale.”
“Trust me,” he murmured, finally meeting her gaze, “my dreams are a lot more interesting than you could imagine.”
And just like that — heart, skip.
Why did that sound so unfairly hot?
His office was the definition of power — glass walls, black marble floors, and a massive painting that screamed money.
But what distracted her most was him.
Damian Vale, in a fitted dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins showing, hair perfectly messy. Focused. Dangerous.
He looked like a walking sin.
She forced herself to look away. If not, she might actually forget to breathe.
“Miss Monteverde,” Damian’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“Yes, sir?”
“Dinner. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“Wait, dinner? With you?”
“Investor meeting,” he said flatly. “You’re coming.”
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“—You’re not supposed to think. You’re supposed to listen.”
“Oh wow, how charming,” she muttered. “Do you practice being bossy or is that a natural talent?”
“Both.”
Later that night…
Ariella stared at herself in the restaurant mirror.
Red lips, black dress, high heels — she barely recognized the woman staring back.
“Okay,” she whispered. “You’re not here to fall again. You’re here to work. Be classy. Be calm.”
When she stepped out, Damian was already waiting by the bar.
Black suit, perfect posture, and that devilish confidence that made her knees weak.
He looked her up and down and said, “You clean up well.”
“And you… still sound arrogant.”
He chuckled. “And yet you’re still here.”
She hated that he was right.
Dinner went smoothly — until one of the investors, a gray-haired man, raised a brow and said,
“So, Damian… this must be the lovely fiancée we’ve heard so much about?”
Ariella almost spit out her wine. “Excuse me, what?”
Damian didn’t even blink. “Yes. She is.”
“WHAT?!” she hissed under her breath. “Fiancée?!”
“Play along,” he whispered. “It’s good for business.”
“Sweetheart, I swear—”
“Smile, sweetheart. They’re watching.”
She smiled — fake, flawless, deadly. But when his hand brushed hers under the table, her heart betrayed her completely.
After dinner, she finally exploded outside the restaurant.
“Care to explain what that was?!”
Damian shrugged, calm as ever. “They liked you. They signed the deal. You’re welcome.”
“You used me!”
“I upgraded you. ‘Fiancée’ sounds much better than ‘assistant.’”
“Unbelievable! You can’t just—”
He stepped closer, voice low and teasing.
“Why does it bother you so much, Ariella? Unless…” He smirked. “You liked it.”
“Liked what?” she shot back.
“My hand on yours. The way they looked at us. The way you smiled when I called you mine.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he whispered, eyes glinting. “But you’re smiling again.”
And damn it — she was.
That night, on the car ride home, Ariella stared out the window, her reflection blurred by city lights.
This was supposed to be just a job.
Just a paycheck.
So why did it suddenly feel like something else?
She told herself it was just attraction — stupid, temporary, dangerous.
But deep down, she knew better.
Because no matter how much she fought it, Damian Vale was starting to get under her skin.
Ariella groaned, tossing her phone on the bed.
“This man,” she muttered, “is going to ruin my life.”
- Writer
