Chapter Two – Fractures in Control
1349 Words
The question hung between them like a blade.
“Have we met before?”
Her throat tightened. Every instinct screamed to run, to look away, to breathe—but she couldn’t. Not with his eyes on her, not when one wrong expression could shatter everything she had built.
Eva forced her lips to curl into a polite, confused smile.
“No, sir,” she whispered, steadying her voice even though her heartbeat was climbing into her ears. “I don’t believe we have.”
For a moment, he didn’t blink. His gaze remained locked on hers, unreadable, assessing. It felt like standing barefoot on glass—one move and she would bleed.
Then he leaned back in his chair, expression blank once again.
“Hmm,” he said simply. “You may go.”
Relief didn’t come. Not fully. It hovered somewhere just out of reach.
Eva nodded, turned, and this time when her hand touched the door handle, he said nothing.
The door clicked softly behind her.
She didn’t breathe until she was halfway down the hallway.
Her steps were even, measured. But her fingers trembled against the folder she held, and her vision blurred for a second. She couldn’t break. Not here. Not now.
“Everything okay?” Clara asked from her desk, glancing up from the computer.
Eva nodded too quickly.
Clara’s brows furrowed. “You sure?” she asked gently, her voice quiet enough not to draw attention from the other staff walking down the corridor.
“Yes,” Eva managed, forcing a tight smile. “Just... first-day nerves. That’s all.”
Clara stared at her a second longer, as if deciding whether to believe her or not, then offered a sympathetic smile. “It gets easier. Trust me. Just don’t let Mr. Steele scare you too much. He’s like that with everyone.”
Eva swallowed, but her throat felt like it was lined with dust. If only Clara knew. If only any of them knew.
She clutched the folder closer to her chest and made her way to her office cubicle. The open-plan workspace was bright, filled with glass partitions and quiet typing. People whispered, laughed softly, sipped coffee like everything in their lives was perfectly normal.
Normal.
She lowered herself into the chair at her desk. Her nameplate caught her eye.
Eva Carter.
Not her real name.
Her fingers drifted to it unconsciously, the smooth plastic cool against her skin. Eva Carter—polite, qualified, quiet. The perfect assistant. The kind of woman who didn’t create suspicion.
The kind of woman who didn’t exist.
She had spent years building this identity—papers, degrees, a flawless résumé, recommendations. Everything forged, everything memorized down to the last detail. Eva was safe. Eva had no past.
Ava did.
And he was sitting three doors away.
Damon Steele.
She had once known him as something else—before the money, before the empire, before their worlds burned.
She forced herself to breathe.
Her computer screen lit up. Emails. Meeting schedules. Policies to review. Tasks to do. Routine. Normal. Safe.
She could do this.
She had to.
Minutes blurred into an hour. Her heartbeat slowed, though the echo of his voice—Have we met before?—still clawed at her ribs.
A soft knock landed beside her.
“Coffee?” Clara offered, holding out a paper cup.
Eva accepted it with a grateful nod. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m heading to the marketing department for a bit. If Mr. Steele asks for anything, just forward it to me.”
Eva’s stomach tightened.
Clara left. The office quieted again. Eva reached for her pen, trying to focus on the schedule she was drafting for tomorrow’s board meeting.
Click.
Her screen flickered.
An email.
From: Damon Steele
Subject: Meeting Memo
Message: Bring the financial report to my office in ten minutes. Alone.
Her skin went cold.
He remembered something. He must have. Why else would he call her back alone?
Her hands hovered above the keyboard for seconds that felt like years.
Reply: Yes, sir.
Send.
She stood, legs stiff but steady, and headed toward the executive wing again.
Every step echoed on the polished floor.
Breathe, Eva. Just breathe.
She stopped before the door, raised her hand, and knocked.
“Come in.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
She stepped inside.
Damon sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp. Sunlight poured through the large window behind him, framing him like a statue carved from shadow and light.
She held out the folder. “The report, sir.”
He didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he leaned back, studying her like a riddle he refused to leave unsolved.
“Close the door.”
Her pulse stumbled. She obeyed.
The latch clicked.
Silence closed in.
He gestured to the chair. “Sit.”
She did.
His gaze flicked to the folder. “Put it down.”
She set it on his desk.
His fingers drummed once on the wooden surface before he spoke. “You answered quickly.”
“I was at my desk,” she said quietly.
His eyes didn’t move from her face. “You seem nervous.”
“I’m new,” she said with a faint smile. “It’s expected.”
A ghost of amusement curled his lips—but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps.”
He opened the folder. Papers rustled. But he wasn’t reading them.
“You have an impressive résumé, Miss Carter,” he said.
Her lungs froze.
“Top of your class. fluent in two languages. Formerly employed at Beaumont Industries.”
She nodded.
His eyes lifted. “Strange.”
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her skirt. “Strange?”
“I know people at Beaumont.” He closed the folder. “I don’t recall your name ever being mentioned.”
Her heartbeat roared. “It was a large company, sir. Different branches, different departments.”
“Perhaps.” His voice lowered. “Or perhaps I just missed it.”
Silence.
He leaned forward slightly. “Tell me, Miss Carter… have you ever been to Milan?”
Her mind blanked for a second too long.
No. Yes. God, think.
She blinked calmly. “No, sir.”
He smiled.
It wasn’t kind.
“I see.”
He stood.
The room felt smaller.
He walked toward the window. “People lie,” he said quietly. “All the time. About where they’ve been. Who they are.”
Eva sat perfectly still. “I don’t understand.”
He turned to face her again. “Don’t you?”
Her breath hitched.
Then—knock.
The door opened slightly.
“Sir?” a voice called from outside. “The London investors are on the line.”
His gaze held hers for one more suspended second.
Then he said, without breaking eye contact, “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The door closed again.
He stepped closer to her.
“Take this to archive,” he said, sliding another folder toward her.
She reached for it, careful not to let her fingers brush his.
“And Miss Carter.”
She paused. “Yes, sir?”
His voice dropped, soft and deadly.
“Make sure you’re not lying to me.”
She forced a smile. “I wouldn’t dare.”
He started another beat—then turned away, dismissing her without a word.
She walked out, each step a storm beneath her skin.
Only when she was out of sight did she press her back against the wall, chest heaving silently.
He suspected.
He didn’t know—but he suspected.
She clutched the folder so tightly the edges bit into her palm.
If he dug deeper…
If he found out who she really was…
Everything would collapse.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out.
Unknown Number: Does he know, Eva?
Her blood froze.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Unknown Number: You need to leave. Now.
Eva’s vision swam.
She looked up.
At the end of the hall.
Damon Steele stood outside his office door.
Watching her.
- Writer
