Chapter 3: Lines and Bruises
1070 Words
Emily’s Point of view
I sat still, staring at my computer screen without seeing a single word.
My fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard, trembling slightly even though the office was freezing. Every click of a shoe heel in the hallway made me flinch. Every shadow crossing the frosted glass walls made my stomach knot tighter.
God, what had I done?
I was late.. first mistake.
I had walked in on something I should never have seen… second and unforgivable mistake.
I gripped the edge of my desk, digging my nails into the wood. If I could make myself smaller and invisible, maybe I could slip through the cracks. Maybe he’d forget I existed.
But no.
Damien Westwood never forgot anything. Especially not weaknesses. If for one it detested weakness
And I had shown him mine on a silver platter.
The office door slammed open down the hall, and I froze.
Sabrina stormed out, red-faced, smoothing down her scandalously short dress with , humiliated movements. She didn’t even glance at me as she passed, high heels stabbing the marble like tiny gunshots.
I sank deeper into my chair.
The air crackled with tension.
Then..
Buzz.
I jumped.
The intercom on my desk crackled again, Damien's voice smooth and lethal.
"Emily. My office. Now."
My heart slammed against my ribs hard enough to bruise.
For a second, I thought about pretending not to hear. Just sitting here, frozen, until he came out himself and ended it publicly, spectacularly.
But that wasn’t me.
That was never me.
Besides I couldn't afford to lose this job Connor would kill me.
I rose on shaking legs, smoothing my skirt with sweaty palms, and made the long, agonizing walk to the devil's den.
His office door stood ajar, yawning open like the mouth of a beast.
I pushed it wider and stepped inside.
He didn’t look up from his desk immediately. Just flipped a page in a file, casual, like my career wasn’t hanging by a thread.
The silence was suffocating.
I swallowed hard. "You asked for me, Mr. Westwood?"
His head lifted slowly.
Those eyes…sharp, dark, glinting with something I didn’t recognize pinned me in place like a moth to a board.
He leaned back in his chair, surveying me. Leisurely. Lazily.
Like he had all the time in the world to dismantle me.
"You were late," he said, voice almost bored.
"I know sir and I'm sorry. It won't happen again," I rushed out, my voice too high, too brittle.
He stood up and walked over to where stood
As he approached my instincts asked me to run, but my feet didn't bulge
Briefly he stopped before me and scanned me for a while before beginning to circle me.
Each step deliberate. Predatory.
My body tensed, my instincts still screaming for me to run but I locked my knees, forced myself to stay still.
"You have been quite efficient, quiet and useful," he said, voice dropping to a low, velvety murmur. "and I don't enjoy replacing useful things."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from trembling.
He stepped closer. I caught the faint scent of his cologne.. dark wood and danger.
"But you saw something you shouldn't have, didn't you, Emily?"
I sucked in a breath, pressing my palms against my thighs.
"I… It wasn’t intentional. I’m sorry," I whispered.
His mouth curved, not a smile.. something colder.
"You wish that was you, don’t you?"
My head snapped up in shock.
He was so close I could see the flecks of silver in his eyes. The cruel amusement dancing there.
I shook my head violently. "No! I would never…"
He chuckled, low and mocking, the sound curling around me like smoke.
"Never? You think you're better than her? Than the rest of them?"
"I don’t.." My throat closed. "I'm not."
"You’re all the same," he said, voice flat, stepping closer still.
Before I could react, he reached out and grabbed my arm.
Hard.
Pain lanced up my skin, sharp and sudden. I gasped before I could stop myself.
His eyes flickered.
For a fraction of a second.. barely more than a heartbeat, something cracked through his polished armor.
Shock.
Maybe even... regret?
He let go abruptly, like my skin had burned him.
I stumbled back a step, clutching my arm.
He returned to his desk, his face shuttered tight again, like nothing had happened at all.
"Coffee," he said coolly. "And Emily?"
I stiffened, my heart still slamming against my ribs.
"If you're late again..." He smiled—a thin, humorless thing. "It's better you don't turn up anymore."
Dismissed. Like trash.
I turned on my heel and fled before he could see the tears threatening to burn my eyes.
*****
The hallway blurred as I raced to the break room. My hands shook as I poured his coffee, the cup rattling against the saucer.
Dammit, Emily. Get it together.
It wasn’t fear that made my stomach twist.
Not exactly.
It was something worse.
Shame.
Disgust.
And buried so deep I could barely name it.. something that I hated to have.
Attraction.
I hated it. Hated myself for feeling even a flicker of it.
Men like Damien Westwood didn’t care who they hurt. They didn’t fall. They didn’t choose.
They took.
I should know better.
I did know better.
I carried the coffee back with mechanical precision, set it silently on his desk without meeting his eyes, and fled before he could say anything else.
Collapsing into my chair, I hugged my arms around myself.
The office buzzed around me. Phones rang. Emails dinged. Footsteps echoed.
But I sat still, trying to shove the day back into a box where it couldn't touch me.
Damien Westwood might own this building.
He might rule this city.
But he didn’t own me.
I had survived worse than him.
Bruises on my skin. Lies whispered in the dark. Promises broken with fists and apologies that never came.
Compared to all that, Damien Westwood was just another monster with a pretty face.
I wiped my eyes quickly before anyone could see.
I would not break.
Not here.
Not for him.
I tucked my hair behind my ears, squared my shoulders, and opened the file on my desk.
I wasn’t going to be another notch carved into Damien’s desk.
I wasn’t going to be conquered.
Not by him.
Not by anyone.
Not ever again.
- Writer
