Elena’s POV
The mystery woman in Dax’s penthouse wore her confidence like perfume.
She crossed the room like she owned the marble floors, as if every polished surface had been made to reflect her curves and smirk. I stood there frozen, clutching my bag like it was a shield, wishing I had left the second she said her name.
Rose. His fiancée.
It sounded fake, like a joke someone might whisper in bad taste at a party. But the way she looked at me—sharp, cruel, smug—told me it was no joke at all.
“Are you running off already?” she drawled, her voice sweetened with poison. “Don’t be shy. You’re just the personal assistant. I don’t bite.”
Personal assistant. The words landed like a slap. My chest tightened, but I managed to keep my voice even. “I was just leaving.”
I tried
