Chapter3
896 Words
A Face from the Shadows
Ava was still buzzing the next morning when she stepped into the office building. The rush of surviving her first day, the bizarre but undeniable approval from Damian Blackwood, and—God help her—that strange compliment about her hair. She’d worn it down today without really thinking. It felt foolish, but the memory of his voice saying you clean up well had lingered all night.
Her reflection in the elevator glass didn’t look as tired as usual. There was a light behind her eyes—a flicker of hope she hadn’t felt in weeks.
She’d just reached her cubicle and powered on the desktop when a voice behind her made her blood run cold.
“Well, well. You look good in business casual.”
Her stomach dropped.
That voice.
Slowly, she turned—and came face to face with Liam Chase.
Her ex.
Her mistake.
He was grinning, leaned casually against the edge of her cubicle like the past didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t ghosted her two years ago when she’d needed him most. His sandy-blond hair was still annoyingly perfect, and he wore the same smug expression she remembered from their brief, chaotic relationship in college.
“You work here?” she asked, stunned.
“Project division,” he said, tapping his badge. “You?”
“Admin.”
He gave a low whistle. “Guess the universe has a sick sense of humor.”
“I didn’t know you worked here,” she said quietly, already wishing she could vanish into the floor.
“Didn’t exactly put it on a billboard. What about you? I thought you left town after your brother’s diagnosis.”
Her jaw clenched. “I did. Things changed.”
Liam studied her face for a second too long. “Well, small world, huh?”
Then, with a wink, he added, “We’ll catch up later.”
She didn’t respond. Just turned back to her screen, heart thudding with a mix of humiliation and unease. She hadn’t seen Liam since the night he told her she was too much baggage and walked away without a backward glance. And now he worked a few floors up?
Of all places…
She was still rattled when Ms. Grant stopped by with a clipboard.
“Mr. Blackwood wants you to bring these reports to his office. Floor 22. Don’t be late.”
Ava swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”
Floor 22 was silent. Luxurious. Intimidating.
His assistant wasn’t at her desk, so Ava hesitated before knocking softly.
“Come in,” came his voice, low and unmistakable.
She entered, clutching the folder. He stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, gaze fixed on the skyline.
“No. I don’t care what the board says. If the numbers are off by even one percent, we pull out,” he said into the phone. “Fix it or don’t call me again.”
Click.
He turned.
Today, Damian wore charcoal gray. It made his eyes look sharper, his presence even colder. He looked like power incarnate.
Ava stepped forward and placed the folder on his desk.
“You’re shaking,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
He stepped closer, studying her face.
“You’re pale.”
“I just ran into someone,” she blurted. “Someone I didn’t expect.”
“Who?”
She hesitated. “Liam Chase.”
Something shifted in his gaze. “You know him?”
“We… dated. Years ago. He works here.”
His jaw tensed. “Did he bother you?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I just didn’t expect to see him, that’s all.”
Damian’s silence stretched for a few seconds. Then he walked behind his desk and opened the folder.
“I don’t like distractions,” he said flatly.
“I understand.”
He scanned the reports quickly, then said without looking up, “You’ll join me tonight. Charity gala. Manhattan Museum.”
Ava blinked. “What?”
“You’re representing the administrative division.”
“I—I’ve only worked here two days.”
“Exactly. You’ll blend in. No one will suspect you’re listening.”
Her stomach dropped. “Wait, you want me to… spy?”
“I want you to observe. Nothing more. Can you do that?”
Ava hesitated. “Why me?”
“Because I trust you to keep your mouth shut.”
She couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or a threat.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
His lips quirked faintly—the first trace of amusement she’d ever seen from him.
“Handled. A car will pick you up at six. Don’t be late.”
She wanted to ask more questions. But something about the way he’d already dismissed her—like the matter was settled—left no room for argument.
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
“Miss Hart.”
She turned.
His gaze darkened. “If Liam Chase gives you trouble, come to me.”
Her breath hitched. “Why?”
“Because no one touches what’s under my terms.”
And just like that, Ava knew something had shifted.
Damian Blackwood wasn’t just her boss anymore.
He was pulling her into something far more dangerous—and intimate—than she had ever imagined.
- Writer
