Chapter 3 — The Interview of a Lifetime
1993 Words
The lobby smelled like money and polish.
Liana stood beside Camilla near the private elevators, her hands clenched so tightly around her purse that her knuckles ached. The building felt unreal—marble floors, soft lighting, silence thick enough to swallow sound.
Camilla checked her watch.
“You’re two minutes late,” she said calmly.
“I’m sorry,” Liana whispered. “The train—”
Camilla raised her hand. “Mr. Wolfe dislikes excuses. Remember that.”
Liana nodded, heart pounding.
Camilla turned to face her fully now. “Before you meet him, you need clarity. This is your last opportunity to leave.”
Liana’s stomach twisted. “Clarity about what?”
Camilla didn’t soften.
“The arrangement,” she said. “Is a legal marriage.”
The word hit Liana like a slap.
“M‑marriage?” she breathed.
“One year,” Camilla continued. “You will take his name. You will appear when required. You will not speak to the media. You will not form attachments.”
Liana’s mouth went dry. “I—I thought this was some kind of—contract.”
“It is,” Camilla replied. “Marriage is the contract.”
Liana shook her head faintly. “Why would he—?”
“Because Mr. Wolfe requires an heir,” Camilla said, cutting in cleanly. “And legitimacy matters in his world.”
Liana froze.
“You mean…” Her voice dropped. “A child?”
“Yes.”
The word echoed in the vast lobby.
Liana’s knees threatened to buckle. “You can’t be serious.”
Camilla’s gaze was steady. “I am.”
“That’s insane,” Liana whispered. “I don’t even know him.”
“You are not meant to,” Camilla said. “This is not about companionship. This is about bloodlines, control, and optics.”
Liana laughed weakly. “This isn’t real.”
Camilla leaned closer, voice low. “Ms. Rose, men like Damon Wolfe do not offer charity. They offer transactions.”
Liana’s chest burned. “And this is normal to you?”
Camilla hesitated—just a fraction.
“It is how the elite solve problems,” she said. “Quietly. Efficiently.”
Silence stretched.
“I can’t,” Liana whispered.
Camilla studied her. “Your brother’s deposit is due Friday.”
Liana closed her eyes.
“That’s what I thought,” Camilla said gently—not kindly. “You will meet him. You will listen. And you will decide.”
The elevator chimed.
Camilla stepped forward. “Once those doors open, do not interrupt him. Do not negotiate. And do not beg.”
Liana swallowed hard. “And if I say no?”
Camilla met her gaze. “Then nothing changes.”
The doors slid open.
The penthouse boardroom was made of glass and silence.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along the entire wall, framing the city like a kingdom under his feet. Night lights glittered below—cars, towers, lives—none of which mattered to Damon Wolfe.
He stood alone at the head of the long obsidian table, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded, fingers drumming once against the polished surface. He didn’t like being kept waiting. Not by board members. Not by business partners.
And definitely not by the woman Camilla had selected.
He glanced at his watch.
9:02 p.m.
Two minutes late.
His jaw tightened.
Camilla knew better.
The elevator chimed.
Damon turned his head slightly—just enough to acknowledge the arrival without giving it importance.
Footsteps.
Two sets.
Camilla’s calm, brisk steps.
And another… softer, uneven, hesitant.
He felt the tension before he saw her.
Camilla entered first. “Sir.”
Behind her, a woman stepped into the boardroom—but stopped just inside the doorway as if the room had teeth.
Damon saw only impressions at first:
— small frame
— oversized jacket
— trembling hands gripping a cheap purse
— eyes too alive, too frightened, too unprepared for this world
Not the type of woman who belonged in this penthouse.
Not the type who survived wolves.
Camilla spoke crisply. “Sir, this is Ms. Rose.”
Damon didn’t look at Camilla. He stared directly at the girl.
He waited.
He liked to see how people handled silence.
The girl swallowed. Her voice was barely steady. “L-Liana Rose.” Her accent was soft, her tone polite but wavering. “Thank you for… seeing me.”
Damon said nothing.
He simply let his gaze rest on her—cool, unreadable, assessing.
She shifted on her feet.
Good.
Fear meant honesty.
He moved at last, seating himself at the head of the table with slow, deliberate control. “Sit.”
Liana obeyed instantly, almost too quickly. Her fingers tightened around her purse before she placed it awkwardly on her lap.
Camilla took a seat off to the side, tablet ready.
Damon leaned back, expression detached. “You know why you’re here.”
Liana hesitated. “Camilla said you had… an offer.”
Offer.
Not demand.
Not ordered.
Interesting.
He folded his hands. “Before we begin—I want to make something clear. I don’t repeat myself. If you need me to, this ends now.”
Liana nodded quickly. “I understand.”
Damon studied her posture. She was trying to look composed, but her shoulders were tense, her breathing shallow.
“Good,” he said. “Then answer this: Why did you come here tonight?”
She froze.
He watched it happen—the panic, the self-doubt, the instinct to hide.
“I—” She swallowed. “I need… help.”
He waited.
She fidgeted, eyes dropping to the table. “My brother. He’s sick. He needs surgery.”
He did not soften.
He did not react.
He only asked, “And you think I’m the solution to your problem?”
She jerked her head up, guilt and defiance clashing in her eyes. “Camilla said you could afford it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her breath stuttered.
Then she forced the words out. “Yes.”
Damon nodded once. “Honesty. Good.”
She blinked, thrown by the approval.
Now he shifted gears—subtly, sharply.
He rose from his chair and walked toward her, slow steps echoing in the glass room. Liana’s breath caught. She sat straight, frozen when he stopped in front of her chair.
He tilted her chin up with two fingers.
Her pulse was jumping beneath her skin.
Damon’s eyes narrowed. “You came here begging. But I don’t need a beggar. I need someone who understands consequences, contracts, and silence.”
Liana’s voice trembled. “Silence?”
“Yes,” he said. “This arrangement requires absolute discretion.”
He let go of her chin.
She exhaled shakily.
He walked back to his seat with predatory calm. “Camilla informed you of the framework.”
“One year,” she whispered. “Marriage. And the requirements.”
He lifted a hand, stopping her.
“Say it,” he ordered.
She flinched.
Damon’s voice remained flat. “If you cannot speak it, you cannot agree to it.”
Liana closed her eyes briefly, gathering courage.
Then she looked at him.
“I have to… have a child.”
The room felt colder.
Damon’s expression didn’t change, but something dark flickered in his chest—memories, shadows, the ghost of a life that never happened. He ignored it.
Camilla quietly tapped her tablet—recording, documenting, preparing.
Damon steepled his fingers. “Are you willing?”
Liana’s voice cracked. “If it saves my brother.”
He leaned forward slightly. “I’m not asking about your brother. I’m asking about you.”
Her lips trembled. “I’ll do it.”
There.
The willingness he needed—not out of desire, but desperation. Clear. Binding. Documented.
Damon stood again.
Liana tensed as he approached her once more, but she did not pull back this time. Her fear didn’t vanish, but she didn’t run from it.
He respected that.
He placed one hand on the back of her chair, leaning just close enough that her breath hitched.
“No drugs,” he said quietly. “No pregnancy blockers. No birth control.”
“I understand.”
“No lying.”
“I won’t.”
“No attachment.”
Her breath faltered.
He didn’t soften. “This is not a love story, Ms. Rose. Do you understand what you’re signing away?”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Yes.”
He studied her for a long moment.
Then, for reasons he didn’t examine, he asked gently—too gently—
“Does anyone else depend on you?”
Liana blinked.
He shouldn’t have asked that.
He didn’t ask questions that weren’t relevant.
But the words came out anyway.
She hesitated. “Just Jamie.”
Just.
Damon’s jaw tightened.
He straightened abruptly. “Camilla.”
Camilla stood. “Sir.”
“Leave the room.”
Camilla blinked once—surprised—and then obeyed immediately, stepping out and closing the door behind her.
Liana stiffened.
Damon turned his back to her for a moment, looking out at the city.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet but dangerous. “You’re scared.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He turned.
“And you still came.”
“I had to.”
“Wrong answer,” he said coldly. “You chose to.”
Her breath caught.
He walked closer—slow, controlled, predatory—and stopped in front of her again. This time he didn’t touch her. He simply looked down at her, eyes unreadable.
“You’re either incredibly brave,” he murmured, “or incredibly stupid.”
Liana swallowed. “Which do you prefer?”
“The brave ones survive,” he said.
Silence thickened.
Then Damon stepped back, making his decision.
“I will consider your application.”
Liana’s composure broke. “Please—my brother doesn’t have—”
He cut her off with a single razor-sharp look.
“I said I will consider it. I decide on my own timeline. Not yours.”
Tears pooled, but she blinked them away—refusing to cry in front of him.
That impressed him more than it should have.
Damon walked to the table and picked up a thin leather folder. He placed it in front of her.
“This contains the terms. Read it. Sign only if you can keep every clause.”
She reached for it with shaking hands.
He pulled it back slightly.
Liana froze.
His voice lowered, deadly soft. “One more thing, Ms. Rose.”
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“If you agree,” he said, “you will not walk into my life. You will enter my world.”
Her eyes widened.
“And my world,” Damon continued, “does not forgive mistakes.”
He stepped back, releasing the folder.
“You have until tomorrow night.”
Liana clutched the folder like a lifeline. “Thank you…”
He raised a brow.
She corrected herself instantly.
“Thank you, Mr. Wolfe.”
Damon watched her stand on unsteady legs. She walked toward the elevator, pausing once to look back at him—fear, hope, and something he couldn’t name tangled in her eyes.
The doors slid shut.
Damon exhaled slowly.
She was nothing like he expected.
Nothing like what Richard would approve.
Nothing like what his world demanded.
And yet…
He couldn’t shake the way her voice trembled and steadied at the same time.
Camilla reentered quietly. “Decision, sir?”
“Not yet,” Damon said.
Camilla nodded. “Should I run a background check?”
His voice was sharp. “Not until I tell you to.”
Camilla stilled. “Understood.”
Damon looked at the closed elevator doors.
“Liana Rose,” he murmured.
Tasting the name.
Testing it.
She would either break…
Or survive.
Either way,
The game had already begun.
- Writer
