CHAPTER FIVE
1336 Words
Conference Room
The next morning dawned with the kind of bright, cruel Sydney sunlight that refused to let anything hide. Ava had barely slept — her mind looping through last night’s message, through Damian’s voice, through the click of that transfer confirmation screen.
The train ride to the CBD felt slower than usual. She watched her reflection in the window as skyscrapers slid by, her face pale, her eyes dull but alert. Somewhere, beneath the exhaustion, a quiet, steady flame had begun to form. Not defiance, not yet — but the beginning of it.
The twenty-third floor of Helios buzzed with faint energy that morning. Ava noticed new faces — men in dark suits, a woman with a clipboard — moving briskly through the halls. Something important was happening.
She took a breath, straightened her blouse, and walked toward the glass-walled room at the end of the corridor. Conference Room B. Inside, a small group was already seated around a long black table.
Damian stood at the head of it.
He looked composed as ever — tailored navy suit, silver cufflinks, watch gleaming faintly against his wrist. But his presence filled the room before he spoke, commanding attention with ease.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’ll be discussing an acquisition proposal with R&M Consulting — same company we transferred funds to yesterday. This meeting stays off the books. Understood?”
Ava’s pen froze mid-scribble.
R&M Consulting.
The name from the transfer.
She looked up at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. He was scanning the faces around the table — the legal head, the operations manager, a financial analyst. All older, all silent.
“Ms. Ward,” Damian said suddenly.
She jolted. “Yes, sir?”
“You’ll take the minutes.”
“Yes, of course.”
He smiled slightly. “Good. Let’s begin.”
For the next hour, Ava typed as he spoke, her fingers trembling only once or twice. She didn’t understand half of what they discussed — coded references to “asset shielding,” “third-party channels,” and “diversion coverage.” But she understood enough to know it wasn’t legitimate.
Damian’s tone never wavered. He spoke like a man discussing weather patterns — detached, confident, dangerous in his ease.
At one point, he moved behind her to look at her notes. She could feel the warmth of him standing too close, the faint scent of expensive cologne.
“Good,” he murmured near her ear. “You’re a fast learner.”
Her heart stuttered. She hated that she noticed the smoothness of his voice, the slight rasp when he whispered. She hated that her skin reacted before her mind did.
When the meeting ended, everyone filed out quickly, heads bowed in quiet obedience.
Ava gathered her papers slowly.
“Stay,” Damian said.
Her pulse quickened.
He waited until the room was empty, then turned toward her. “What did you think?”
She forced her voice steady. “About what?”
“About what you just witnessed.”
She hesitated. “I think… it’s none of my business.”
He smiled faintly. “A safe answer.”
“I’m learning from the best.”
Something flickered in his eyes — amusement, maybe even approval. “Clever. You hide fear well.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Liar.”
He said it softly, but the word struck deep.
Ava looked away. “What do you want from me, Damian?”
He took a slow step closer, his voice lowering. “I want you to understand how this world works. Loyalty. Leverage. Everything costs something.”
“And what do you pay?” she asked.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. His expression shifted — something unreadable crossing his face before it vanished. “More than you think.”
He dismissed her with a nod, but his voice lingered in her mind long after she left.
Back at her desk, Ava opened her notes, pretending to review them, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
She needed to find a way out. A weakness. Something that could free her from his hold.
That’s when she noticed something unusual in the system. The R&M Consulting file she’d handled yesterday was still accessible — briefly visible in the server before vanishing again. A trace, maybe, left by mistake.
She clicked fast, navigating through hidden folders, her fingers flying. There — an archived staff document attached to the account. She opened it.
Employee Contact: Clara Liu – Executive Assistant
Her breath caught. Clara Liu. The name sounded familiar.
Then she remembered.
On her first day, she’d heard the HR receptionist whispering about a former secretary who’d left suddenly, no notice, no farewell. Some said she’d eloped. Others said she’d broken a confidentiality agreement and vanished.
Ava hadn’t thought much of it — until now.
If Clara had been handling the same accounts…
Her chest tightened. Maybe Clara hadn’t left. Maybe she’d been silenced.
At lunch, Ava slipped out of the building and walked down to the Circular Quay, where tourists crowded along the waterfront and ferries cut across the water. She sat on a bench near the Museum of Contemporary Art, phone in hand, searching Clara Liu.
Nothing on social media. No LinkedIn updates. No public records since three months ago.
She bit her lip. People didn’t just disappear.
Unless someone made them disappear.
Her mind spun. Damian had mentioned “training” her. What if Clara had been trained the same way — coerced, blackmailed, used?
The thought made her nauseous.
She scrolled further and found one grainy photo — a smiling woman with short black hair and bright eyes, taken at an office party. The caption read: Helios Christmas Dinner.
Ava saved it to her phone.
Then, a shadow fell over her.
“Skipping lunch again, Ms. Ward?”
Her stomach dropped. She looked up — Damian stood there, holding two takeaway cups.
“Mr. Voss,” she stammered. “I—”
He sat beside her without asking, handing her one of the cups. “Flat white. You looked like you needed caffeine.”
She hesitated, not sure if she should drink it. He noticed, smiling slightly. “Relax. No drugs this time.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
The breeze carried his scent again — clean, crisp, with that faint dark spice. He sipped his coffee, looking out at the harbour.
“You’re jumpy,” he said quietly.
“Maybe that’s because you’ve given me every reason to be.”
He turned to her then, eyes meeting hers. “And yet, you’re still here.”
The words hung between them, heavy, intimate.
She looked away, her throat tight. “I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Not with you.”
He studied her for a long moment, the edge in his gaze softening just slightly. “You think I enjoy this? That I enjoy controlling people?”
“Don’t you?” she asked.
His jaw flexed. “Control isn’t pleasure, Ava. It’s armor.”
She frowned. “Armor against what?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, brushing a fleck of dust from his suit. “Finish your coffee. You’ll need the energy for the rest of the day.”
Then he walked away, his reflection blending into the bright crowd until he vanished.
That night, Ava lay awake replaying his words.
Control isn’t pleasure. It’s armor.
There had been something real in his tone — pain, maybe. But she didn’t trust it. She couldn’t.
And yet, beneath her anger and fear, she felt something else beginning to bloom. Something dangerous. Curiosity.
What was Damian hiding? What had turned him into this?
And what had happened to Clara Liu?
Ava didn’t have answers yet — but she knew one thing.
If she was going to survive him, she’d have to start learning his game.
Not as his victim. But as his equal.
- Writer
