CHAPTER THREE
856 Words
The Morning After
The elevator ride felt longer than usual.
Ava stood rigid, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles paled. The image from last night burned behind her eyelids—her on that couch, eyes closed, Damian beside her. Whoever had taken that photo had been close. Too close.
She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t eaten. Her mother’s call had gone unanswered.
Now, as the elevator glided past mirrored walls, her reflection stared back at her: pale, tired, afraid.
It’s fine, she told herself. He’ll explain. It’s probably a misunderstanding.
But even she didn’t believe it.
The doors opened onto Level 52. Her heels clicked against the marble as she walked toward Damian’s office.
Talia Winters looked up from her desk, her smile tight. “He’s expecting you.”
Ava nodded. “Thanks.”
Talia hesitated, then lowered her voice. “You look… pale. Everything alright?”
“I’m fine,” Ava said quickly. “Just didn’t sleep.”
Talia gave her a strange look but said nothing.
Ava knocked on the glass door.
“Come in,” came the voice.
Damian stood by the window, jacket off, hands in his pockets, watching the harbour below. He didn’t turn when she entered.
“Close the door,” he said.
Ava obeyed.
Silence hung between them, thick and electric.
Finally, he spoke. “I assume you’ve seen the photograph.”
Her throat tightened. “Yes.”
He turned then, slowly. His expression was calm, almost bored. “Unfortunate, isn’t it?”
“Who took it?” she demanded. “Was it one of the staff? Someone at the dinner?”
His gaze stayed fixed on her. “That’s not what you should be asking.”
“Then what should I be asking?”
He stepped closer, just enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne—smoke, leather, and something darker. “You should be asking how to make it disappear.”
Her stomach dropped. “What?”
“The image, Miss Reynolds. I’d hate for it to surface. It would be… embarrassing, don’t you think? You, intoxicated in my office after hours. The press would devour it. So would HR.”
“That’s not what happened,” she said, voice shaking. “You said I fainted—”
“And I did what any decent employer would do. I made sure you were safe.” He smiled thinly. “Unfortunately, the camera doesn’t care about context.”
She stared at him, realization dawning like poison. “You sent that photo.”
“Not exactly,” he said smoothly. “Let’s just say I control who sees it.”
Ava’s hands trembled. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because,” he said, voice soft now, “I need someone I can trust. Someone with no choice but to keep her mouth shut.”
He gestured toward the desk. A small folder sat there, sealed and waiting.
“Inside,” he said, “is a list of transfers that must be processed under a dummy account. Nothing illegal, just… sensitive. You’ll handle it personally. No questions, no copies.”
“I’m not doing this,” she whispered. “Whatever this is, I’m not part of it.”
Damian stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “You already are. You signed your contract, Ava. That gives me access to your employee record, your file, your NDA. And now…” He tapped his phone, and the photograph appeared on its screen. “I have this.”
Her pulse pounded in her ears. “That’s blackmail.”
“It’s insurance.”
“Against what?”
He smiled. “Human nature.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Only the distant hum of Sydney filled the silence.
Finally, he said, almost gently, “I don’t want this to be unpleasant. You’ll find I’m a fair man, if you’re loyal. Handle the transfers, report only to me, and no one ever needs to see that photo. Not HR. Not your mother.”
Her chest tightened. “Leave her out of this.”
“I intend to. But imagine how she’d feel, reading headlines about her daughter seducing her boss to get a promotion. People are cruel, Ava.
They believe what they want to believe.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. She forced them down.
“You’re a monster,” she said.
His expression didn’t change. “Perhaps. But I’m your monster now.”
He turned back to the window. “You can go.”
She walked out on shaking legs, barely nodding at Talia on her way past. The elevator doors closed, cutting her off from the world above.
When she finally stepped into the lobby, the noise of the city hit her like a wave—honking cars, footsteps, laughter. Normal life. As if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Her phone buzzed. Another message from the same unknown number:
Don’t disappoint me. —D.V.
Ava looked up at the tower. Its mirrored glass gleamed under the morning sun, perfect and merciless. Her reflection stared back—smaller now, trapped inside it.
She turned away before she could see herself cry.
- Writer
