CHAPTER3
1035 Words
Elise was good at pretending.
She’d had years of practice. Pretending to be calm. To be indifferent. To be unfazed.
But after that night—the gala, the whisper, Damien’s voice dark and strangely protective—her mask was slipping. And Damien? He was only growing colder.
The next morning, she walked into the office to find her desk rearranged.
Her files moved. Computer locked. A note taped to the screen.
“Conference Room. Now.”
It was in his handwriting.
She snatched the note, shoved it into her bag, and marched down the corridor.
The room was empty—except for Damien.
He was seated at the head of the long glass table, shirt rolled at the sleeves again, one hand tapping slowly on the marble surface.
“Elise,” he said, without looking up.
She closed the door behind her. “Sir.”
“I assume you know why you’re here.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“You left the gala early.”
“I wasn’t aware it was a hostage situation.”
He looked up then.
His gaze was ice, and it sliced through her.
“I invited you,” he said. “You left before the speech. Before the photos. Before you had a chance to represent this company as something other than a sulking intern.”
“I wasn’t sulking,” she said. “I was avoiding another scandal with your name on it.”
Silence fell.
Then—he stood.
Walked slowly toward her.
And leaned in, just enough for her to feel the full weight of his presence.
“You think you’re immune to me,” he murmured.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You look at me like I’m the problem,” he said. “But the problem is that you’re waiting for me to change.”
“I’m not waiting for anything,” she shot back.
“Then why haven’t you quit?”
She opened her mouth. Shut it.
He smirked.
“Exactly,” he said. “You’re just like the others, Elise. You hate me because I make you feel things you don’t want to feel.”
“That’s not true,” she said, voice tight.
“You lie to yourself better than anyone I’ve met.”
She turned to leave—but he grabbed her wrist.
Not hard. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to stop her.
“I’ll be working late tonight,” he said. “You’ll stay.”
---
He kept her until midnight.
Didn’t speak to her.
Didn’t even look at her.
He worked in silence while she typed contracts, booked meetings, and pretended she wasn’t silently unraveling in the corner of his glass kingdom.
Once or twice, women came in.
Once, a tall blonde in tight red satin. Elise didn’t turn around, but she heard the whisper. The giggle. The unmistakable click of the office door being locked.
And then—quiet.
But not for long.
A soft moan pierced the silence.
Elise’s fingers froze over her keyboard.
Damien didn’t care that she could hear. That the walls weren’t soundproof. That her desk sat twenty feet away from where he was clearly—clearly—sleeping with someone.
It was a message.
He wanted her to hear.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
The woman strutted out, lipstick smeared.
She gave Elise a glance.
A smirk.
Like she’d won something.
Elise stood up, grabbed her bag, and walked straight past the office without a word.
She didn’t go home.
She went to a bar.
Ordered something strong. Downed it in one gulp. Let the burn of it clear her head.
You are not going to fall apart over him.
You’re not one of them.
But her body told a different story.
Because somewhere deep inside, she wanted to be the one he pulled into that office.
She hated herself for it.
---
The next day, Damien was back to business.
No glances. No smirks. No recognition of what he’d done or how loud he’d made it.
He sent her twenty emails before lunch. Dictated changes to a proposal she’d worked on for three days. Told her to reschedule Zurich—again.
She’d never wanted to scream so badly.
At 3 p.m., he summoned her.
She walked in, determined not to crack.
But what she saw stopped her.
A box sat on his desk.
Not business. Personal.
Inside, a necklace. Delicate gold chain. Nothing flashy. Just simple.
And lying on top, a note.
Elise frowned.
“What is this?”
Damien didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “A thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not walking out last night.”
Her jaw tightened. “You made me stay.”
“You could’ve left.”
“I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”
“And yet you stayed,” he said, voice calm. “So take the gift.”
“I’m not one of your toys,” she snapped.
His eyes flared.
“I never said you were.”
She pushed the box back toward him. “Keep it.”
“Elise.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked, and the moment stretched thin between them.
She turned and left.
---
That night, she dreamed of him.
Not soft dreams.
Not sweet.
He was the same in her dreams as in life—cruel, cold, impossible to ignore.
She woke up sweating.
Angry.
Hungry.
---
The following morning brought another twist.
She arrived at the office only to be told Damien had called an executive retreat—for the entire weekend.
Only three staff members were going.
And she was one of them.
“Didn’t he tell you?” his assistant asked, eyes wide. “He said you’d be handling all on-site coordination.”
Of course he did.
She almost turned around.
Almost quit on the spot.
But Elise Hart didn’t quit.
She packed her bags.
Got on the Blackwell Industries jet.
And found herself sitting across from Damien, thirty-five thousand feet above ground, his laptop open, his tie undone, and a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
This was war.
And she was already losing.
- Writer
