Chapter 5 — Pressure
1236 Words
The silence inside the executive conference room thickened almost instantly after Damien spoke.
Three senior executives sitting beside him exchanged confused glances.
Victoria Sinclair slowly turned her head toward Damien, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifting slightly.
Aria felt every muscle in her body lock.
Her fingers tightened beneath the table so hard her nails dug painfully into her own palm.
No.
This could not happen.
Not here.
Not now.
She had spent the entire morning convincing herself last night was over.
A mistake.
An isolated incident.
A reckless decision buried somewhere in the city that neither of them would ever speak about again.
And yet somehow, the universe had delivered her directly into the office of the one man she desperately hoped never to see again.
Damien Blackwood continued watching her.
Calm.
Unbothered.
As though he were quietly enjoying every second of her discomfort.
One of the executives, an older man with silver-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Mr. Blackwood…”
Damien’s gaze finally shifted.
For exactly half a second.
Then he leaned back against his leather chair.
“Please continue.”
The interview resumed.
Or at least, that was what everyone tried to pretend was happening.
The silver-haired executive adjusted the papers in front of him.
“Miss Bennett, according to your portfolio, your strongest area is structural evening wear design.”
Aria forced herself to breathe normally.
“Yes sir.”
He nodded.
“Can you walk us through your creative process when conceptualizing a luxury collection?”
Finally.
A normal question.
Something she could answer.
Something safe.
Aria straightened slightly.
“When I begin designing, I usually start by studying emotional architecture first. I think luxury fashion should communicate more than appearance. I believe every silhouette should tell a story before a person even speaks…”
She was doing well.
Her breathing steadied.
Confidence slowly returned.
“…for me, structure is very important because fabric itself carries movement, and movement controls perception. So before sketching anything, I focus heavily on how the design influences posture and emotional presence—”
Damien interrupted.
Smoothly.
Without warning.
“Interesting.”
Aria stopped speaking immediately.
Damien slowly rotated the expensive silver pen between his fingers.
His dark eyes remained fixed directly on her face.
“Tell me, Miss Bennett…”
His voice dropped slightly.
“…are you always this composed around strangers?”
The question sounded innocent.
Professional.
But Aria immediately understood what he was doing.
Her pulse quickened.
The other executives looked confused.
Victoria narrowed her eyes slightly.
Aria forced a small smile.
“I’m sorry sir…”
She kept her voice steady.
“…I’m not sure I understand the question.”
Damien’s lips curved slightly.
Dangerous amusement.
“No?”
He leaned forward slightly now.
Enough to make the tension around the table tighten.
“That’s strange.”
His eyes darkened.
“Because from my observation…”
A pause.
Long enough to make her heart slam painfully inside her chest.
“…you seem significantly more nervous around me than you were last night.”
The room froze.
Completely.
The silver-haired executive blinked.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed instantly.
Aria felt heat shoot violently through her entire body.
He was doing this deliberately.
The bastard.
She swallowed hard.
Then slowly forced herself to look directly at him.
Professional.
Cold.
Controlled.
“I apologize, Mr. Blackwood.”
Her voice came out steady.
“I think you may be mistaking me for someone else.”
Silence.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
Then Damien smiled.
A real smile this time.
Small.
Dark.
Predatory.
Like a lion enjoying watching prey pretend it wasn’t cornered.
“Is that so?”
Aria held his stare.
“Yes.”
Victoria suddenly leaned forward.
Her emerald nails tapped lightly against the table.
“Mr. Blackwood, if we are finished with unnecessary distractions…”
Her cold eyes shifted toward Aria.
“…perhaps we can continue evaluating actual qualifications.”
There was obvious irritation in her voice.
Damien barely acknowledged her.
The next executive picked up Aria’s design sketches.
“Miss Bennett, this winter collection concept here…”
He flipped through several pages.
“…did you create this independently?”
“Yes sir.”
He studied it for several moments.
“This level of technical understanding is… impressive.”
Victoria spoke immediately.
“I disagree.”
The room shifted again.
Aria turned toward her.
Victoria crossed her legs elegantly.
Her expression was sharp.
Calculating.
“Technical skill is one thing.”
She glanced dismissively at Aria’s portfolio.
“But Blackwood Atelier is not some small local design firm.”
Her eyes lifted.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
“We work with elite global clientele. Luxury royalty. Billionaires. Political families.”
She leaned back.
“This company requires refinement.”
The insult was obvious.
Victoria continued.
“Miss Bennett’s portfolio shows talent, yes.”
A pause.
“But talent alone does not mean she belongs in this environment.”
Aria’s jaw tightened.
Victoria wasn’t criticizing her work.
She was criticizing her.
Her background.
Her social class.
Her existence.
The silver-haired executive frowned slightly.
“But her technical scores are excellent.”
Victoria smiled thinly.
“Would you hand a priceless diamond collection to someone who learned design in public university workshops?”
Aria finally spoke.
Her voice quiet.
Controlled.
But firm.
“With respect…”
Everyone turned toward her.
She met Victoria’s eyes directly.
“I believe fashion should be judged by skill.”
A pause.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Just confidence.
“Not by the size of the bank account of the person holding the pencil.”
The room went dead silent.
Victoria stared at her.
Completely unamused.
Across the table—
Damien was watching her differently now.
Not amusement.
Interest.
Real interest.
She had been cornered.
Insulted.
Provoked.
And instead of shrinking—
She pushed back.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Victoria suddenly closed the portfolio.
Hard.
“I’ve seen enough.”
She turned toward Damien.
“I strongly advise we reject her application.”
One of the executives looked surprised.
“Reject? That seems excessive.”
Victoria folded her arms.
“She lacks refinement.”
Another executive frowned.
“But her work—”
“She is unsuitable.”
The room erupted into quiet disagreement.
Arguments began forming between executives.
Voices overlapping.
Some defending her talent.
Others listening to Victoria.
Aria sat frozen.
Watching.
Waiting.
And throughout all of it—
Damien said nothing.
He simply sat there.
Observing.
Like a man quietly deciding the fate of everyone in the room.
Finally—
He stood.
Instant silence.
The authority shift was immediate.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
Damien adjusted the sleeve of his charcoal suit slowly.
Then his eyes landed on Aria.
Sharp.
Unreadable.
Absolute power radiating from every inch of him.
When he finally spoke—
His voice was calm.
Final.
Terrifyingly certain.
“The interview is over.”
The executives stared.
Victoria frowned.
“Damien—”
He cut her off instantly.
“She stays.”
Aria’s breath caught.
Victoria’s face hardened.
Damien slowly began walking toward the door.
Then stopped.
Without turning back—
He spoke again.
Low.
Commanding.
Directly to Aria.
“Everyone else may leave.”
A pause.
Then—
“Miss Bennett…”
His voice dropped lower.
Dangerously intimate.
“…you’re staying behind.”
The conference room suddenly felt ten degrees colder.
And Aria understood one terrifying truth.
The interview had ended.
But whatever Damien Blackwood wanted with her—
Had only just begun.
- Writer
