THE HIGH GROUND

NO HIDEOUT

The heavy ebony door clicked shut behind Bella, cutting off the last remaining sounds of the outside world. The silence inside the executive office was absolute, heavy, and thick with an suffocating sense of power. The space was staggering in its scale—minimalist, aggressively expensive, and flooded with the bright morning light cutting through the massive, unbroken wall of floor-to-ceiling glass.

But Bella couldn't appreciate the view. Her eyes locked instantly onto the man sitting behind the monolithic desk at the far end of the room.

Daemond King Jr.

He didn't look up immediately. He was draped in a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and commanding presence. His dark hair was meticulously styled, save for a small, neat bandage near his temple—a stark, silent reminder of the blood she had seen tracking down his face the previous night. The silence stretched, heavy and agonizing, punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic scratching of his expensive fountain pen against a document.

"You're twenty minutes late, Miss Swan," Daemond said.

His voice was a low, cold, husky baritone that sent an involuntary shiver straight down her spine. It carried no explosive anger, no outward fury—just a chilling, factual precision that was infinitely more terrifying.

The moment the words left his mouth, he locked his piercing emerald eyes dead on her. The intensity in his gaze was a physical weight, and Bella immediately looked down, her long eyelashes casting shadows on her pale cheeks as she desperately avoided eye contact.

Seeing her submit so quickly sent a dangerous surge through Daemond's veins. Looking at her like this made his chest tighten, his heart fiercely craving the woman standing just a few feet away. Everything he had seen, touched, and tasted the night before was now primly, nicely covered up in her official outfit. But her soft, curvy figure and tight, round breasts were still actively fighting against the buttons of her thrifted white collared shirt. They were mounted and heavy, rising and dropping in a rapid, frantic rhythm with her shallow breathing.

He could see the effort she had made. She had tried hiding her curves and breasts under the structured navy blazer today, but damn, she was so incredibly wrong. The professional attire didn't mask her allure; it only heightened it, making her look entirely more gorgeous, forbidden, and breathtaking. To make matters worse, her sweet, intoxicating scent was already drifting across the expanse of the room, lingering in the air and invading his senses.

Daemond clutched his hand into a tight fist beneath the desk, the fabric of his suit straining as he fought a brutal, silent war against his own burning desires. He needed to reassert control. Slowly, deliberately, he rose from his leather chair and walked around the desk, closing the distance between them until he stood entirely too close to her.

As he stepped into her personal space, the attractive, rich scent of his expensive cologne—sandalwood mixed with a sharp hint of cedar—wrapped around Bella. It was overwhelming. Her legs felt weak, a sudden, treacherous tremor threatening to make her knees buckle. Catching herself, she quickly adjusted her posture, locking her knees and squaring her shoulders, fighting with everything she had to show absolutely no weakness to the predator in front of her.

"You know every second in this company is worth millions," Daemond murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he hovered over her. "Next time you repeat this... we will discuss your penalty. Personally."

Bella’s eyes turned frantic. She looked up at him, her chest heaving, before she quickly looked down at the floor again, her voice trembling. "I... I am so sorry, Mr. King. It won't happen again."

"It certainly won't," he whispered.

Before she could process his movement, Daemond leaned in close, his lips brushing the air right next to her ear. Bella flinched, a sharp gasp catching in her throat at the sudden, burning proximity.

He reached out, his long, powerful fingers wrapping around the edge of the heavy stack of manila folders clutched tightly against her chest. He didn't pull the files away immediately, keeping his hands locked over hers, trapping her in place. "Mr. Louise gave you the briefs. Good."

His dark emerald eyes dropped briefly to her soft, parted lips, tracking the uneven breath escaping them, before they returned to her lowered gaze. He finally pulled the folders from her grip, the loss of the weight leaving her chest feeling strangely exposed. He turned slightly, looking down at the paperwork with a cold, businesslike detachment that contrasted wildly with the heat radiating from his body.

"By noon, I expect a full summary of the tech acquisition on my desk, alongside a completely rearranged schedule for my Tokyo trip," Daemond commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. "My flights, my meeting arrangements, and the specific suits I will require for the after-party. I want my diet menu mapped out, my coffee schedules finalized—everything should be ready exactly on time. Do you understand... Miss... Swan?"

Bella gasped, her head snapping up in sheer disbelief. The sheer volume of the workload was immense, a near-impossible task for a single morning, let alone for someone who had just walked through the door.

Daemond's striking emerald eyes locked instantly into her deep brown ones. Time seemed to stretch and warp. Neither of them moved, completely frozen in the middle of the luxurious office, caught in the gravity of each other's gaze. The unspoken tension from the previous night flared between them like a living thing, heavy and suffocating.

Realizing the danger of the moment, Bella pulled herself back to reality. She lowered her eyes, swallowing the lump of anxiety in her throat, and replied politely, "Yes, Mr. King."

"Good. You can start now," Daemond said coldly. He turned on his heel, walking back to his massive desk. He sat down, immediately opening his laptop and beginning to scroll through his emails, completely ignoring her presence as if she were nothing more than a piece of the office furniture.

Bella let out a silent, shaky breath. Turning away, she walked toward the massive ebony entrance. But just as she placed her trembling hand onto the heavy golden door handle, Daemond’s husky voice sliced through the silence, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"And... where do you think you are going, Miss Swan?" he asked, his eyes never bothering to look up from the glowing screen of his laptop.

Bella blinked, turning her head back toward him in confusion. "To... my workplace, Mr. King. As you—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Daemond ruthlessly cut her off. Without looking, he raised a single, commanding hand and pointed toward the far right corner of the room.

Bella’s gaze followed his finger, and her heart instantly dropped into her stomach.

There, nestled against the main wall, was a newly situated workstation. It featured a sleek desk with built-in wooden shelves, a state-of-the-art computer, and a modern ergonomic chair. It was beautiful, small, and undeniably cozy. But there was a catch—the entire sitting area was enclosed by stunning, top-to-floor sliding glass walls.

Bella remembered this office vividly from her previous visit, and she knew with absolute certainty that this glass-enclosed desk had not been there before.

A cold dread washed over her as the realization hit. Of course. He wanted to torture her this way. By placing her right here, in the corner of his own office, he was keeping her entirely within his line of sight. He could watch her every single move, monitor her every breath, and track every nervous fidget. It stripped away even the illusion of privacy, making her profoundly uncomfortable. And looking at the subtle tightening of his jaw, she knew it was a sick source of delight for him.

And here she thought things couldn't possibly get any worse.

"But... Sir... Mr. King... I can't..." Bella stammered, her professional facade cracking as panic took over. Working in the outer lobby was one thing, but being trapped in a literal glass cage inside his personal sanctuary was a nightmare.

"I don't like to repeat myself, Miss Swan," Daemond replied, his voice flat, icy, and completely dismissive. He still hadn't looked up from his laptop. "This is your new station."

Knowing there was absolutely no escape, and realizing that any further argument would only play directly into his hands, Bella snapped. Frustration boiled over her anxiety. She grabbed the heavy stack of folders, turned around, and stomped her feet like an angry child, her black heels clicking aggressively against the floor as she marched across the room toward her glass prison.

As the sound of her frustrated footsteps echoed away, Daemond finally lifted his gaze from the laptop. He watched her retreating back, a dark, slow smirk spreading across his handsome face.

*I will make you say my name again, Miss Swan,* he promised himself silently, his emerald eyes gleaming with a dangerous, possessive victory. *And soon.*