Ava Lane stood in the glass elevator, forty floors above ground, her reflection staring back—calculated, calm, painted in black silk. She had studied the man she was about to serve for three years. His voice. His women. His empire. She had memorized the floor plans of Reven Holdings before she ever sent in her résumé. Fake name. New background. Real purpose.
"I'm not here to assist you, Kai Reven," she thought, gripping the slim tablet in her hands. "I'm here to destroy you."
But when the elevator doors opened, and she stepped into the marble lobby of the executive floor—she saw him.
Tall. Cold. Untouchable. Kai Reven.
He stood in the center of a room that felt more like a penthouse than a workplace. Every corner screamed power. So did his eyes. He turned toward her slowly, the way a predator might look at a prey that walked into its den. A slow, sharp smile curved on his lips.
"You're the new assistant?"
His voice was low. Ice in silk.
Ava matched his stare, despite the twist in her gut.
"Ava Monroe. Reporting for service."
"Drop the 'reporting.' This isn't the military."
"You don't tolerate mistakes."
He raised an eyebrow. "You've done your research."
"I like to be... thorough."
Their eyes locked. Ava didn't blink. She didn't flinch when his gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, then lower, lingering for a dangerous second before sliding away. Kai walked past her, and as he passed, his hand brushed lightly against the curve of her lower back. Definitely on purpose.
She sat at her desk, the glass cold beneath her fingers. Her heart raced, but her face wore indifference.
He spent the day issuing sharp commands and holding back interest. Ava moved smoothly, obeying quickly, never fumbling. It annoyed him. She could tell.
By lunch, she heard whispers from other assistants.
"You're brave, taking that role."
"Last girl didn't last a week."
"He likes to test his toys."
But Ava wasn't a toy. She was the woman who'd make him burn.
At 5:37 PM, a stunning brunette walked into the office—legs too long, skirt too short, cleavage deliberate. She didn't even glance at Ava.
"Kai," the woman purred.
He barely looked up.
"You're late."
"I'll make it up to you."
Kai stood, loosened his tie, and without a glance toward Ava, led the woman into his private suite.
Ava heard the click of the door.
She heard the first soft moan.
Then a louder one.
Her fingers tightened around her pen. She forced her eyes on the screen, rereading the same sentence four times.
Moans again. Rhythmic.
The unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin.
She wasn't supposed to care.
But her jaw clenched, her thighs pressed together. Heat burned under her skin—not from desire, but from possessive rage she wasn't supposed to feel.
She wanted to slam her fist into the desk. Instead, she stood, calmly walked to the water dispenser, filled a glass, and took slow, icy sips.
When the door finally opened, the woman stepped out, hair a mess, lips swollen, neck marked.
Kai followed a moment later. Shirt untucked. Expression unreadable.
His eyes met Ava's. For just a second.
She said nothing.
But he saw it. The storm.
He didn't smile. He just returned to his desk, adjusted his cuffs, and said without looking at her:
"Cancel my 7 PM. And bring me the Ravynson files."
She nodded. Walked past his desk. Felt his gaze trailing behind her like a chain.
Inside his suite, she dropped the files on the table. He followed her in, the door clicking shut behind them.
"Is there a problem, Ava?"
She turned slowly. Her pulse pounding.
"No, Mr. Reven. Everything's under control."
He moved closer. A step. Another.
"You seem... tense."
"Long day."
"You sure it's not jealousy?"
Her laugh was cold. "You flatter yourself."
"Then what is it?"
"Nothing. You're just... predictable."
His jaw tightened. "Explain."
She stepped in, toe-to-toe. Her voice dropped.
"You use women to feel powerful. You fuck them like they're beneath you, and pretend it doesn't make you weak."
Silence.
Then, laughter. Dark and low.
"You think I'm weak?"
"I think you're desperate to feel control."
He grabbed her wrist—not hard, but firm.
"You want control, Ava? Take it."
She didn't back down. Her free hand slid up his chest, fingers curling into his collar.
"You don't scare me."
"Good."
Then his mouth was on hers—rough, hot, claiming. She met him with fire.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't gentle.
It was war.
Clothes tore. Buttons scattered. She shoved him against the wall. He spun her into it.
Her back hit cold glass.
His hands were everywhere. Her nails dug into his back. Their breaths tangled.
"You like hearing me with someone else?"
"No."
"You want to be the one on your knees?"
"I want you on yours."
He dropped to his knees.
Her breath caught.
His mouth found her inner thigh. She gasped. Fingers threaded in his hair.
She came hard, shaking, biting her own lip to stay quiet. He didn't stop. He kept going until her legs gave out and she slid to the floor with him.
They sat there, breathless.
He looked at her. Something dangerous in his gaze.
"Don't flirt with anyone else, Ava."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I don't share."
"Neither do I."
He smirked. "Then you better not test me."
She stood, fixed her blouse, and said with a sweet, poisonous smile:
"Likewise, Mr. Reven."
She left him there. Still on the floor. Still watching her.
And he smiled like a man who just found the one woman that could ruin him