Damon
The camera feed flickered, soft static humming through the speakers as Damon Voss leaned back in his leather chair. The day was finally over—almost. His office lights were dimmed, the city outside bleeding into glass and shadow. From the corner of his monitor, he could see her.
Elara Quin.
She was leaving.
He watched her through the surveillance camera mounted at the end of the marble hallway—her figure small but deliberate, her steps quiet yet confident. She was with a blonde who he didn't recognise but knew she worked here. She didn't look back once. Most people did. They glanced nervously at the camera, aware of its silent judgment. But not her.
Her red hair glowed faintly under the corridor light, the muted gold tones catching his attention in a way he didn't like. It wasn't fascination—it was… curiosity. And Damon Voss did not do curiosity. He turned off the feed and reached for the tumbler on his desk. Bourbon. Half full, melting ice. A dull warmth against the cold steel edge of his control. As he walked to the floor - to-ceiling window and he stared.
The city bled gold and black beneath his window. From this height, it almost looked peaceful — as if the world had boundaries and rules. But Damon Voss knew better. Peace was a lie for men like him. Every light below was bought with someone's ruin, every silence earned by someone else's scream. He loosened his tie and sat down leaning back, the expensive leather creaking softly under his weight. His head was still replaying the day — a long blur of faces, rehearsed smiles, trembling words. Yet, in all that noise, one voice refused to fade.
Elara Quin.
It wasn't her résumé that had held his attention. It wasn't even her looks — though she was striking - if it wasn't even an understatement - in that quiet, almost defiant way. It was the calm. The way she didn't flinch.
He'd watched seasoned executives crumble under his tone. Elara didn't.
He hated it.
He hated her.
Or maybe, he hated that he couldn't stop thinking about her.
He hated interviews. He hated watching people pretend to fit into his world—polished, trembling, desperate. But she hadn't trembled. She'd met his gaze with quiet calculation, her voice steady, almost disinterested.
That calmness had stayed with him all afternoon.
A thorn beneath silk.
Elara Quin...
Even her name had an edge to it. The memory of her still flickered in his mind, irritatingly persistent. That calm defiance in her hazel eyes, the way her words had been quiet but not submissive—measured, sharp, as if she knew exactly how far to push without crossing a line.
He swirled his drink, the ice clinking softly. "I've seen arrogance, fear, and false confidence," he murmured to himself, "but never quiet fire."
His phone buzzed on the desk. A video call. Alex.
He almost didn't answer it, Almost.
But this was Alex, the only guy could talk to him without trembling, the only guy that gave him hope that there was still some thread of humanity in him and of course if he didn't pick it up the dude would just keep on calling to piss him off.
"Voss," Alex's smooth voice filled the office as soon as the screen came alive. He was lounging somewhere that looked expensive and reckless, his shirt half undone, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You look like you swallowed a ghost. Rough day?"
Damon didn't answer immediately. He stood, crossing the room to the floor-to-ceiling windows. "You ever met someone who doesn't flinch when they should?"
Alex's brows arched. "Oh, so it's that look in your eyes. A woman?"
Damon glared at him through the screen. "It's nothing."
Alex grinned, unbothered. "You don't drink during work hours unless something or someone gets under your skin."
"She's an applicant," Damon said finally, his voice low. "Quin, Elara. Publishing division. She walked in like she owned the floor, but not in a loud way. It's like she knew she didn't belong here but refused to let anyone remind her of it."
Alex let out a soft laugh. "Sounds dangerous."
"Maybe." Damon placed the glass on the table. "Or maybe I'm losing patience with mediocrity."
But it wasn't mediocrity that had lingered. It was her voice. Her calm replies that sliced through the tension he built intentionally during those interviews. She didn't stumble, didn't try to impress him. She just looked at him with those steady eyes.
Alex leaned forward on the screen, interested now. "So what are you going to do about her?" Damon turned back toward his desk and pressed a few keys. Her file appeared on his monitor. Name. Age. Education. A photo that did nothing to capture what he saw earlier. "Find out who she is," he said quietly.
"You're already digging? Stalker alert!! " Alex whistled. "Voss, I didn't know curiosity was your new hobby."
"It's not curiosity. It's a routine check."
"Sure," Alex smirked. "And I'm the Pope. Routine my ass." Alex straightened, swirling his drink. "Every time something or someone shakes you, you start digging like a man afraid of mirrors." Damon ignored him, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "Her calm was unnatural."
"Or refreshing," Alex offered. "You scare the hell out of people. Maybe it's good someone doesn't cower for once."
He said it casually, but it hit something in Damon's chest. That word—cower.
His father's voice flashed through his mind. Weak men flinch. Weak men beg.
For a second, the room felt smaller. The hum of the city dimmed under the echo of that voice.
Damon's hands curled into fists before he forced them open again.
"She's hiding something," he said. "People like her don't walk into this world clean. They break before they survive."
"Sounds like someone you'd like," Alex said quietly.
Damon looked up sharply. "I don't like anyone."
Alex's laugh was low. "You? The man who owns half of America, unsettled by an employee? You're slipping."
Damon ignored the teasing and pulled up her digital file on his laptop. "Elara Quin. Twenty-three. Graduated top of her class. No scandals. No noise. Not even an online presence. People always leave traces, Alex. She left nothing."
"Maybe she's private."
"Maybe she's hiding."
Alex tilted his head, amused. "And what exactly are you planning to do? Hack into her childhood?"
Damon's eyes narrowed. "You make it sound unethical."
"It is unethical."
"That never stopped me before."
Alex sighed. "Just don't mistake curiosity for weakness. You know how that ends. But seriously, Elara Voss. Pretty name. The reason Damon voss' jaw is tighter than his schedule?"
"Don't start." Damon's tone was low, warning, but Alex only grinned wider.
"Come on, man. I've seen you tear grown men apart in boardrooms without blinking, and suddenly one quiet girl from a bar has you brooding into the skyline. That's new."
"She's not quiet," Damon replied, the words slipping before he could stop them. "She's controlled."
Alex's brows rose. "Controlled. That's your word for women now?"
"She's different," Damon muttered, clicking the screen off, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "And I don't like it."
Alex chuckled, "you don't like anything that feels alive. Maybe that's the problem."
Damon ignored him, but his gaze drifted back to the faint reflection in the glass wall. The city's glow painted the room gold, his own shadow split in two — one made of steel, the other something far less stable.
"I want everything on her," he said finally.
Alex froze mid-drink chuckling. "your really gonna go investigate the shit out of her huh? "
Damon's jaw flexed, and Alex lifted a hand. "Fine. Be the brooding tyrant. I'll play the loyal friend who watches the train crash in slow motion."
Damon ignored him and scrolled through her résumé. It was clean—too clean. A few internships, minor publications, excellent grades, but there was something that didn't add up. No social presence, No direct relatives just maternal Grandparents, a single emergency contact, her brother. Jamie Quin.
He clicked deeper, frowning slightly. Her background was marked with a note of financial struggles and claim of kinship, a few relocations, and a small gap between high school and university. A missing year. No explanation. No records. That intrigued him.
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "People always leave trails, Alex. She doesn't."
"Maybe she's just boring."
"No," Damon said flatly. "She's the opposite of boring."
Alex chuckled. "You're in trouble, my friend."
"She challenged me in my own office. That's not interest, that's… anomaly."
"You keep telling yourself that," Alex teased. "You do realize this is how every dark tale begins, right? The cold CEO meets the girl who makes him question his sanity?"
Damon's lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "If that's the story, she should be careful. The ending doesn't usually favor the girl."
"Or maybe it doesn't favor the man," Alex replied softly, eyes glinting through the screen before the call ended.
The office was quiet again, but Damon couldn't shake the thought of her. Elara Quin—small, composed, and hauntingly unreadable. He wasn't the kind of man who liked being intrigued. Intrigue led to distraction, and distraction was weakness.
He turned back to his computer, his fingers typing commands as his security access pinged into deeper systems. Background searches, public databases, even a few private links. Nothing illegal, just… thorough.
And then something caught his eye.
A record from more than a decade ago. A police report filed under the Quin name. Home invasion homicide. Two casualties. Parents deceased. The only surviving witnesses—Elara Quin, age eight and Jamie Quin, age four.
Damon froze. The screen seemed to pulse in the quiet. So that's where the gap came from. A silence carved by loss.
He sat back slowly, exhaling through his nose. It didn't make sense that a tragedy like that would shape someone into… her. Usually, trauma left visible cracks. But she was too calm, too collected, like she'd built walls so high even grief couldn't climb over.
He knew those kinds of walls. He'd built them himself.
He rose from his chair, walking toward the window again. The city looked alive beneath him—glittering, restless, unaware of the dark games played above. Somewhere out there, she was probably thinking about her new job, maybe about the people she met, the small victories of her first day.
But Damon? He was already planning the next move.
She had entered his company.Now she was in his world and whether she realized it or not, he intended to find out every single thing she was hiding.
For the first time in years, Damon Voss wasn't chasing power. He was chasing curiosity and curiosity, he knew too well, was the most dangerous addiction of all.