Elara
The week blurred into something mechanical.
Elara had spent most of it buried under contracts, data entries, and Stella's endless chatter about who was dating whom in the company. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly—it was just noise. Elara wasn't used to noise. She preferred quiet, the kind that allowed her thoughts to breathe.
Still, she didn't hate her new job. She liked the order of it, the routine. The quiet hum of the computers and the click of keyboards. She liked the way the building smelled faintly of paper and expensive cologne. Even if that cologne occasionally belonged to him.
Damon Voss.
She'd seen him twice since the interview. Once at a distance in the lobby—surrounded by executives, all trailing behind him like obedient shadows—and once when he'd passed her floor unexpectedly. He hadn't looked at her, but she'd felt him. His presence hit like a sudden shift in gravity. Every woman in the office had gone still, pretending not to watch, pretending not to whisper. Elara had kept her eyes on her computer, pretending she didn't care.
But she did.
Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't forget that interview.
The way he'd looked at her—controlled, cold, but curious. Like he was trying to decide what she was made of.
She'd told herself it didn't matter. He was her boss. A name on the door. A reminder that power looked better in a tailored suit.
Still… something about him lingered.
It was Friday, Tomorrow she was picking up Jamie.
"Hey, hey, El!" Stella's voice pierced the silence like confetti. She was sunshine in human form — always laughing, always talking, and always trying to drag me out of my quiet.
I blinked up from my screen. "Hmm?"
"Don't 'hmm' me," she said, leaning on my desk. "You've been glaring at that spreadsheet like it owes you money."
"It probably does," I muttered.
She giggled. "You're impossible. We're going for drinks after work. Come with us. You look like you need a life."
I smiled faintly. "I already have one. It's just quieter than yours."
Stella rolled her eyes but grinned. "You know, most people are terrified of the boss. You? You're terrifyingly calm. Rumor says he yelled at three executives this morning. You didn't even flinch."
I shrugged. "Maybe yelling doesn't scare me."
If only she knew what did.
When you've watched your parents' blood stain your shoes before you could legally drive, a man shouting in a boardroom doesn't exactly s hake your bones.
The next day, Elara's apartment smelled faintly of cinnamon. She'd baked muffins—something Jamie loved—and was double-checking the time.
"Flight 242," she murmured, grabbing her coat. "He lands in twenty minutes."
The drive to the airport was slow. The city glowed gold against the overcast sky, a rare softness in winter's chill.
Jamie called her halfway there.
"Are you almost here?"
"Yes," she said, smiling despite herself. "Don't wander off."
"I'm not a kid."
"You're 19."
"Exactly. Practically grown."
"Uh-huh," she said dryly.
He laughed. That sound—the warmth in it—was everything she'd missed.
When she finally reached the terminal, she parked quickly and walked toward Arrivals, blending into the crowd. People were hugging, crying, reuniting. She stood on tiptoe, scanning faces.
Then—"Elara!" he called, grinning wide. "You didn't age a day! Still mean, still hot."
"Still dramatic," I countered, hugging him. "And stop calling me hot in public. People will stare."
"They already are," he said, smirking. "Because you look like trouble wrapped in beige."
I snorted. "Shut up."
He slung an arm around me. "God, I missed you."
"Same here, idiot."
"Excuse me—sorry—coming through," a smooth voice interrupted.
Elara turned—and froze.
Of course.
Damon Voss.
He was impossible to miss—tall, impeccably dressed, that same dark composure he carried like armor. And beside him, Alex Dobrick, wearing a lazy grin and sunglasses indoors.
For a moment, the world shrank.
Their eyes met again—hers wide, his unreadable.
Then Alex's gaze flicked between them, sharp and amused. "Well, this looks… interesting."
Elara blinked. "Mr. Voss."
"Miss Quin." His tone was calm, but his eyes—his eyes were something else entirely. They dragged over her like a question.
Jamie, confused, looked between them. "You know each other?"
Before she could answer, Alex stepped forward with that smooth charm that came naturally to him. "So you're Elara. I've heard about you."
Her brows lifted. "From who?"
Alex smiled, glancing sideways at Damon. "From the man who apparently doesn't talk about anyone. Which means you've made quite an impression."
Damon shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. "Alex."
Alex raised his hands, laughing. "Relax, I'm just saying hi."
Jamie chuckled under his breath. "This is awkwardly entertaining."
Elara crossed her arms. "You're friends, I'm guessing?" like she didn't already know that
"Unfortunately," Damon replied.
Alex grinned wider. "Don't let him fool you. He'd be lost without me."
"Debatable," Damon said dryly.
Jamie leaned closer to Elara, whispering, "They sound like us when you're annoyed."
"Quiet! " she said, fighting a smile.
Alex turned to Jamie. "And who's this?"
"My brother," Elara said. "Jamie."
"Jamie," my brother said quickly, offering his hand. "The better-looking Quin."
Damon shook it, expression unchanged. "A bold claim."
Jamie grinned. "Truthful one."
Alex laughed again.
Alex offered his hand. "Good to meet you. Your sister's—"
"—not interested," Elara cut in smoothly.
Jamie burst out laughing. Damon's mouth twitched, and Alex laughed louder. "Oh, I like her."
"Most people don't," Elara muttered.
"Then they're idiots," Alex replied.
Damon cleared his throat. "We should go."
Alex laughed again. "God, ignore him. Dinner, all of you. My treat."
"Oh, we—" I started.
But Jamie was already nodding. "Absolutely. We'd love to."
I shot him a glare that promised murder. He grinned wider.
Damon's eyes lingered on me, measuring. "Alex, not tonight."
"Come on," Alex teased. "Live a little. The ice won't melt unless you let the sun in."
Damon exhaled slowly. "You talk too much."
Alex winked. "And you think too much."
Jamie leaned closer to me. "Are these two married?"
I snorted, covering a laugh. Damon's gaze flicked to me instantly — not harsh, not angry. Just… observant. Like he was cataloguing every sound I made.
Dinner didn't happen, thankfully. But the drive home was torture
"Who was that?"
"My boss," she said.
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You sure you two aren't secretly dating?"
She glared. "Jamie."
"What? The tension is practically radioactive."
"Stop talking."
He laughed again. "I like him. He's scary."
"He's infuriating."
"Same thing, " Jamie teased.
Jamie couldn't stop talking about how "obscenely gorgeous" Damon was.
"He looks like he could ruin your life with a glance," he said dramatically. "No wonder you hate him. You're terrified you might like him."
"I don't like men who breathe power like oxygen," I said. "He's exactly the kind of man who thinks the world owes him obedience."
"And you're exactly the kind who doesn't obey," Jamie teased.
He wasn't wrong.
But it wasn't just dislike. Something about Damon Voss bothered me — not just his arrogance or that devastating calm. It was the way he felt familiar. Like a face you dream about long before you meet it.
And that ring — the one burned into my memory — flashed across my thoughts. Damon didn't wear one, but something told me… he knew what it meant.
That terrified me more than anything.
Meanwhile, across the city, Damon stood in his penthouse — the skyline stretching like a sea of diamonds beneath him.
Alex was still talking. "You stared at her, Damon. Like she said something you didn't want to hear."
"She was insolent," Damon said simply, pouring himself a drink. "People like that don't last long."
Alex smirked. "Or they make you feel alive again."
Damon didn't respond. His gaze drifted to the desk drawer. Slowly, he pulled it open — revealing a small black box.
Inside, a silver ring glinted beneath the soft lamplight.
He hadn't looked at it in years. His father's ring. The one he never wore. The one that smelled like power and blood.
He closed the drawer sharply.
He didn't know why her eyes haunted him — or why he felt like their story had already begun long before they met.
Back in the car, Jamie had fallen asleep, snoring softly beside me. The city lights blurred past, golden and endless. I gripped the steering wheel, my heart still somewhere between fear and fascination.
That night, Elara lay awake long after Jamie had fallen asleep on the couch. She stared at the ceiling, thinking about the week, the job, and him.
She told herself it was nothing. Just coincidence. Just curiosity. But deep down, a voice whispered that their paths hadn't crossed by accident.
And when she finally drifted to sleep, she dreamed—not of fire or loss, but of green eyes watching her through smoke and silence.
In a city of eight million people, I wasn't supposed to run into him again. some collisions weren't coincidences, they were warnings dressed as fate.
But fate.... fate always did enjoy playing with fire.