I was officially late.
Not fashionably late. Not "oops, traffic" late.
I was thirty-seven minutes late on the first day the new CEO was supposed to address the entire company, and the elevator decided today was the perfect day to crawl like a dying snail.
I clutched my peppermint tea (the only thing that kept morning sickness from turning me into a public fountain) and prayed the doors would open before I threw up in my heels.
When they finally did, the entire marketing floor was dead silent.
Rows of perfectly dressed employees stood like soldiers. Phones were away. No one dared breathe too loud.
Because there, at the front of the open-plan office, stood the devil himself.
Black suit. Black shirt. No tie. The top two buttons undone just enough to make every woman in the room forget her own name. His dark hair was swept back, sharp jaw clenched, and those eyes, God, those eyes, were scanning the room like a predator counting prey.
I knew that face.
I'd seen it in the dark. Felt it against my throat. Heard it growl filthy promises while I fell apart beneath him.
Noctis Lysander.
The new CEO of Lysander Corporation.
The masked stranger who left me pregnant and disappeared.
My tea slipped from my fingers and shattered on the marble floor.
Every head swiveled toward me.
I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Noctis's gaze locked on me instantly. The air left my lungs. For one terrifying second, the golden in his eyes flared bright, inhuman, and I swear the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Then it was gone. His expression smoothed into cold, perfect indifference.
"Miss Everhart," he said, voice like velvet over steel. "How kind of you to join us."
Two hundred people stared. Someone gasped. My direct supervisor, Mr. Chen, looked ready to faint.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Noctis didn't wait. He turned back to the crowd, already dismissing me like I was nothing.
"Some of you have heard rumors," he continued, voice carrying without effort. "Lysander Corporation is under new management. Effective today, I expect excellence. Nothing less. Anyone who cannot deliver will be removed. Permanently."
A ripple of fear went through the room. This wasn't a pep talk. This was a declaration of war.
I stood frozen in my puddle of peppermint tea while he spoke about quarterly targets, restructuring, and "unacceptable mediocrity." Every word felt aimed at me.
When he finished, he didn't leave. He walked straight toward me.
People parted like the Red Sea.
I couldn't move. My legs had turned to stone.
He stopped so close I could smell cedar and winter night, the same scent that haunted my dreams for weeks.
His voice dropped to that dangerous murmur only I could hear.
"Clean up your mess, little fox. Then come to my office. Thirty-fourth floor. You and I have unfinished business."
He didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked away, every step screaming power.
I looked down at the shattered cup, the tea soaking into my nude pumps.
Unfinished business.
He remembered.
He remembered everything.
And now he owned the company I worked for.
I was so, so screwed.