Chapter 1
The glass slipped because my hands were shaking.
That's the part no one ever remembers.
The music in Halcyon was too loud, the lights too low, and the air thick with money and perfume. I shouldn't have been there in the first place. I didn't belong in a private club where men wore watches worth more than my rent and women laughed like nothing had ever hurt them.
But desperation does strange things to pride.
I was halfway through apologising—to no one in particular—when the wine left my glass, arced beautifully through the air, and soaked the front of a man's white shirt.
Red bloomed across his chest like a slow, deliberate crime.
The music didn't stop. The laughter didn't pause.
But everything inside me did.
"Oh my God," I breathed. My voice sounded too small, swallowed by bass and velvet walls. "I—I'm so sorry."
The man looked down at himself first. At the wine. At the stain spreading across fabric that probably cost more than my entire outfit.
Then he looked at me.
Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. Expression carved from ice.
The kind of face you didn't forget. The kind that didn't forgive.
Around us, conversations dipped. Heads turned. Phones tilted subtly, hungry for spectacle.
He said nothing at first.
That was worse.
"I didn't mean to—someone bumped into me," I rushed, words tumbling over each other. "I'll pay for the cleaning. Or the shirt. Or—"
He lifted a hand.
Just slightly.
I stopped like a trained animal.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer. I caught the scent of expensive cologne, something dark and dangerous, the kind that lingered too long. His voice, when it came, was calm. Soft. Controlled.
"Do you have any idea," he said, "what you've just done?"
Heat crawled up my neck. "I told you, it was an accident."
A corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. Never that.
"Accidents", he said, "are for children."
The people around us were openly watching now. A woman in a silver dress whispered to her friend. A man chuckled quietly, already enjoying my humiliation.
My chest tightened. I hated this feeling. Being small. Being cornered.
"I said I'm sorry," I repeated, straighter now. "And I'll fix it."
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
Low. Disbelieving. Like I'd just told him the most amusing joke of the night.
"You'll fix it?" he echoed. "With what? Your minimum-wage apology?"
That did it.
Something hot and reckless snapped inside me.
I lifted my chin. "You don't know anything about me."
His gaze dropped to my dress. Simple. Black. Too tight in places I hadn't meant it to be. Bought on sale. Worn because it made me feel less invisible.
"I know enough," he said coolly. "People like you don't wander into Halcyon by accident."
People like you.
The words stung more than the wine ever could.
I felt the eyes on me again. Waiting. Judging.
Fine.
"You're right," I said, voice steady now, surprising even me. "I shouldn't be here."
He raised a brow, clearly enjoying this.
"But neither should an ego that big," I added sweetly. "It's a fire hazard."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the small crowd.
His eyes darkened.
"What did you just say?"
"I said," I repeated, louder this time, "it's a shirt. Not a national disaster. You'll survive."
Silence fell heavier now. The music seemed distant, like it belonged to another world.
He stepped closer. Too close. I could see the faint scar near his eyebrow. The tension in his jaw. Control held by a thread.
"You just made the biggest mistake of your life," he said quietly.
For a second, doubt flickered. Because men like him didn't make empty threats. Men like him crushed people and never noticed the mess.
Then I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Short. Sharp. A little broken around the edges.
"Get in line."
His eyes widened, just a fraction. Surprise, maybe. Or interest.
I didn't wait to find out.
I pushed past him, ignoring the whispers, the stares, and the burning embarrassment curling under my skin. My heart pounded as I headed for the exit, heels biting into marble floors I'd never walk on again.
At the door, I glanced back.
He was still standing there, wine-soaked, motionless. Watching me like I was a problem he hadn't solved yet.
Something about that look followed me all the way home.
My apartment smelt like cheap detergent and leftover noodles.
I kicked off my shoes, leaning my forehead against the door as the adrenaline drained out of me. My hands were trembling again now that no one was watching.
God, Elara. What were you thinking?
Halcyon had been a stupid idea. A friend of a friend needed someone to fill in as a hostess for the night. Easy money. Quick cash. No strings.
Except everything had strings.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, seeing his face again. The way he'd looked at me like I was something inconvenient. Disposable.
People like him always did.
I slept badly. Dreamed worse.
The next morning came too fast.
I dressed carefully, choosing clothes that made me feel invisible. Neutral blouse. Pencil skirt. Hair pulled back tight. Armour, in its own way.
Today mattered.
Blackwood Empire.
The name alone carried weight. Everyone knew it. Real estate. Tech. Investments. A corporate beast that swallowed companies whole.
I'd applied for a temporary executive assistant position months ago, never expecting a response. When the email came, I thought it was spam.
I checked my reflection one last time in the cracked mirror. You can do this, I told myself. It's just a job.
Just a job.
The lobby of Blackwood Empire was all glass and steel and quiet power. No music. No laughter. Just efficiency humming beneath polished floors.
I gave my name at reception, palms damp.
"Elara Monroe," the receptionist said, scanning her screen. "Executive floor. Elevator three."
My stomach flipped.
The elevator ride felt endless. Each floor chimed like a countdown.
When the doors opened, everything slowed.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. A long conference table. Men in tailored suits mid-discussion.
And at the head of the room—
Him.
My breath caught painfully in my chest.
He stood slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Dark suit. Crisp lines. No sign of last night's wine, except maybe in the way his gaze sharpened the moment it landed on me.
Recognition flickered. Then something darker.
I froze.
He smiled.
It wasn't kind.
"Ms. Monroe," he said, voice smooth as glass. "Welcome to Blackwood Empire."
The room went quiet.
"You work for me now."