Chapter 3
By the third morning, I understood something crucial.
Adrian Blackwood didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
Power sat on him like a second skin—effortless, invisible, everywhere. It seeped into the walls, the silence, and the way people straightened when he walked past. Even when he wasn't in the room, his presence lingered, like a shadow you couldn't shake.
I arrived twelve minutes early.
Not ten.
Twelve.
Not because he asked—but because I refused to give him a reason to comment.
Mara shot me an approving glance as I set my bag down. "You'll survive," she murmured, passing me a tablet. "That's already impressive."
"Comforting," I muttered.
Adrian's office door was closed.
That, I'd learnt, meant danger.
I barely had time to log in before the intercom crackled.
"Ms Monroe."
"Yes?"
"Inside. Now."
I stood, smoothed my skirt, and walked in with my spine straight and my heart hammering.
He was standing by the windows this time, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The city sprawled beneath him like something he owned. Sunlight caught on his watch—simple, understated, probably worth a small fortune.
He didn't turn around.
"Do you know why people fail here?" he asked.
I hesitated. "Because the workload is intense?"
"No," he said. "Because they mistake proximity for power."
I frowned. "I'm not sure I—"
"They think working close to me gives them influence," he continued. "Leverage. It doesn't."
He turned then, eyes locking onto mine. "It gives them responsibility."
I swallowed. "I can handle responsibility."
"We'll see."
He walked past me to his desk, picking up a file. "You sent the wrong agenda to the board."
My stomach dropped. "I double-checked—"
"And still got it wrong," he cut in, tossing the file onto the desk. "That meeting involved a foreign acquisition. One error costs millions."
Heat flooded my face. "I corrected it before the meeting."
"Yes," he said coolly. "Because I caught it."
The words landed hard.
"I don't make excuses," I said quietly. "But I also don't make careless mistakes."
His gaze sharpened. "Then consider this a lesson."
I clenched my jaw. "I'll do better."
"I don't want better," he said. "I want perfect."
Something in me snapped—not loudly, not dramatically, but enough.
"Then you should hire a machine," I replied. "Because I'm human."
Silence.
Mara would later tell me that was the moment she thought I'd be fired.
Adrian didn't move. Didn't blink.
Then—unexpectedly—he smiled.
Not the cold curve of his mouth I'd seen before. Something real. Brief. Dangerous.
"Good," he said. "Human mistakes are harder to predict."
That wasn't comforting.
The rest of the morning became a test.
Impossible schedules. Back-to-back calls. Last-minute changes delivered without warning. He watched—not openly, but enough that I felt it, like a weight pressing between my shoulder blades.
I adapted.
When he changed a meeting location with ten minutes' notice, I rerouted traffic and arranged security.
When he demanded documents I hadn't seen, I found them.
When he deliberately withheld information, I filled the gaps.
By noon, my head throbbed, but I was still standing.
He called me in again just before lunch.
"Yes?" I asked, stepping inside.
"You missed one thing," he said.
My heart sank. "What?"
He slid a file toward me. "Julian Blackwood. My cousin."
I stiffened. "The CFO?"
"Yes." His tone sharpened slightly. "You didn't flag his inconsistencies."
"I wasn't aware—"
"That's the point," he said. "You should be."
I inhaled slowly. "Are you testing me or threatening me?"
His brow lifted. "Why not both?"
I met his gaze. "I won't spy for you."
"Good," he replied. "Because spies lie."
"Then what do you want?"
"Awareness," he said. "Eyes open. Ears sharper."
"And trust?" I asked quietly.
Something flickered across his face. Gone before I could name it.
"I don't trade in trust," he said. "I trade in results."
He dismissed me with a gesture.
I left his office with my pulse racing, equal parts anger and adrenaline humming beneath my skin.
Lunch was a protein bar at my desk.
I was halfway through responding to emails when laughter drifted from the hallway. Light. Female.
I glanced up just as a woman stepped into view.
Tall. Elegant. Blonde hair styled effortlessly. She wore confidence like a tailored coat. The kind of woman who'd never spill wine on anyone because the world bent around her.
She leaned into Adrian's office without knocking.
"Adrian," she said warmly. "You're impossible to reach."
My chest tightened.
He emerged seconds later, his expression—shockingly—softening.
"Vivian," he said.
The name sent a chill down my spine.
She laughed. "Still working too hard."
"And you're still ignoring boundaries," he replied, but there was no heat in it.
Her gaze slid to me then. Curious. Sharp.
"And who is this?" she asked.
I stood automatically. "Elara Monroe. Executive assistant."
"Temporary," Adrian added.
Vivian smiled at me. It didn't reach her eyes. "Of course."
She looped her arm through Adrian's casually. Possessively.
Something ugly twisted in my stomach.
"We're having lunch," she said. "You should join us."
"I'm busy," he replied.
She pouted. "You always say that."
His gaze flicked to me. Then back to her.
"Five minutes," he said.
They disappeared down the hall.
I sat back down slowly, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard.
So that was Vivian.
The woman who'd once mattered enough to leave a mark.
I told myself I didn't care.
My chest didn't listen.
They returned twenty minutes later.
Vivian was laughing, touching his arm as if it belonged to her. Adrian looked… relaxed. Unarmed.
When they reached his office, she paused, glancing back at me.
"You seem very young," she said lightly.
I smiled politely. "I've been told."
Her eyes sharpened. "Careful. Youth fades quickly in places like this."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"That's enough," he said.
She kissed his cheek. "I'll see you tonight."
Tonight.
The word echoed unpleasantly.
After she left, Adrian stood still for a long moment, staring at the door.
"You don't need to worry about her," he said suddenly.
I blinked. "I wasn't."
"Good," he replied. "Because she's irrelevant."
The lie sat between us, heavy and obvious.
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Yes."
I turned to leave.
"Elara."
The sound of my name on his lips stopped me cold.
"Yes?"
He hesitated—actually hesitated—then shook his head. "Nothing."
I walked out, heart racing, mind spinning.
That night, I worked late. Too late.
The office emptied slowly until it was just me, the hum of fluorescent lights, and the distant sound of Adrian on a call behind closed doors.
When he finally emerged, his tie loosened, his expression dark, he paused.
"You're still here."
"So are you."
He studied me. "You didn't have to stay."
"I wanted to finish."
Something unreadable crossed his face.
"Come with me," he said suddenly.
I froze. "Where?"
"Dinner," he replied. "It's work-related."
"That sounds like a lie."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "You're learning."
"I can't—"
"You can," he interrupted. "And you will."
I stared at him, torn between instinct and necessity.
"Fine," I said finally. "But this isn't personal."
He stepped closer, voice low. "Everything is personal, Elara."
The way he said my name sent a shiver straight down my spine.
As we walked out together, the city lights blinking awake below us, I had the sudden, terrifying realisation—
This wasn't just a job anymore.
It was a game.
And Adrian Blackwood was playing to win.