The Chicago wind didn't just blow; it bit. It gnawed through my thin blazer, a thrift-store find I'd spent an hour steaming until my arms ached…all just to look like "old money."
Today, appearances were everything. Today was the difference between keeping my tiny studio apartment or packing my life into a cardboard box.
Just ten more minutes, I whispered to myself, my breath hitching in the icy air. Ten minutes of looking professional, and the job was mine.
I tightened my grip on the leather folder containing my resume—the most valuable thing I owned. Around me, the Financial District blurred into a sea of grey stone and expensive wool coats. I felt like a ghost among the living, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks trying to blend into the shadows of "The Canyon."
A sudden, low roar echoed off the glass walls of LaSalle Street. It wasn't the rattling 'L' train—it was the predatory purr of a high-performance engine.
I didn't have time to move.
A sleek, black limousine.Darker than a moonless night.. barrelled through a massive, slush-filled pothole at the curb.
The world turned into a cold, muddy tidal wave.
The water slammed into me, soaking through my ironed blouse and staining my "perfect" blazer with the filth of Chicago streets. I gasped, the shock of the cold stealing the air from my lungs. I froze, dripping, as the limousine hissed to a stop a few yards ahead.
The door opened, and a man in a crisp uniform stepped out. His face went pale with genuine horror.
"Oh, heavens! Miss, I am so sorry," he stammered, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. "The puddle... I didn't see it until…"
"You didn't see it?" My voice trembled, not from the cold, but from fury. "I am standing right here on the sidewalk! I have the most important meeting of my life in five minutes, and you just turned me into a swamp creature!"
He started to apologize again, but the heavy clack of a rear window sliding down cut him off.
The interior of the car was a different world leather, shadows, and the scent of expensive sandalwood. Through the gap, a pair of eyes caught mine. Piercing, frigid blue eyes, framed by hair as black as the car's paint. Beautiful in the way a storm is deadly and untouchable.
He didn't apologize. He didn't even look concerned. He simply reached into a leather console, pulled out a thick, banded stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed it through the window. It landed in the slush near my heels with a dull thud.
"Buy a new suit," a deep, velvet-smooth voice commanded. The arrogance in his tone made my blood boil. "And get out of the way. We're late."
I looked at the money soaking in the gutter. To anyone else, it was a month's rent. To me, in this moment, it was the most repulsive thing I had ever seen. He thought he could buy my silence. He thought my dignity had a price tag.
"Keep your money," I snapped. I reached down, snatched the wet bundle from the slush, and threw it straight back through his open window.
The stack hit his expensive leather seat with a satisfying smack.
"I don't want your charity," I spat, stepping closer so he could see the fury in my eyes. "And you can tell your driver that 'late' is no excuse for being a jerk. Some of us actually have to work for a living."
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his cool mask slipping for a split second. Before he could say another word, I turned on my wet heel and marched toward the Thorne Industries building, my head held high even as freezing water trickled down my back.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. If I turned around, I might lose my nerve. My heart thumped so hard I could feel it in my throat.
The revolving glass doors of Thorne Industries felt like the entrance to a fortress. The lobby was a cathedral of white marble and polished chrome. Silent. Expensive. Smelling of success. And there I was—dripping, shivering, and smelling like a Chicago gutter.
The golden-haired receptionist looked up, her polite smile dying.
"Can I… help you?.
"Elena Vance," I said, wiping a stray drop of muddy water from my temple. "I'm here for the 9:00 AM interview for the Executive Assistant position."
Her gaze travelled slowly from my wet hair down to my ruined blazer. "Mr. Thorne's office is on the top floor. But… Miss Vance, perhaps you should visit the restroom first?"
I spent ten minutes in the marble-tiled bathroom, frantically scrubbing at the stains with paper towels. Useless. The blazer was darkened with water, and my white blouse had turned translucent grey.
He's just a man, I told myself, staring at my pale reflection. Damon Thorne is just a name on a building. He didn't see you out there. You're fine.
I took the elevator to the 50th floor. When the doors hissed open, I was met by a sleek, minimalist space that screamed power. A stern-looking woman at a mahogany desk pointed toward a set of double oak doors.
"He's waiting for you. Don't keep him."
I took a deep breath, clutched my damp resume folder, and pushed the doors open.
The office was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. A man stood by the window, his back to me. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His bespoke charcoal suit probably cost more than my entire life.
"Mr. Thorne?" I whispered.
He didn't turn at first. "You're late, Miss Vance. I don't tolerate tardiness. My time is worth more than…."
He stopped mid-sentence as he turned
The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. The world tilted on its axis.
It was him.
The same ice-blue eyes. The same chiseled, arrogant jawline. The man from the limousine.
He froze, his gaze raking over my damp, shivering frame. His eyes narrowed, moving from my face down to the water-stained folder in my hands. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips.
"Well," Damon Thorne said, his voice a low, vibrating hum, "I believe you have something of mine. Or did you spend that 'charity' on a new suit already?"
My face burned a vivid, humiliating pink. I had insulted the king in his own castle, and now, I was at his mercy.
"I… I didn't know," I stammered.
Damon stepped away from the window, walking toward me with a slow, deliberate stride until he was standing directly in my personal space. The scent of sandalwood enveloped me again, making my head spin. He reached out, his long fingers plucking the damp resume from my hand.
"You have a very loud voice, Elena," he whispered, leaning dow
n until his breath brushed my ear. "Let's see if your work is as impressive as your temper."