The rain had started again.

Fat droplets splattered against Isla Monroe’s umbrella as she stood in front of the towering glass skyscraper of Blackwood Enterprises. The city skyline loomed above her, cold and unforgiving—much like the man waiting inside.

Her fingers tightened around the umbrella handle. Damien Blackwood.

Even the name tasted bitter on her tongue. A ruthless, calculating monster. The man responsible for everything her family had lost. He was untouchable, a king in a throne built of power and corruption.

And now, she was about to step into his world.

This is temporary, she reminded herself. A job. A paycheck. A means to an end. If her mother’s hospital bills weren’t drowning her, if her father hadn’t lost everything because of him, she wouldn’t be here.

A gust of wind sent a chill through her coat, but she didn’t move. One step inside that building meant crossing a line she could never uncross.

“Miss Monroe?”

The voice startled her. A well-dressed woman in a sharp black suit stood at the entrance, an earpiece tucked discreetly in her ear. “You’re expected upstairs.”

Right. No turning back now.

Isla squared her shoulders and followed the woman through the gleaming glass doors.

The lobby was as cold as she imagined—sleek marble floors, towering ceilings, and an air of quiet efficiency. Employees moved with purpose, dressed in crisp suits, their conversations hushed and precise.

She didn’t belong here.

The woman led her straight to the private elevator, swiping a keycard before stepping inside. The doors slid shut, enclosing them in silence.

“Nervous?” The woman’s tone was unreadable.

“No.” A lie. A big one.

The woman gave her a knowing look but said nothing as the elevator began its smooth ascent. Isla forced herself to breathe.

Damien Blackwood was just a man. A powerful, ruthless one, yes—but a man nonetheless.

She could handle this.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened to reveal the top floor—a space that was all steel, glass, and unrelenting dominance. A long hallway stretched ahead, leading to the inevitable.

The woman stopped before a set of tall, black double doors.

“He’s waiting.”

Of course, he was.

Isla hesitated for half a second before gripping the handle and pushing the door open.

Damien Blackwood didn’t look up right away.

He sat behind an expansive black desk, reviewing a set of documents, his pen moving with sharp precision. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city behind him, the storm outside casting dark reflections across the sleek office.

Then, he lifted his gaze.

And everything inside Isla went still.

Damien Blackwood wasn’t just powerful. He looked it—every inch of him carved from dominance and unshakable confidence. Dark hair, sharp jaw, piercing gray eyes that missed nothing.

For a moment, the world outside that office ceased to exist.

Then, he spoke.

“Miss Monroe.”

The way he said her name—calm, deliberate—sent a shiver through her.

Isla forced herself to step forward. “Mr. Blackwood.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying her the way a predator might study prey. “Punctual. That’s a good start.”

His voice was deep, controlled, laced with the kind of authority that didn’t require raising its volume to demand attention.

She clenched her hands into fists. “I’m here for the job.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Are you?”

She hated the way his presence unsettled her. He was too composed, too unreadable.

“Yes.”

Damien set his pen down and rose to his feet. He was tall. Imposing. The kind of man who commanded rooms without trying.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question.

Isla’s heart slammed against her ribs, but she refused to flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A smirk ghosted across his lips, dark and knowing. “Lying doesn’t suit you.”

Her nails bit into her palm.

This was a mistake.

She should have never come here.

But then Damien stepped closer—just enough for his presence to press against her, a subtle invasion of space that sent her pulse into chaos.

“Yet, here you are,” he murmured. “Willingly.”

Isla forced herself to meet his gaze, summoning every ounce of defiance left in her. “I need this job.”

“And I need an assistant who knows her place.” His voice was low, edged with something almost dangerous.

Heat curled in her stomach, an unwelcome response to the way he looked at her.

She hated him. She did.

Didn’t she?

Damien’s lips curved into a smirk, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Welcome to Blackwood Enterprises, Miss Monroe.”