ELENA’S POV
The Cross Enterprises tower pierced the Manhattan sky, a shiny glass beat that made my gut twist. I stood on the sidewalk, boots stuck to the ground, portfolio hugged tight.
Four years back, I was in my high school gym, graduation cap still on, staring at a crappy TV in the coach’s office. ‘Explosion at Cross Enterprises lab, one dead.’ Mateo’s face, my big brother, my rock; popped up on the screen, twenty-two, and gone. The news called it an accident, swept it under the rug faster than a race car driver. No answers, no justice, just talk of some shady AI project called AURORA. I was eighteen, broken, promising I’d make them pay, and now I am here. The weight of grief, anger, and fear felt like it would crush me.
I’d clawed my way through graphic design school, lousy internships, and late nights building a portfolio to crack this place. Julian Cross and Elias Navarro, the jerks tied to Mateo’s death, didn’t know I was his sister. To them, I was Elena Marquez, just another designer, but I was here to rip their world apart from the inside. My heart was pounding, what if I mess up? What if I lose myself? I pushed the fear down as I stroked the silver bracelet Mateo gave me, its tiny charm grounding me.
The revolving door hissed as I stepped in, the lobby’s cold, all smooth marble and sharp edges. My blazer’s tight, my curls packed into a bun but my eyes burned in the reflection. I looked like I belonged, but inside, I was a wreck. The security guy checked my ID, barely glancing up.
“Fifteenth floor, design team’s waiting”
I nodded, heading to the elevator. The ride was a haze, the doors pinged open, and I stepped into a buzzing office. Screens glowing, designers scribbling on tablets, and the air was thickened with coffee. A woman with a tight ponytail, maybe mid-thirties, strode over.
“Elena?”
“That’s me,” I forced a smile, gripping my portfolio.
“Tara, team lead, let’s go”, her heels clicked as she led me to a glass office. “Your desk’s here, branding files are on your computer, and you need to start now.”
“Got it,” I dropped my bag, scanning the room, sleek monitors, a locked cabinet in the corner labeled ‘Archives’. I turned to Tara. “What’s the deal with Julian Cross? Do we work with him directly?”
Tara snorted, adjusting her glasses. “The CEO? Dream on, newbie, You don’t get to him. focus on your work, and not chasing big names.”
My jaw tightened, four years of hustling, and I was still cut off from the guy who let Mateo died? No way. I opened my mouth, but a smooth voice interrupted.
“Well, damn, who’s this?” Elias Navarro leaned in the doorway, all lean muscle and sharp cheekbones. His brown eyes locked on me, warm but sly, like he was hunting and sizing up his prey. My pulse spiked, I knew him from Mateo’s emails and news clips—COO, tied to AURORA, he was there, part of what killed my brother, and he was stupidly hot, which pissed me off.
Tara rolled her eyes. “Elias, this is Elena, new designer, and please don’t mess with her.”
He grinned, pure charm. “Mess? I’m just welcoming her.” He stepped closer, his cologne smelled d wood and sin, hit me hard. “You’re going to shake things up, right, Elena?”
I matched his grin, leaning in just enough to play along. “Only if you can keep up.” My voice was cool, but my body betrayed me, tingling at his broad shoulders, his tight shirt, and I hated it. He was a liar, and I was here to ruin him, not drool.
“Oh, I keep up.” He winked, but his eyes flickered, shock? Fear? It went so fast, buried under that flirty mask. “Catch you later, new girl.”
He strolled off, and I exhaled, my skin buzzing. He had no idea who I was, not a chance, but he was hiding something, and I’d pry it out, even if it was dirty.
I was barely at my desk when the office shifted, designers stood, straightening up. I glanced up, and there her was: Julian Cross, striding past the glass walls—sharp jaw, gray eyes like a storm, suit screaming cash. My breath got caught, and it was not just hate; he was fucking gorgeous, a predator in fancy clothes, and I wanted to punch myself for noticing. This was the guy who hid Mateo’s death, who built lies into billions.
He stopped, his gaze cutting through, landing on me. “You,” he commanded, voice low and rough, like he owned the room. “Follow me.”
Tara frowned but stayed quiet. I grabbed my portfolio, legs all wobbly, and followed to a corner office that screamed money; dark desk, huge windows, the city stretching below. A framed photo on a shelf caught my eyes: a lab, sleek and sterile, with AURORA etched on a sign, my stomach twisted. He shut the door, and the air turned thick, charged with something dangerous.
“You’re Elena Marquez?” He leaned on his desk, his arms crossed, shirt tight on his muscles. He looked at me slowly, like his eyes could undress me causing a weird heat to form in my body, and I hated it.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I said as i lifted my chin, staring right back at him, not giving in.
He smirked, cold and sharp. “You don’t have the job yet.”
I blinked, thrown. “I was hired. I---”
“You’re here to prove yourself.” He steps closer, towering, his scent of leather and heat, flooded my head. “You want in? earn it.”
My blood boiled. “I’ve earned it, my portfolio---”
“Means nothing till I say so.” His voice is a growl, and he’s too close, his breath hot on my cheek. “My penthouse, eight, tonight. We’ll talk about your… approval.”
I froze, rage and something worse, heat pooling low. “You can’t just—"
He tossed a black card on the desk, the address glinting. “Don’t waste my time. Show up, or you’re done.”
“You can’t just—” I started, but he was turning away.
“Get out,” he snapped. “Penthouse. Eight, if you want it.”
I snatched the card, hands shaking with fury and a betraying thrill. my mind was stuck on his eyes, his voice, the way he looked like he’d eat me alive. I stormed out the office blurring, and hit the street, the city’s noise matching my pulse. What the fuck? Julian Cross thinks he can scare me? treat me like some desperate bitch? Screw that, I’ve fought too hard to quit.
I shove the card in my pocket, heading for the subway, when my phone buzzed, unknown number. I opened the text and my blood froze: ‘Quit, while you still can.’
Across the street, a hooded figure watched, then slipped ed into an alley.