"I don't like unfinished business."
The words hung between us like smoke.
I kept my hand on the contract, but I didn't open it again.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city looked small from up here. Cars crawled like insects. People hurried through lives Damian Vale would never have to notice.
Inside his office, everything was quiet enough to hear my pulse.
"You ruined my reputation," I said. "Now you want me to fetch your coffee?"
A flicker of amusement touched his mouth.
"If I wanted coffee, I'd hire someone obedient."
"I'm not for sale."
"No." His gaze dropped to the contract beneath my fingers. "You're expensive."
I hated that line more because part of me almost admired it.
I straightened. "Why me?"
"I already told you."
"I want the real answer."
He rose from his chair.
Even with several feet between us, the room felt smaller.
Damian moved with the lazy confidence of a man who had never feared consequences. He stopped in front of the desk, close enough for me to smell cedar and something darker.
"The real answer," he said quietly, "is that you interest me."
My laugh came sharp.
"I was more interesting when I was homeless?"
"You were more honest."
The insult landed cleanly.
I lifted the contract and flipped through it.
High salary.
Housing allowance.
Medical coverage.
Transportation.
A signing bonus large enough to clear my mother's overdue bills today.
My throat tightened.
He knew exactly where to aim.
"What's my job description?" I asked.
"Schedule management. Internal correspondence. Private meetings."
"Private meetings?"
"You'll take notes. Try not to flatter yourself."
I slammed the folder shut.
"You enjoy this."
"I enjoy efficiency."
"No. You enjoy watching people choose what they swore they never would."
For the first time, his expression sharpened.
There.
A nerve.
"Careful, Serena."
"Why? Will you leak more photos?"
Silence.
Then he reached into a drawer and tossed something onto the desk.
My employee ID badge from the charity gala.
I stared at it.
"How did you get this?"
"You left it in my penthouse."
I picked it up slowly. The photo showed me smiling—taken months ago, before life became a headline.
"You had this the whole time?"
"Yes."
"You could have proven I was staff. That I belonged there."
"Yes."
Rage rose so fast it blurred my vision.
"You let them call me a prostitute."
"I let the story move."
I moved before thinking.
My palm struck his face hard enough to sting.
The crack echoed through the office.
Neither of us moved.
The city beyond the glass kept shining.
My hand trembled.
Damian turned his head back slowly, jaw tight, cheek reddening beneath my fingers' mark.
Then he smiled.
It was worse than anger.
"Congratulations," he said softly. "You've made this personal."
"It already was."
I grabbed the pen from the desk.
Signed the contract.
My name cut across the page in sharp black strokes.
There.
If he wanted war close enough to touch, I would bring it to his desk every morning.
I threw the pen down.
"You don't own me."
"No," he said, taking the signed papers. "But you do work for me."
He pressed a button on his desk.
The door opened instantly.
A woman in a fitted navy suit entered carrying a tablet. Mid-thirties, flawless posture, eyes too intelligent to miss anything.
"Miss Hart," Damian said. "Meet my new assistant."
Her gaze moved over my worn shoes, damp coat, and cheap suitcase by the door.
No pity. No surprise.
Just calculation.
"Welcome to Vale Group," she said.
It somehow sounded like a threat.
"Miss Hart will take you to Human Resources, wardrobe fitting, and your new apartment."
I blinked. "Wardrobe fitting?"
"You represent me now."
"I'd rather wear rags."
"You already did."
I stepped toward him before I could stop myself.
Miss Hart smoothly moved between us.
Professional reflex.
Interesting.
"Don't test me on my first day," I said.
"Then don't disappoint me on yours."
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, then at me.
"Your mother's hospital has received payment for the next six months."
My stomach dropped.
"I didn't ask you to do that."
"No," he said. "You signed instead."
He answered the call and dismissed me with his eyes.
Like I was already staff.
Miss Hart gestured toward the hallway.
"This way."
I stood frozen for one humiliating second, then turned and followed her out.
The private elevator was silent until the doors closed.
Then Miss Hart looked at me fully.
"Advice?" she said.
"I didn't ask for any."
"I know. You look like the type who learns painfully."
I folded my arms.
"Then save it."
Her mouth curved slightly.
"Mr. Vale gets bored easily. Survive longer than the others."
The elevator dropped.
"The others?"
She faced forward again.
"You're not the first woman he's hired in anger."
Cold slid through me.
"And how many stayed?"
The doors opened.
Miss Hart stepped out first.
"None."
Human Resources took twenty minutes.
Wardrobe took forty.
The apartment key card took ten.
By afternoon, I stood alone inside a luxury apartment three blocks from Vale Tower.
White walls. Designer furniture. Full city view.
Everything perfect.
Everything temporary.
On the kitchen counter sat a single envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Be in my office at 7 A.M. tomorrow.Late once, and you're fired.
No signature.
None needed.
I crumpled the note in my fist.
Then I looked out over the city he believed he owned.
"Enjoy today," I whispered.
Because the devil had just invited his enemy into the house.