At 6:47 a.m., I was already in the lobby.
I refused to give Damian Vale the satisfaction of calling me late on my first day.
The marble floors gleamed beneath the morning lights. Men in tailored suits crossed the lobby with expensive coffee and expensive confidence. Women in heels moved like they had mastered the art of never rushing.
And then there was me.
New black blouse from yesterday's forced wardrobe fitting. Pencil skirt I hated on principle. Hair tied back. Eyes sharp from lack of sleep.
I looked like I belonged.
I didn't.
The receptionist glanced up, recognized me, and quickly looked back down.
Interesting.
Yesterday she had treated me like an intruder.
Today she treated me like a problem she couldn't afford to offend.
Money changed manners faster than morality ever could.
At exactly 6:59, the private elevator doors opened.
Miss Hart stepped out first.
"You're early," she said.
"I'm allergic to unemployment."
Something close to approval flickered across her face.
"Good. Keep that fear. It may save you."
She handed me a tablet.
"Mr. Vale's schedule. Memorize it."
I scanned the screen while walking.
7:00 — Internal briefing8:30 — Investor call10:00 — Board meeting1:00 — Private lunch3:00 — Legal review6:00 — Charity gala planning
My steps slowed.
"Charity gala?"
"The same foundation where you met him," Miss Hart said.
"Met him?"
Her eyes stayed forward.
"Choose your battles carefully, Serena."
The elevator doors opened to the top floor.
I stepped out into cold silence and glass walls.
Damian's office door was already open.
He stood by the window in a dark suit, one hand adjusting his cufflink. Morning light cut across the sharp lines of his face.
He didn't turn.
"You're one minute early."
"You sound disappointed."
"I'm deciding whether punctuality suits you."
"It suits people who hate giving enemies free victories."
That got his attention.
He looked at me fully.
Slowly.
Not like a man admiring a woman.
Like a man assessing a weapon.
"The clothes helped," he said.
"I was beautiful before."
His mouth curved faintly.
Dangerous.
Unexpected.
Then it vanished.
"Coffee."
I blinked.
"You have an entire building of staff."
"I asked for coffee, not commentary."
I stood still.
He waited.
Miss Hart wisely disappeared.
I walked to the machine in the corner, made the strongest espresso available, and returned.
Then I set it just out of his reach.
"You forgot to say please."
His eyes lifted to mine.
The room went very quiet.
"Do all your survival instincts fail this early in the day?" he asked.
"Only around arrogant men."
He took one step closer.
Then another.
Until the desk edge pressed into the back of my thighs.
I hated that my pulse reacted first.
"You confuse bravery with impulse," he said softly.
"And you confuse power with personality."
For one reckless second, I thought I'd gone too far.
Then he picked up the coffee.
Drank once.
Never breaking eye contact.
"Boardroom," he said. "Bring the tablet."
The boardroom seated twenty people who all looked annoyed to see me.
Older men. Sharp suits. Controlled expressions.
One woman in pearls stared openly.
Damian entered behind me and every spine straightened.
Interesting.
Fear had excellent posture.
He took the head seat.
I moved to the side wall.
"Begin," he said.
Numbers started flying.
Quarterly projections.
Regional expansion.
Risk exposure.
I took notes quickly, saying nothing.
Then a silver-haired man slid a file across the table.
"There's also the matter of the scandal," he said carefully.
The room stilled.
Damian didn't touch the file.
"What matter?"
"Your recent media exposure has caused concern among shareholders."
His eyes turned cold enough to freeze glass.
"Concern from whom?"
The man hesitated.
No one answered.
Cowards in expensive watches.
Then the woman in pearls looked directly at me.
"With respect, bringing… her here today sends an unfortunate message."
There it was.
Her.
Not my name.
Not my role.
Her.
I kept my face blank.
Damian tapped one finger on the table.
Once.
The sound cracked through the silence.
"You're right," he said.
Relief crossed several faces.
Then he continued.
"It does send a message."
He leaned back slightly.
"That message is that anyone discussing my personal life during a financial meeting can clear their desk by noon."
No one breathed.
The woman in pearls went pale.
The silver-haired man stared at his notes like they might save him.
Damian's gaze moved to me.
"Miss Quinn."
"Yes?"
"Read page six. Since everyone seems distracted."
I opened the report instantly.
Revenue forecast. Acquisition timeline.
I read clearly, steadily, without shaking.
By the second paragraph, no one looked amused anymore.
By the end, no one looked at me at all.
Good.
When the meeting adjourned, chairs moved quickly.
People avoided my eyes on their way out.
Except the woman in pearls.
She paused beside me.
"This won't last," she said quietly.
I smiled.
"Neither will your seat, if you keep misreading the room."
She left first.
Miss Hart appeared at my shoulder like she had risen from the carpet.
"Well done."
"Was that a compliment?"
"Don't get used to it."
She handed me another folder.
"Lunch briefing. Move."
By noon, I had learned three things.
First: Damian controlled rooms without raising his voice.
Second: everyone feared him, but many hated him.
Third: he enjoyed watching me adapt.
That last part irritated me most.
I entered his office without knocking.
He glanced up from his laptop.
"You're learning."
"I'm here because Miss Hart said lunch briefing."
"She did."
He closed the laptop.
"Cancel lunch."
"Why?"
"Because I'm having it with you."
I laughed once.
"No."
"You misunderstand." He stood. "That wasn't a request."
He walked past me, close enough for his shoulder to brush mine.
Heat. Anger. Something less useful.
At the door, he paused.
"Try to keep up, Serena."
Then he left me there holding the folder like a fool.
I looked at the skyline beyond the glass.
Day one.
And I already wanted to kill him.