Chapter Two: The Price of Pride
I didn't know what I was expecting when Damon Wolfe said, "Come with me." Maybe a quick dressing down, a dismissal, or—if I was lucky—a warning to stay out of his way.
Instead, I was dragged through a maze of hallways and private rooms that screamed money and power. The polished marble floors reflected the cold, sterile lights overhead, and every step echoed like a countdown to my doom.
Damon led me into a small, glass-walled office overlooking the city skyline, the glow of skyscraper lights blurring into a glittering sea below. He closed the door behind us, and suddenly the noise from the gala disappeared—left only was the oppressive silence and his piercing gaze.
"Name," he said, his voice clipped.
I swallowed hard. "Lina Cruz."
"Lina," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "You just ruined a very expensive suit. My suit."
I wanted to apologize. I wanted to explain that it was an accident—that my heels slipped, the tray was too heavy, the room too crowded. But my voice caught in my throat.
Instead, Damon's sharp eyes scanned me like a weapon inspecting a target.
"You think this is some joke?" His tone was cold enough to freeze fire. "You embarrassed me in front of investors, donors, the entire city's elite."
I nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
He sat behind the massive mahogany desk, fingers steepled. "You're lucky I don't call security and have you thrown out."
I blinked. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wolfe. It was an accident. I didn't mean—"
"Save it." He cut me off, standing abruptly. "I'm not here to listen to excuses. But since you're so eager to work, I have a proposition."
I frowned. "A proposition?"
He walked to the window and stared out at the city lights, his voice dropping to a quieter, more dangerous tone.
"You owe me now, Lina. Not with money—you don't have it. But with time."
I didn't understand, and before I could ask, Damon turned back, eyes burning like molten steel.
"For the next month, you will work for me. Not as an employee. As… an assistant. To me."
My heart stuttered. "Why would you want that?"
"Because," he said with a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes, "you're the kind of problem I enjoy solving."
I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. But the reality of my life—the crushing weight of bills, my mother's medical debts, the rent overdue by weeks—kept my feet planted on the marble floor.
"Fine," I whispered, voice barely audible. "I'll do it."
Damon nodded once. "Good. We start tomorrow morning. Eight sharp. Don't be late."
Before I could say anything else, the door opened, and a tall woman in a sharp suit stepped in. "Mr. Wolfe, your 8:00 is here."
Damon's jaw tightened. "Lina, meet Marissa. She'll be your supervisor."
Marissa's eyes flicked over me, unreadable but not warm. "Don't make me regret hiring you."
The words stung worse than any slap.
---
The next morning, the city was a different beast. The early sun glinted off towering glass buildings, the streets already buzzing with suits and briefcases, a world I'd only glimpsed from the outside.
I stood in the lobby of Wolfe Enterprises, my hands clenched into fists. My thrift-store blouse and worn jeans felt like armor—or a target. Every step echoed in the cavernous marble space as I waited for Damon.
When he finally arrived, the effect was immediate. Tall, impeccably dressed, with an air of control that seemed to suck the light from the room, Damon was every inch the CEO people whispered about in hushed tones.
"Follow me," he said without looking back.
His office was an extension of him—minimalist, powerful, and cold. The leather chair, the massive desk, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city like a king surveying his kingdom.
"Your first task," Damon said, tossing a thick folder onto the desk, "is to manage my calendar and screen my meetings."
I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. Inside, I was spinning—how did I get here? How was I supposed to juggle a job I never wanted with a man who already made my life miserable?
"Do you have any experience?" Damon asked, eyes narrowing.
"None," I admitted.
He smirked. "Good. Then you have nowhere to hide."
Days bled into nights. I learned that working for Damon Wolfe wasn't just difficult—it was brutal. Every mistake was magnified, every misstep punished with icy silence or a sharp word. Marissa shadowed me like a hawk, making sure I stayed on edge.
But beneath Damon's ruthless exterior, I sensed a storm—something deeper and darker than simple anger. Sometimes, when he thought I wasn't watching, his jaw would tighten, or his eyes would cloud over for a second.
I wanted to unravel him. But I knew better than to get close.
Still, every day I survived felt like a small victory. Every smirk I caught on Damon's face when I didn't break under pressure felt like a crack in his armor.
Maybe, just maybe, this miserable misfortune wasn't the end of my story.