Elena Moretti Reeds pressed her palms together and whispered a silent prayer.
"Please, just let this be the one."
The heels she borrowed from her cousin pinched her toes with every step toward the sleek glass building towering above the city streets. She couldn't afford a cab, and her blouse was slightly damp from the walk under the spring sun—but Elena held her head high.
She'd memorized every line of her résumé. She'd practiced answers in front of the mirror until her voice cracked. But still, the butterflies in her stomach thrashed like a storm.
This job—an assistant position at Blackthorn Enterprises—meant more than just a paycheck. It meant helping her mother pay off hospital bills. It meant saving her little brother from dropping out of school. It meant breathing room. Survival.
Elena stepped into the lobby. Marble floors. Gold trim. Cold air conditioning that made her skin prickle. The receptionist barely glanced up as she directed her toward the 27th floor.
By the time the elevator doors opened, Elena's nerves had tightened into a knot. She greeted the HR manager with a polite smile, her hands lightly shaking as she offered her documents.
The interview began. Questions flew at her like bullets—"Why do you want this job?" "How do you handle stress?" "What's your experience with corporate scheduling?"
Elena answered as best as she could, though she could tell from the woman's blank expression that her humble background and community college degree weren't impressing anyone.
And then the woman said, "That'll be all. We'll contact you if we move forward."
That's what they always said.
Don't cry, Elena told herself. Not here. Not now.
As she stood and turned to leave, the door to the office suddenly opened again.
"Elena Moretti?" a voice called out.
She paused.
A tall, suited man stood in the doorway, holding a sleek black tablet. He had neatly combed hair and a tight-lipped smile. "Mr. Blackthorn would like to see you."
Her breath caught in her throat. "M-Mr. Blackthorn? As in...?"
"Yes. The CEO."
Damian Blackthorn hated wasting time.
He leaned back in his leather chair, eyes flicking across the screen of his phone as his assistant summarized the list of "eligible" women his board had suggested.
He snorted under his breath.
Heiresses. Socialites. Women who wore their family's name like a crown and had egos to match. None of them were what he wanted.
Not that he wanted love. Love was a lie—he'd learned that the hard way.
But marriage? That was strategy.
Control of the company his late father once ran now sat at the mercy of a clause in his inheritance: if Damian wasn't married by the end of the fiscal year, the board would have the right to challenge his position.
And he wasn't about to lose everything because of a piece of paper.
"I need someone simple," Damian murmured, mostly to himself. "Someone without an agenda. Someone I can manage."
He swiped through another profile, then paused when his assistant knocked.
"There's a candidate in HR right now. Elena Moretti. She's here for the assistant role. Her background's clean. No connections. Lives with her sick mother. Struggling financially."
Damian raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting," he said, standing. "Send her in."
Elena's hands trembled as she stepped into the office.
And then she saw him.
So this is the CEO…
Damian Blackthorn looked like he belonged in a movie—tall, lean, sharply dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. His eyes were a piercing steel gray, his expression unreadable.
He didn't offer a handshake. He didn't smile.
"Sit."
Elena obeyed, clutching her purse tightly.
"You're here for the assistant position."
"Yes, sir."
Damian studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment.
"You took public transportation to get here?"
Her cheeks flushed. "Yes, sir."
"Your résumé is... unpolished. You've worked in retail. Waitressing. A receptionist gig that barely lasted three months."
"I—I was caring for my mother," Elena said quickly. "She's ill. It got in the way of—"
"I don't need excuses," Damian cut in. His voice was ice.
Elena lowered her gaze, heart sinking.
But then he said something she didn't expect.
"You're hired."
She blinked. "Wait—what?"
"I want you to start immediately. Today, if possible."
Her lips parted, speechless. "But... why?"
Damian didn't answer.
He stood, walked around the desk, and stood in front of her.
"Tell me, Miss Moretti... do you believe in fate?"
"I—what?"
He leaned in, just a little. His cologne was sharp and clean. His eyes searched hers.
"I do," he said quietly. "And I think you walked in here for a reason."
Elena's heart raced.
She didn't know what he meant, but when he looked at her like that—like she was seen for the first time in a long while—her lungs forgot how to breathe.
And Damian?
Damian watched her with calculating calm.
She was perfect.
Sweet. Vulnerable. Grateful.
Exactly what he needed.
He could fake a romance. Pretend to fall for her. Make her believe it was love.
Then, once they were married, he'd secure his control over the company—and when the time was right, he'd walk away.
Clean.
Unattached.
Untouched.
Love was for fools. And Damian Blackthorn would never be a fool again.