Elena stood in front of her apartment window, fingers curled around a chipped coffee mug she hadn't yet remembered to drink from. The rain tapped against the glass in soft, irregular beats, like a lullaby for her anxious heart.
She hadn't heard back from the interview. It had only been a day, but the silence weighed on her like a storm cloud.
Then her phone rang.
She nearly dropped the mug.
Damian Blackthorn.
Her fingers trembled as she swiped the screen. "Hello?"
"Elena," came his voice — smooth, low, with that effortless calm that made her stomach twist in unfamiliar ways. "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."
"N-No! Not at all. I mean… I'm home. It's fine."
There was a pause, a gentle exhale from his side. "Good. I've been thinking about you."
Her heart skipped.
"I know this might sound sudden," he continued, his voice like velvet. "But there's something about you I haven't been able to get out of my mind. You're... different."
She blinked. Her reflection stared back at her in the window — messy bun, faded sweatshirt, a woman who had barely made rent last month. "Different?"
"In a good way," he said, as if reading her doubt. "You're genuine. Kind. And when you spoke in that interview, I didn't just hear answers. I saw heart."
Elena swallowed. Her fingers tightened around the mug.
"I don't usually do this," Damian continued, "but I'd like to see you again. Not as an employer. As a man."
A stunned silence filled the space between them. Her brain struggled to catch up with her heartbeat.
"I—are you saying…" she hesitated, unsure how to phrase it without sounding ridiculous, "you want to date me?"
"I want to get to know you, Elena. And maybe something more." He paused, and his tone softened. "If you're willing."
She sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, like her knees forgot how to hold her up. "I… I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," he said quietly. "Let me take you out. Just once. If it feels wrong, we stop. But if it doesn't…"
She nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her. "Yes. I mean, okay. I'd love to."
A smile curled on her lips, slow and stunned. It felt like something out of a book she used to read before life got too heavy.
"I'll pick you up Friday night," he said, his voice warm now, confident. "Wear something you love."
They hung up a minute later, but her heart didn't stop racing.
She clutched the phone to her chest and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Her entire world had just shifted. A man like Damian Blackthorn — powerful, untouchable — had seen her. Not just seen her, but chosen her.
In another part of the city, Damian stared at his phone with a small, satisfied smile.
He leaned back in his leather chair, one hand swirling the amber liquid in his crystal glass.
She said yes.
Of course she did.
"She'll fall," he murmured, almost to himself. "Easier than I thought."
There was no trace of warmth in his voice now. No hint of emotion. Only calculation.
Elena Hart was perfect. Soft, eager, trusting. The kind who wore her heart on her sleeve — the kind who would believe every word he said.
He didn't need her love. He needed her loyalty. He needed her to look at him like he was her world — while he pulled the strings to secure his own.
"Step one," he said, downing the rest of his drink. "Initiated."