The lounge at the Blackstone Hotel shimmered with quiet luxury.
Golden chandeliers cast a soft glow over the velvet seating, and the air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey, expensive perfume, and silent power.
Elena sat alone in a corner booth, a glass of red wine untouched before her.
She wasn't here for the drinks.
She was here to think, to plan.
But fate had other ideas.
Across the room, the staff subtly shifted like waves parting around a storm. Suits straightened, servers cleared a path, and silence rippled through the air.
He walked in.
Damian Blackwood.
CEO of Blackwood Industries. Billionaire. Untouchable.
A man known for destroying his rivals with a single deal. Rumored to have a heart as cold as his perfectly tailored suits.
Elena recognized him instantly.
She remembered him from the news. From whispers in corridors. From a single glance during a party in her past life, one where he hadn't even spared her a look.
Now, he walked past her table, heading for the bar without a pause.
But just then, the bartender spilled a splash of scotch across the marble, flinching as the golden liquid trailed toward Damian's sleeve.
The man's eyes narrowed.
"Amateurs," he muttered, flicking the bartender a disdainful glance.
He grabbed a napkin and wiped his wrist with clinical distaste.
Elena smirked into her wine glass, unable to help herself.
"If you hate amateurs so much," she said, voice cool and clear, "maybe try building your own planet."
He turned slowly.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched.
Then he faced her fully.
His eyes, cold steel under dark lashes, locked onto hers.
"Excuse me?" he said, not with anger, but with razor-sharp curiosity.
Elena tilted her head, unbothered.
"You heard me," she said. "Unless you think I need to repeat myself… slowly."
His lips quirked, just slightly. The staff looked horrified.
No one talked to Damian Blackwood like that.
No one dared.
But here she was, smirking at him like he was just another spoiled executive with too much ego and too little charm.
He stepped closer, the air shifting.
Most women would've shrunk under his gaze.
Elena didn't move.
She met it.
Something flickered behind his eyes. A dangerous, intrigued spark.
He studied her for a moment longer, then spoke.
"What's your name?"