Clara could feel the exhaustion pressing at her shoulders even though it was only her fourth day at Cross Enterprises. Between long hours, learning unfamiliar systems, and navigating the constant stares of her colleagues, she was starting to wonder if she'd made a mistake joining this company.
The corporate floor buzzed with energy—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, footsteps echoing on polished marble floors. Yet beneath that hum of productivity lingered something heavier: the constant fear of Damien Cross, the CEO whose icy presence seemed to stretch over every corner of the building.
Clara carried a stack of reports across the open office space, focusing hard on her breathing. She wouldn't stumble. She wouldn't trip. She wouldn't spill coffee on anyone. She had already made enough of a spectacle this week, and she swore she would do everything in her power to keep her dignity intact.
"Clara," a voice sing-songed behind her.
She turned to see Lydia, one of the senior assistants, leaning against her desk with a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. Lydia was polished perfection—sharp suit, flawless makeup, the kind of woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a lifestyle magazine.
"Yes?" Clara asked, shifting the reports in her arms.
Lydia twirled a pen between manicured fingers. "Be a dear and finish the expense reports for me, won't you? Mr. Damien wants them on his desk by tomorrow morning."
Clara blinked. She had her own mountain of work already waiting on her desk. "I thought those were assigned to you?" she asked carefully.
Lydia's smile thinned. "They were. But since you're new, it's only fair that you… contribute. Besides, you probably don't have much else going on yet."
Clara's jaw tightened. She knew what this was: a test. Lydia clearly saw her as an easy target, someone green enough to be used as a dumping ground. Clara had been raised to respect authority, but she also knew when she was being taken advantage of.
Taking a deep breath, she set the reports down and met Lydia's gaze. "I appreciate you thinking of me, but I already have tasks Mr. Damien personally assigned. If I don't finish those, I'll be the one in trouble."
A flicker of irritation crossed Lydia's face before she recovered her composure. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't give you a chance to prove yourself useful."
Clara forced a polite smile and walked away, though inside her heart raced. It wasn't easy standing up to people like Lydia, especially in an environment where one wrong move could cost her job. Still, she refused to be treated like a pushover.
By the time she made it back to her desk, the whispers had already started. She could feel eyes on her, hear the subtle rustle of gossip. No doubt Lydia was already painting her as insubordinate. Clara tried to shake it off. She didn't come here to win popularity contests. She came here to work.
The following morning, Clara found herself sitting at the long mahogany conference table, hands clasped tightly in her lap. The senior team was gathered for a strategy meeting, papers neatly arranged, laptops glowing faintly. She sat at the very end, far from Damien Cross, though the pull of his presence reached her even from there.
When he entered, the room seemed to freeze. Damien didn't need to raise his voice to command silence; his very existence demanded it. Tall, immaculate in his tailored suit, with that perpetual unreadable expression, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a business magazine. His gaze swept across the room once, sharp and assessing, before he set his leather folder on the table and took his seat.
"Quarterly results," he said without preamble, voice low but firm. "They're disappointing."
Clara's stomach knotted as slides were projected onto the screen at the front. Charts, numbers, comparisons—all telling the same story: performance was down.
Damien leaned back in his chair, hands steepled. "I expect better. From all of you. These errors," he gestured toward the screen, "are not acceptable."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though it was thinly veiled fear more than anything else.
Clara's eyes flicked to the data. She wasn't an expert, but she had spent the past few nights poring over reports. Something didn't add up. The mistakes Damien was pointing out didn't originate from the lower-level staff, as he implied. They were rooted in a flawed directive issued from one of the senior executives.
Her pulse quickened. Should she say something? She was new. Speaking out in a meeting like this—against Damien, no less—was practically suicide. She should keep her mouth shut, nod along like everyone else, and pray she wasn't singled out.
But the words burned inside her chest.
She raised her hand slightly, voice quiet at first. "Excuse me, Sir… but I think the issue didn't start with the junior staff."
The room fell silent. All heads turned toward her in disbelief. Clara felt the heat rising to her cheeks but pressed on.
She pointed to the data on the slide. "The mistake came from the projections sent down by upper management. The staff only followed what they were given. If we're looking to fix the problem, shouldn't we start there?"
The air thickened instantly. Several executives shifted uncomfortably. Lydia shot Clara a look that could have sliced glass.
Damien's gaze landed on her, sharp and penetrating. The weight of it was enough to make her breath hitch. For a moment, she regretted everything. She wanted to shrink into her chair, to disappear.
But then—something flickered in his eyes. Interest. Surprise.
The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but not entirely disdain either. "If you think you can do better," he said, his tone cool and measured, "prove it."
Clara's heart thundered in her chest. She couldn't tell if it was a challenge, a warning, or both.
"Yes, sir," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice.
A few people around the table exchanged astonished glances. Damien rarely entertained dissent, and yet here she was, not only speaking out but being handed an opportunity.
The meeting continued, though Clara barely heard the rest. Her pulse refused to calm, her mind replaying Damien's words over and over. Prove it.
When the meeting adjourned, Clara gathered her notes quickly, eager to escape the thick atmosphere of the room. She slipped out before Lydia or anyone else could corner her.
In the corridor, she pressed her back against the wall and exhaled sharply. Her palms were damp, her body trembling with adrenaline. She couldn't believe she had just done that.
She couldn't believe Damien had let her.
Her thoughts tangled between panic and pride. Part of her wanted to scream at herself for being reckless, for putting a target on her back. But another part—deeper, stronger—felt something else.
A spark.
The way Damien had looked at her—studied her, as though seeing her for the first time—sent an unfamiliar shiver down her spine.
It wasn't admiration. It wasn't kindness. But it was acknowledgment.
For the first time since stepping into Cross Enterprises, Clara didn't feel invisible.
Later that day, Clara sat at her desk, reviewing the data Damien had challenged her to improve. The numbers were daunting, the systems complicated. But the more she dug, the clearer the flaws became. It would take long nights, maybe weeks, to present a viable solution.
She leaned back, stretching her stiff shoulders, when a shadow fell across her desk.
Her eyes lifted, and there he was. Damien Cross himself.
The office noise seemed to fade around them as he placed a folder on her desk.
"You'll need these reports," he said, his tone as flat as ever.
Clara's throat went dry. "Thank you, sir."
His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary, unreadable as always, before he turned and walked away.
Only after he disappeared into his office did Clara allow herself to breathe.
Her hands trembled as she opened the folder, finding exactly the resources she'd been struggling to locate.
He was helping her.
No—he was testing her.
Either way, Clara felt the weight of his challenge burning in her chest. She wasn't going to back down.
She would prove him wrong—or prove herself right.
And maybe, just maybe, she would prove to Damien Cross that she was more than just the clumsy girl who spilled coffee on his reports.
Clara left the office late that night, city lights glittering outside as she walked into the cool evening air. Her body was tired, but her heart… her heart was alive in a way it hadn't been in a long time.
Yes, she was scared. Yes, she was way out of her depth.
But for the first time, she felt like she was standing on her own two feet.
Damien Cross might have been cold, arrogant, and intimidating.
But he had also lit a fire in her she didn't know she carried.
And Clara Hayes was determined to let it burn.