Ava's fingers tightened around the pen.
The contract lay open before her—each page a sea of dense legal terms printed in clean, merciless lines.
She skimmed through the first paragraph, her throat tightening.
"Confidential Agreement… Employment by personal discretion… Non-disclosure of client identity…"
She frowned. "This isn't a design project, is it?"
Across the desk, Ethan Lucan leaned back in his chair, one hand resting against his chin.
The morning light filtered through the glass walls, catching in his eyes like fragments of steel.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he studied her—calm, unreadable, the faintest ghost of amusement flickering at the corner of his mouth.
"Tell me, Ms. Hart," he said at last, voice low and deliberate, "do you always read everything before you sign?"
"I think it's a reasonable thing to do when a stranger hands you a confidential contract."
Ava forced her voice steady. "Especially when that stranger happens to be the most intimidating CEO in the city."
His gaze held hers for a moment too long.
Then, with a faint smile: "Flattery won't help you here."
"It wasn't flattery."
"Good," he said simply. "I don't hire people who waste words."
Ava's pulse jumped. So it really was a job offer?
But the conditions still made no sense.
"You want me as your… personal designer," she said carefully. "What exactly am I designing? An office? Your home?"
Ethan's eyes flicked briefly to the window. "Neither."
"Then what?"
"Me."
The single word landed like a drop of ink in water—quiet but spreading everywhere.
Ava blinked. "I—sorry, what?"
He stood, every movement slow, deliberate. "You'll be designing the new face of Lucan Corporation's future projects. My vision. My image."
He paused, stepping closer. "And by extension… me."
His nearness was unnerving.
He smelled faintly of cedar and rain, and his presence filled the room in a way no architectural space ever could.
"Think of it as brand intimacy," he continued. "You'll learn how I work, how I think. You'll see what others can't."
Then his voice dropped a tone lower. "That requires trust."
Ava's breath hitched.
"Trust? You mean secrecy."
Ethan's lips curved slightly. "Same thing. In my world, they often overlap."
She forced a weak smile. "You have a strange definition of both."
"Yet you're still here."
Her reply caught in her throat.
He was right.
She should've walked out the second he handed her that ridiculous folder—but something about him rooted her in place. The calm confidence. The danger behind it. The way his words didn't just command—they pulled.
"Why me?" she asked quietly. "You could have any designer in this city. Why pick someone whose portfolio is—"
"Flawed?" he interrupted. "Unrefined? Emotional?"
When her eyes widened, his tone softened, almost imperceptibly.
"I've seen your work, Ava. You design spaces that breathe. Most people design walls."
She swallowed. "You've… seen my work?"
"Every piece that was stolen from you," he said evenly.
Her blood froze.
"What did you just say?"
Ethan stepped closer, his shadow falling over the desk. "Three months ago, your ex-partner, Dylan Moore, sold two of your project drafts under his own name. They were purchased by one of my subsidiaries."
Her mind reeled.
She had suspected Dylan, of course—but to hear it confirmed, like that, from him—
"How do you even know that?" she whispered.
"I make it my business to know."
He tilted his head slightly. "And now, I'm offering you the chance to take back what's yours. But there's a price."
She stared at him. "Which is?"
"You'll work for me. Exclusively."
Her pulse skipped.
This man—this infuriating, unreadable man—had just handed her the one thing she'd wanted for months: a way to reclaim her dignity.
And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was trading one kind of cage for another.
"I don't trust easily," she said.
"Good," he replied. "Neither do I."
Ava signed.
Not because she trusted him, but because desperation leaves little room for pride.
When she placed the pen down, Ethan reached for the contract, glancing at her signature like he'd been expecting it all along.
"Welcome to Lucan Corporation, Ms. Hart."
She crossed her arms. "You sound like you already knew I'd sign."
"I did."
He looked up, tone almost casual. "People who hesitate the most are usually the ones who say yes."
"That's not a compliment."
"It's an observation."
Ava exhaled slowly. "Fine. Where do I start?"
He nodded toward the elevator on the side of the room. "There's a floor dedicated to your workspace. My assistant will brief you."
Then, after a pause, he added, "You'll report directly to me."
Her stomach fluttered for reasons she didn't want to name.
"Right," she muttered. "Of course."
As she turned to leave, Ethan's voice stopped her.
"Oh, and Ava—"
She looked back.
"Don't bring your phone into meetings with me. I don't tolerate distractions."
She frowned. "That's… oddly specific."
His eyes glinted. "You'd be surprised how often curiosity ruins people."
She left without replying, but her pulse didn't calm until the elevator doors closed.
The 59th floor was nothing like the one above.
Where Ethan's office was minimal and cold, this space was warm, flooded with golden light.
A sleek desk waited, labeled with her name. Next to it stood a woman in a black suit, holding a tablet.
"Ms. Hart, I'm Natalie. Mr. Lucan's executive assistant."
Her smile was polite but professional. "Welcome aboard."
Ava smiled faintly. "Thanks. Though I'm not sure what I've just signed up for."
Natalie chuckled softly. "No one ever is."
"Has he always been like that?"
"Like what?"
"…Intense."
The assistant's smile didn't falter. "He's a man who values control, Ms. Hart. Once you understand that, everything else makes sense."
Ava raised a brow. "And if I don't?"
Natalie's tone dropped. "Then you won't last long here."
By noon, Ava had reviewed dozens of files labeled Lucan Expansion Project.
Each contained blueprints for skyscrapers, hotels, and private estates—massive undertakings spanning continents.
Yet none of it explained why Ethan needed a personal designer.
She was tracing a line across one layout when a shadow fell over her desk.
She looked up—and nearly jumped.
Ethan stood there, hands in his pockets, no sound to his approach.
"How's your first day?"
Ava pressed a hand to her chest. "You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
He arched a brow. "You're easily startled."
"You're unnervingly quiet."
"Occupational habit."
He glanced at her monitor. "You're looking at the wrong set. That project isn't active."
"Then why give it to me?"
"To see if you'd notice."
Her eyes narrowed. "You enjoy testing people, don't you?"
"I enjoy efficiency."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "And watching how people react when pushed."
"I'm not part of your experiments, Mr. Lucan."
"Not yet."
Their eyes met—her defiance against his calm, her pulse loud in her ears.
For a heartbeat, the air between them thickened—charged, unspoken, dangerous.
Then he stepped back.
"6 p.m.," he said. "My driver will take you to the next site. Don't be late."
"What site?"
"You'll see."
And just like that, he was gone—leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and a dozen unanswered questions.
That evening, as the elevator descended, Ava caught her reflection in the mirrored wall.
Her own eyes looked different—more alive, more restless.
Outside, the city glowed like a maze of stars. Somewhere within it waited the man who had just rewritten her entire life with a single signature.
And as the car door opened to the rain-slicked street, a quiet thought whispered through her mind:
Maybe the contract wasn't the trap.
Maybe he was.
To be continued