Sophie's POV
The board meeting was a disaster.
Damien walked in holding my hand, and twelve powerful men in expensive suits stared at us like we'd lost our minds.
Mr. Ross, the oldest board member, Gerald Whitman—said coldly. We called this emergency meeting to discuss the Sterling lawsuit. Not to witness... whatever this is.
This, Damien said, not letting go of my hand, is my response to Marcus Sterling's baseless accusations. Sophie Mitchell is under my personal protection. Anyone who has a problem with that can tender their resignation.
The room erupted.
Three hours later, Damien had won, barely. The board agreed not to fire me, but the conditions were brutal: I'd be monitored constantly, my work scrutinized, and any hint of impropriety would mean immediate termination.
You just painted a target on my back, I told Damien afterward.
Good, he said. Now everyone knows you're mine to protect.
That was Monday. By Tuesday morning, the entire company knew something was happening between the Ice King and the new girl.
I arrived at my desk to find it had been moved.
What— I stared at the new location. Right outside Damien's office. Close enough that he could see me through the glass walls at all times.
Maya appeared beside me, eyes wide. Did you sleep with him?
What? No!
Then why did he personally request you be moved to his executive team? Sophie, that never happens. New hires spend at least six months in junior positions before even being considered for—
I don't know, okay? I dropped my bag on the desk. Maybe he wants to watch me fail up close.
Or maybe he wants to watch you, period. Maya lowered her voice. Be careful. Office romances with the CEO never end well.
I wanted to tell her there was no romance. That Damien had made it clear we were professional only.
Except he'd kissed me. Held my hand in front of the board. Called me his to protect.
My computer pinged with a calendar invitation: Daily Strategy Briefing - 8 AM - Mr. Ross's Office - Recurring.
Daily. Every morning. In his office.
I looked up to find Damien watching me through the glass. He didn't smile, didn't acknowledge me. Just watched with those intense silver-gray eyes before turning back to his work.
Told you, Maya muttered. He can't stop looking at you.
The morning briefing was torture. Just me and Damien in his office, discussing projects and priorities while the entire floor watched through the glass walls.
The acquisition analysis is progressing well, I reported, keeping my voice professional. I should have preliminary findings by tomorrow.
Thursday, Damien corrected. You promised Thursday.
I'm ahead of schedule.
Then use the extra time to deepen your research. His tone was crisp, but his eyes held something warmer. I expect excellence, not speed.
Yes, sir.
We maintained perfect professionalism. Never touched. Kept appropriate distance. But the air between us felt electric, charged with everything we weren't saying.
Every day that week, the same routine: morning briefing in his office, team meetings where he asked my opinion on everything, chance encounters at the coffee station that felt orchestrated.
He's definitely into you, Maya said Friday afternoon. Mr. Ross has attended every single team meeting this week. He hasn't done that in two years.
Maybe he's just interested in the projects
Sophie, he asked for your opinion on office supply procurement. Office supplies. The man runs a billion-dollar company and he wanted to know what you think about pens.
I had no response to that.
That evening, everyone else left by six. I stayed late, working on the acquisition analysis, determined to prove I deserved my position.
Around eight, Damien appeared at my desk.
You're still here.
I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee. I wanted to finish the projections.
Go home, Sophie. You've been here thirteen hours.
So have you.
I own the company. You don't. But he didn't move. Just stood there, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
The floor was empty. No witnesses. Just us and the Manhattan skyline glittering through the windows.
Why are you doing this? I asked quietly. The daily meetings. Putting me on your team. Asking my opinion in front of everyone. You said professional distance.
I changed my mind.
Just like that?
Just like that. Damien moved closer. Marcus Sterling filed that lawsuit to isolate you. Make you radioactive so no one would defend you. I'm making sure everyone knows that attacking you means attacking me.
By forcing me to work directly with you? That's just giving him more ammunition.
Let him try. Damien's smile was cold. I've been looking into Sterling & Associates. Your ex-fiancé has made some very interesting financial decisions lately. Decisions his father doesn't know about.
My breath caught. What kind of decisions?
The kind that constitute fraud. Embezzlement. Maybe even money laundering. His eyes gleamed with something predatory. Marcus Sterling wanted a war. He's about to get one.
Damien, if you go after him because of me
I'm going after him because he threatened my company and harassed my employee. You just happen to be the employee. He leaned against my desk. Besides, men like Marcus need to learn there are consequences for their actions.
Is that what this is? Consequences?
This is justice. His voice dropped. And maybe a little revenge.
The honesty surprised me. You don't seem like the revenge type.
You don't know me well enough yet. Something dark flickered across his face. I protect what's mine, Sophie. And I destroy anyone who threatens it.
I'm not yours.
Aren't you? He was close enough now that I could see gold flecks in his eyes. You're on my team. Under my protection. Working directly with me every single day. Tell me, Sophie—who else's are you?
My heart hammered. This is dangerous.
I know.
People are already talking.
Let them talk.
Damien
Go home, he said softly. Before I do something we'll both regret.
I grabbed my bag with shaking hands. At the elevator, I looked back.
Damien stood at my desk, watching me leave, his expression a mixture of want and control that made my knees weak.
The elevator doors closed, and I sagged against the wall.
This was impossible. I couldn't want my boss. Couldn't let myself fall for a man who kissed me one minute and pushed me away the next.
But God help me, I was falling anyway.
My phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: Cozy with the boss? How professional. Wait until the media finds out the CEO is fucking his newest hire. Your reputation will be destroyed. Again.
My hands shook as I stared at the message.
Then another text, this time from Damien: Ignore him. I've got this handled. Get some rest. Tomorrow we fight back.
How did he know Marcus had texted me?
A third message appeared, from an unknown number: Ms. Mitchell, this is James Chen, Mr. Ross's assistant. Mr. Ross asked me to monitor your phone for harassment. The number you just received a message from has been flagged and will be blocked. Also, Mr. Ross wanted me to remind you that you're not alone in this. -James
I started laughing. Couldn't help it. Damien Ross had put surveillance on my phone and wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it.
Rachel called as I walked into her apartment. Please tell me you survived your first week.
Barely. My boss is controlling, my ex is suing the company, and I'm pretty sure I'm falling for a man who's going to break my heart.
Which one?
The boss. Who is also the stranger from the hotel. Who is also possibly insane.
Rachel whistled. Honey, you don't do anything halfway, do you?
That night, I dreamed about Damien's hands, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous at the same time.
I woke up to seventeen missed calls.
All from my mother.
My stomach dropped as I checked the voicemails.
Sophie, call me immediately. Marcus showed me articles. What have you done? How could you embarrass this family again?
I pulled up the news with shaking hands.
There, on Page Six of the New York Post: A photo of Damien and me leaving the board meeting. His hand on my back. Both of us looking intense.
The headline: Ice King Melts for Mystery Woman: Damien Ross's Secret Office Romance
The article detailed everything. My hiring. Marcus's lawsuit. The rumors about Damien's unusual interest in his newest employee.
My phone rang. Damien.
Don't read the comments, he said immediately.
Too late.
The comments were brutal. Gold digger. Slut. Opportunist who seduced her way to the top.
I'm handling it, Damien said. My PR team is already
It's true though, isn't it? My voice broke. Not the seduction part, but the special treatment. You did give me opportunities other new hires don't get. You did move me to your team. You did
I did what I wanted, Damien interrupted. And I'd do it again. The media can say whatever they want. I know the truth.
What truth?
That you're brilliant. That you earned your position. And that I'm not going to apologize for recognizing talent.
Is that all this is? I challenged. Talent recognition?
Silence.
Then: No. It's not. But I can't give you more than that right now.
The honesty hurt worse than his coldness.
I have to go, I whispered.
Sophie, wait
I hung up.
An hour later, James showed up at Rachel's apartment with coffee and bagels.
Mr. Ross sent me, he said with a kind smile. He thought you might need a friend.
Are you my friend or his spy?
Can't I be both? James handed me the coffee. For what it's worth, I've worked for Damien Ross for ten years. I've never seen him like this.
Like what?
Terrified. James sat across from me. He's falling for you, Sophie. And that scares him more than any hostile takeover ever could.
Before I could respond, my phone exploded with notifications.
Marcus had released a statement to the press: Sophie Mitchell is a con artist who seduced her way into Ross Industries after stealing from my family's company. She's using Damien Ross the same way she used me. He's just too blinded by lust to see it.
I felt sick.
Then Damien's response hit the news: Marcus Sterling is a pathetic man who can't handle rejection. His accusations are false, and my lawyers will prove it. As for Sophie Mitchell—she's the most talented strategist I've hired in five years. Anyone who questions her credentials can come discuss it with me personally.
Oh my God, I breathed.
He just declared war, James said. On Marcus, on the media, on anyone who doubts you.
My phone rang again. This time, a number I didn't recognize.
Ms. Mitchell? This is Detective Sarah Martinez, NYPD. We need to speak with you about Marcus Sterling. He's been found unconscious in his apartment. And your name was the last thing on his phone before someone attacked him.