The rain crashed against the sidewalk like it wanted to drown the entire city. Natalia Rivers pulled her coat tighter around her soaked body as she stepped into the gleaming, glass-wrapped tower of Valente Corporation. Her hair was frizzy, her boots squished, and she hadn’t eaten since the night before—but none of that mattered.

She was here. She had a shot.

The receptionist barely looked up. “Fifty-seventh floor. Last office on the right. You’re two minutes late.”

Natalia pressed her lips together. Not the first impression she wanted to make. She stepped into the private elevator, alone, watching herself in the mirrored walls. Her eyes were too tired. Her blazer was too big. Her résumé wasn’t impressive.

But she had grit. And hunger. And fire.

The elevator chimed softly as it opened.

The top floor of Valente Tower was silent. The lights were dim, the floors were marble, and the entire place smelled like power and polished money. Natalia walked slowly toward the final door, heart hammering.

She raised her hand to knock—then the door opened.

Darian Valente stood like a phantom in a three-piece charcoal suit. No tie. Shirt open at the collar. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the air of a man who had conquered more than he had been given. His dark eyes landed on her like she was something to study. Maybe devour.

“You’re late,” he said without emotion.

Natalia swallowed hard. “Only by—”

“Three minutes,” he interrupted, walking back toward his desk. “And time is the only thing I value more than control.”

She hesitated. “I’m sorry, Mr. Valente.”

“You will be, if you waste any more of it,” he replied, settling into his chair. “Sit.”

She crossed the sleek office, her heels clicking softly. The chair across from him was too soft, too low—it made her feel small. She hated it.

He scanned her file without looking at her.

“You don’t come from much,” he said flatly.

“I come from enough,” she replied, lifting her chin.

He finally looked up, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his gaze. Amusement? Curiosity?

“You’ve got no family backing. Average grades. No prior experience in corporate law. Why should I hire you?”

“Because I don’t quit,” she said, voice steady. “I’ve worked eighteen-hour shifts to pay my brother’s medical bills. I’ve waited tables. Cleaned offices. I taught myself to read contracts. I don’t ask for chances—I take them.”

Darian leaned back in his chair, watching her.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

She couldn’t read his face. Was he impressed? Amused? Testing her?

He stood and walked slowly around the desk. She didn’t move, though her heart pounded harder with every step he took. He stopped in front of her, towering over her seated frame.

“You’re hungry,” he said. “That’s dangerous. Hungry people make moves without thinking.”

“I think plenty,” she said quietly.

He smirked then—just barely.

“Starting tomorrow,” he said, voice dropping, “you’ll be working directly under me.”

Her breath caught.

“I don’t usually give rookies this kind of access. But I like chaos. And you look like a storm.”

His fingers brushed her portfolio on the desk, but his eyes never left hers.

“You’re dismissed,” he said.

Natalia stood, legs stiff. She reached the door before he spoke again.

“One more thing.”

She turned slowly.

“You belong to me now, Miss Rivers. Show up. Or don’t show up again at all.”

Natalia stood in front of the mirrored doors of Valente Tower, adjusting the collar of her shirt for the fifth time. Her reflection looked a little less terrified today. Not much, but enough. She’d barely slept, but her body was running on adrenaline and caffeine. The echo of his voice haunted her all night.

> “You belong to me now.”

It wasn’t just a statement. It was a warning—and a promise.

She made her way up to the 57th floor again, this time five minutes early. The same red-lipped assistant from yesterday offered no smile, just nodded toward the corner office. Natalia walked with her head high. No hesitation.

She knocked once.

“Come in,” came the voice.

She stepped inside and found Darian Valente standing at the wide window again, his hands in his pockets, his back to her. He looked like he hadn’t moved since yesterday, still dressed in his dark suit, still radiating calm authority like he breathed it.

“You’re early,” he said without turning.

“You said you don’t tolerate lateness.”

His head tilted slightly. “Smart girl.”

He finally turned, eyes skimming over her, pausing at the way her shirt tucked neatly into her skirt. His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary—but she didn’t flinch.

“Sit.”

The chair today was different—no longer across from his desk. A smaller desk had been arranged beside his. Close. Too close.

“You’ll be working in my office for now,” he said. “Shadowing. Observing. And when I say move, you move. No delays. No questions unless permitted.”

Her mouth went dry, but she nodded. “Understood.”

He sat down, pulling up files on a sleek monitor. “Let’s see how fast you really are.”

For the next two hours, she was tested—thrown into reading contracts, drafting summaries, and answering questions without warning. Every time she hesitated, he noticed. Every time she got something right, he said nothing. But his silence wasn’t cruel. It was calculated.

Then suddenly—

“You missed a clause,” he said, his voice cutting into the air like a whip.

She blinked. “Page twenty-four?”

“Page seventeen. Paragraph four. Termination rights. A trap clause.”

Natalia scanned the screen, her pulse quickening.

He stood and walked over to her, placing his hand on the desk beside her arm. His voice dropped.

“You were distracted.”

“No, I—”

His face was close. “Don’t lie to me, Miss Rivers. Not on your second day.”

She turned slightly to face him, their proximity too intimate for an office. His scent—clean, masculine, faintly spiced—wrapped around her like heat.

“I wasn’t lying,” she said quietly.

“You were staring.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Their eyes locked. The tension tightened, pulled taut like a bowstring between them. Her skin prickled. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Then… he smiled. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just enough to say I know exactly what I’m doing to you.

“Interesting,” he whispered.

He straightened, pulling away from her warmth, returning to his desk as though nothing had happened. “We’re having dinner tonight.”

She blinked. “We?”

“A client dinner. La Lumière. Seven o’clock. Formal.”

“I didn’t bring anything—”

“Wear red,” he said, already focused back on his screen. “It suits you.”

She stood slowly. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” He looked up again, dark eyes unreadable. “You don’t work for me. You work with me. But make no mistake…”

He stood again, walking toward her until they were nearly chest to chest. His voice dropped into something softer. Darker.

“You still belong to me.”

Natalia stood in front of the full-length mirror, her breath caught in her throat. The red silk clung to her body like a secret. It hugged her waist, dipped low at the chest, and split high on the thigh—higher than she was used to. But the way it shimmered under the apartment’s dim light made her feel… powerful.

She’d borrowed it from a friend who always dressed like trouble. And tonight, she needed that energy.

She applied a touch of lip gloss, tucked her curls behind one ear, and whispered to herself, “You can handle him.”

But her voice trembled slightly.

At 6:55, a black car waited for her outside. Sleek. Silent. Luxurious. The driver didn’t ask questions. Just opened the door like she was royalty.

When she stepped into La Lumière, her heels clicking against the marble floor, time seemed to slow. The restaurant glowed with golden light, chandeliers floating like stars above a sea of velvet booths and champagne flutes.

And then she saw him.

Darian Valente was seated in the far corner, in a private section cordoned off by crystal dividers. His eyes were already on her—as if he’d felt her the moment she walked in. His suit was black again, but the shirt beneath it was blood red, just a few shades darker than her dress.

He rose when she approached, and his gaze dropped slowly—intentionally—from her lips to her collarbone, to the long slit on her thigh… and back to her eyes.

“You followed instructions,” he said softly.

“You didn’t leave room not to,” she replied, keeping her voice calm, controlled.

But she felt everything.

He pulled out her chair. His hand brushed the small of her back—barely a touch, but enough to make her pulse stumble.

A waiter came. Wine was poured. Natalia tried to focus on the client—an older man with a fake smile and slicked-back hair—but every time Darian spoke, every time his voice dipped low with authority, her stomach twisted. He didn’t look at her often during the conversation, but when he did… it was deliberate. Calculated. Electric.

By the time the client left, she was flushed from more than just the wine.

They were alone again.

Darian leaned back in his seat, swirling his glass.

“You handled yourself well,” he said, watching her.

“Thank you.”

“You looked like temptation,” he added.

Her lips parted. “Was that… intentional?”

“Everything I do is intentional.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then he stood slowly, offering his hand.

She stared at it, unsure. “What now?”

“We leave.”

She took it.

His fingers wrapped around hers—warm, steady, and commanding. He didn’t guide her through the restaurant; he owned the path, and she followed.

In the car, he didn’t speak.

But he watched her.

And when the car stopped in front of her apartment building, she reached for the door—but he stopped her.

“Natalia.”

She turned.

And that was all it took.

His hand came up to her cheek, thumb brushing her skin. His eyes dropped to her mouth.

Her breath caught.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

His lips came closer—closer—but stopped just short of a kiss. His breath fanned over her lips.

“You want this?” he asked, voice low, deadly soft.

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know what the right answer was.

And maybe there wasn’t one.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze still locked on hers. “Not tonight,” he whispered. “But soon.”

And just like that, he opened the door for her.

Natalia stepped out into the night, legs trembling.

Her heart was still inside that car.

With him.