The marble floors of Blackwood Tower gleamed under crystal chandeliers as Elara clutched her worn portfolio to her chest. At twenty-one, she had never felt so small. The receptionist had looked her up and down—second-hand dress, scuffed shoes, no makeup—and still ushered her to the private elevator.
"Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."
Elara's heart hammered. She had come for a secretary position advertised online. Not this.
The elevator doors opened directly into a penthouse office that overlooked the city skyline. Behind a massive oak desk sat Damien Blackwood. Early thirties, devastatingly handsome in a tailored black suit, dark hair, sharp jawline, and eyes like storm clouds. He radiated power and danger.
"Miss Elara Voss." His voice was deep, smooth, commanding. He didn't stand. "Sit
