The contract felt heavier in her hands than it should have.
Isla sat in the dim glow of her tiny apartment, the stack of papers spread across her kitchen table. The words blurred together, each clause and condition pressing down on her like a weight she couldn't shake.
Welcome to Blackwood Enterprises.
She had done it. She had walked into the lion's den, faced Damien Blackwood without crumbling, and secured the position. Yet, instead of relief, a deep unease curled inside her.
This isn't just a job.
This was a deal with the devil.
She glanced at the last page where Damien's bold, deliberate signature rested. The ink felt permanent, binding. She hesitated before picking up her pen, her mind spiraling back to the past.
Six years ago.
Her father had walked into their house looking like a ghost of himself. His suit wrinkled, his face drained of all color. She remembered the way his hands had trembled when he told them the news.
"We lost everything."
Her mother's sob had shattered the silence. Isla hadn't understood at first—not until the eviction notice arrived, not until the hospital bills piled up, not until she saw the headline in the papers.
Monroe Industries Declares Bankruptcy Amidst Scandal.
And standing at the center of it all was Damien Blackwood.
The ruthless businessman who had bought out her father's company, stripped it apart, and left their family in ruins.
Now, six years later, fate had thrown her into his world once more.
Only this time, she wasn't powerless.
She pressed the tip of the pen to the paper and signed her name.
If Damien Blackwood thought she would cower, he was wrong.
She would take this job. Play by his rules. Get what she needed.
And when the time was right… she'd make him regret ever crossing her family.
Monday morning.
Blackwood Enterprises was already in full motion by the time Isla arrived. The crisp scent of coffee and expensive cologne lingered in the air, the sound of heels clicking against marble floors filling the halls.
She clutched her bag tighter as she rode the elevator to the top floor.
Calm. Focused. In control.
That was the only way she'd survive this.
The doors slid open, revealing the same sleek, glass-walled office she had walked into days ago.
This time, Damien was already waiting.
He stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, his tailored suit fitting him with effortless perfection. The morning light cast sharp angles across his face—strong jaw, piercing gray eyes, lips pressed in a line of quiet dominance.
For a moment, he didn't acknowledge her.
Then, without turning, he spoke.
"You're late."
Isla stiffened. She wasn't. It was 8:59, and her contract stated she started at nine.
"I'm on time," she said, keeping her voice even.
Damien finally turned, his gaze locking onto hers. Cold. Calculating. Intrigued.
"On time isn't good enough, Miss Monroe." He strode toward his desk, slow and measured. "You're my assistant now. That means you anticipate my needs before I voice them."
Her stomach twisted at the way he said it—possessive, demanding.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I'll remember that."
He studied her, silent for a beat too long. Then, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Good."
Isla exhaled slowly as he slid a folder across the desk.
"Your first task."
She picked it up, skimming through the contents. It was a list of meetings, events, and company affairs. Her schedule, his schedule, the people she needed to memorize.
"Understood," she said, masking the tension in her voice.
Damien leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Tell me, Miss Monroe… how does it feel to work for the man you despise?"
Her pulse spiked.
He knew. He knew.
She schooled her expression, tilting her chin up. "I don't let personal feelings interfere with my work."
Damien chuckled, low and deep. "A well-rehearsed answer."
She gritted her teeth. "It's the truth."
His eyes darkened, amusement flickering beneath the cold exterior. "We'll see."
Isla clenched the folder, her nails digging into the crisp paper.
This was a game to him. A twisted, dangerous game.
But she wasn't going to lose.
Not to him.
Never to him.