Chapter 4: The Erased Encounter

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped onto my floor. 

My eyes landed on him instantly. 

Damien Roth.

Tall, composed, in a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been stitched straight onto his frame. His hair was perfect, his posture relaxed but full of quiet authority. 

And he wasn’t alone. 

Cassandra was beside him. 

She was dressed in a shimmering emerald suit, the fabric catching the light as she shifted her weight onto one heel. Her hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail that made her look sharper, more dangerous. She was smiling wide and flawless and her laugh drifted across the lobby like music. 

Damien smiled back. Not the half-smile from last night. This one was warmer, open. The kind you give someone who matters. 

It hit me like a punch. 

I lowered my gaze to the marble floor, the gold veins in the stone blurring as I headed for the intern cubicles. If I moved fast enough, maybe I could just 

“Selena!” 

Her voice cut through the air like a whip. I froze and turned. 

“Good morning, Cass,” I said carefully. 

She didn’t look at me. She looked at Damien. “This is my sister, Selena. She’s one of our new interns.” 

Damien stepped forward, offering his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Selena.” 

His voice was smooth. Polite. Completely void of recognition. 

You know me, I wanted to say. You looked at me like you could see through me. Last night wasn’t nothing. 

“You too,” I managed, my voice low. His handshake was firm, but it didn’t linger. 

“Selena’s still finding her footing,” Cassandra added, linking her arm through his like she’d been doing it for years. “She’s not used to the pace here, are you, dear?” 

“I’m learning,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. 

Damien nodded once, but his attention was already back on her. Together, they walked toward the executive offices, her heels clicking in rhythm with his steps. I watched their backs until they disappeared. 

The rest of the morning was a blur. I typed, filed, fetched coffee, but my attention kept drifting to them passing in the hallway, laughing in low tones, her walking into his office without knocking. Every time, it felt like the rooftop was sliding further away, like it had never happened at all. 

By lunch, my stomach was in knots. 

In the breakroom, Emma was rinsing her mug. She worked under Cassandra too and knew how my sister operated. 

“You okay?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” I lied. 

The door swung open and Cassandra glided in, all confidence and perfume. She leaned on the counter, peeling back the lid of her yogurt with slow precision. 

“How’s intern life, little sis?” she asked lightly. 

“It’s fine.” 

“Don’t worry,” she said, stirring her yogurt. “You’ll get used to being overlooked. Damien likes power, ambition things you don’t have.” 

The words burned. “He seemed to understand me fine last night.” 

Her smile sharpened. “That was a gala. He was just being polite. But now?” She paused, savoring the moment. “He’s seeing the real game. The one I’ve been playing for years.” 

She dropped it casually: “He asked me to dinner tonight.” 

The spoon in my hand slipped. “He did what?” 

“While you’re making copies, I’ll be making moves,” she said with a smirk. “Soon, he’ll see what he’s been missing.” 

She left, and Emma gave me a look part pity, part warning but said nothing. 

By mid-afternoon, the whispers had spread everywhere. 

“Cassandra and Roth did you see them?”

“They look perfect together.”

“Who was that girl at the gala? Just some intern.”

“Like he’d ever notice her again.” 

Everywhere I turned, screens and magazines repeated the same headline: 

Billionaire Damien Roth and Cassandra Monroe: A New Power Couple? 

The photos were brutal her glowing at his side, her hand resting on his arm, him leaning slightly toward her. If I appeared at all, I was nothing but a blur in the background. 

Later, Damien walked past me in the hallway. He gave a small, polite nod, eyes unreadable, and kept going. No spark. No trace of the man from the rooftop. 

I told myself it didn’t matter. But it did. 

Because the rooftop had felt real. And if it wasn’t… then I’d let myself believe in a lie. 

I was still turning that thought over when my phone buzzed in my pocket. No caller ID. 

I almost didn’t answer. 

But then I heard his voice low, steady, and unmistakable. 

“Miss Monroe… we need to talk. Now.”