Sherry Hart never imagined the family business would crumble in her hands. With nowhere else to turn, she strikes a desperate deal with Enzo Blackwood, cold, calculating, and dangerously handsome, the elusive billionaire known for his ruthless business tactics and a heart as cold as his empire's towering glass walls. Enzo doesn’t make deals without control. In exchange for saving Sherry’s Fashion House, he demands 5 years of her life as his Personal assistant. Bound by a contract neither can break, what starts as a transactional arrangement soon sparks fiery clashes as Sherry challenges Enzo's authority at every turn. At the very moment she vows to guard her heart, Sherry resolves to keep their relationship strictly professional. But she's pulled deeper into Enzo’s high-stakes world, where hidden enemies lurk behind designer suits and whispered threats. Enzo reveals a side she never imagined: fierce, protective, and willing to fight for her. But the moments when Enzo shields her from harm, exposing a fiercely protective side concealed beneath his cold demeanor, leave her truly shaken. As secrets unravel and desire blurs every line between them, Sherry faces a dangerous question: Can Sherry trust the man who holds both her career and heart hostage, And when desire turns into obsession, will Enzo risk everything for the woman he swore he could never love or is she just a puppet in Enzo’s ruthless game?
view moreBright afternoon sunlight streams through the large windows of Margo Fashion House, casting golden hues on polished wooden floors beneath. Nothing seemed forthcoming that would warmly impact Sherry Hart's emotions.
The family business teetered precariously on the edge of financial ruin. Piles of unpaid invoices cluttered her desk alongside grim financial reports every single day, becoming a constant reminder of impending doom.
The fashion houses that once thrived now suffocate under the weight of mounting debt, with their impeccable designs largely forgotten slowly.
Her father, Thomas Hart, built this business from scratch, pouring decades of sweat and sheer dogged determination into it slowly. It began modestly as a boutique, flourishing rapidly into a household name within the fashion industry.
His declining health suddenly left everything squarely in Sherry's shaky hands beneath a massive burden of responsibility.
She exhaled shakily, her gaze drifting slowly upward toward a framed photograph sitting quietly on the desk. Her parents stood proudly in front of their inaugural storefront, beaming with evident delight. Margo Hart's mother had designed dresses while her father handled the business side.
They had fashioned something pretty darn extraordinary in collaboration. Giving up was completely out of the question now. Sherry ran a hand through her dark hair that fell down her back in loose waves, frustration still clawing at her deeply.
She couldn’t allow Margo Fashion House to collapse. It was not only about the family legacy; hundreds of workers relied on the company for their livelihood—people who had dedicated years, some even decades, to the brand, trusting that it would always stand strong.
But no bank was willing to help. Her pleas for loans were rejected repeatedly, her emails were ignored, and her calls went unreturned eventually. She spearheaded numerous ventures, proposed innovative strategies, and offered potential investors shares in the company via private placements somehow. Yet, every single one had turned her down.
They feigned enthusiasm, nodding silently as she laid out her plans so they could reject them abruptly afterward. Every shutdown hovered ominously over struggling companies like a suffocating vise that gradually tightened daily. Her mom's voice still loudly echoed deep within her mind somehow.
"You can't do this alone, Sherry. Sherry can't manage this solitary endeavor by herself. Sherry felt utterly drained and completely exhausted by her circumstances somehow.
She'd have no one backing her play if she didn't go all out for it now. Her phone buzzed loudly on the desk, pulling her abruptly from deep contemplation. Sophie Grant's name suddenly flashed across the screen.
“Sherry, you need a miracle,” Sophie declared without hesitation. Sherry picked up slowly beneath her breath and braced herself inwardly for what was coming. “And I know where you might find one.”
“I’m listening,” Sherry replied warily.
“Enzo Blackwood.”
Sherry’s grip tightened on the phone. Sophie bluntly said Sherry needs a miracle now. Her friend's voice rang out remarkably bold. “He’s not exactly known for charity,” Sherry said dryly.
“No, but he’s known for results,” Sophie countered. “If anyone can pull Margo Fashion House out of this mess, it’s him.”
Sherry exhaled slowly. Sherry replied warily, I'm listening. “How do I even get a meeting with someone like Enzo Blackwood?”
“Leave that to me,” Sophie said confidently. “You just need to be ready.”
That afternoon, Sherry found herself standing in the grand lobby of Blackwood Industries. Sherry's grip suddenly tightened fiercely around the phone. Everybody knew that guy a cutthroat billionaire behind Blackwood Industries' sudden ascent into a formidable worldwide entity. His deals were utterly legendary, so his reputation for being ruthlessly cold and calculating preceded him.
Sherry said somewhat sarcastically, He's hardly renowned for generosity. Sophie countered, He's known for results. Margo Fashion House's salvation rests with him now. Sherry breathed out slowly beside him. She was out of options and took a wildly improbable chance. "How do I meet someone like Enzo Blackwood now?
Sophie said she'd handle it with confidence. And that Mr. Blackwood is ready to see me today.
Sherry stood alone in Blackwood Industries' grand lobby that afternoon. You just need to be supremely ready somehow. The sleek glass building loomed large as a symbol of immense power and prestige somehow. Its sheer size made her feel utterly insignificant in that vast space surrounded by towering structures.
Her heart pounded rapidly as she adjusted her blazer, smoothing the fabric with incredibly clammy hands beneath dim light. The elevator ride upward felt smooth yet eerily tense somehow.
Every faint ding somehow caused her breathing to become slightly erratic. She felt the eyes of fellow pros in the elevator on her sharp gazes, making her intensely aware of the high stakes. She stepped into a minimalist yet opulent waiting space after doors swung open slowly at last. Poised behind a massive mahogany desk, a seemingly composed secretary glanced upward suddenly.
"Good afternoon, Ma."
"Miss Sherry Hart, right?" The secretary asked.
"Yes, please," Sherry answered.
"Mr. Blackwood awaits you."
Sherry trails behind her through a hallway lined with dark hardwood floors beneath softly glowing lights, and her nerves intensify. His office doors were made of dark wood, had gold handles, and were pretty massive overall. The secretary pushed the doors open with a flourish, gesturing wildly for Sherry.
Sherry stepped inside, and the scent of rich leather enveloped her amidst expensive cologne fragrances. The office space felt overwhelmingly modern and pretty intimidating somehow.
Their heels echoed faintly against the marble as they stepped into the office, sleek, shadowy, and almost intimidating in its elegance.
"Sir, Miss Sherry Hart is here," the secretary uttered.
"You can leave us," Enzo mumbles.
breath.”
The door clicked shut behind the secretary, leaving Sherry alone with him.
Enzo stood with his back to her, still as a sculpture carved in shadow.
The window light spilled over him like honey, catching on the fine lines of his jet-black suit, hugging the sharp cut of his shoulders, and defining the curve of his back. His controlled, alert posture made her mouth go dry.
He looked like a man built for war… and for sin.
Girls can even kill just to have a handshake with him.
"Don’t lose your head now, Sherry," she muttered inwardly, clenching her fists at her sides.
Her eyes betrayed her, tracing every inch of him like fingers would slow and greedy. She imagined stepping closer, slipping her hands beneath his fine jacket. Sherry was feeling the heat of his body through the fabric. Her fingertips brushed over the rigid strength of his back. Her cheek pressed to him.
In her daydreaming mind, he turned, eyes heavy with intent, grabbing her wrist firmly but unhurriedly and pulling her flush against him. She could almost feel the heat of his breath skimming her lips, the tension coiled in his body ready to snap. Her skirt pushed up. His belt was unfastened. No words, just the raw, breathless sound of surrender against the glass...
“Are you finished undressing me with your eyes?” Enzo’s voice snapped like a whip—cool, cruel, and far too amused.
"Don’t waste your imagination."
His voice cracked through the silence, cold and cruel.
She blinked. But she recovered quickly, lifting her chin.
Burning.
Caught.
“If you’re here to beg,” he added, still not facing her, “save your breath.”
And suddenly, her knees didn’t feel so steady.
Sherry squared her shoulders, determined not to let him intimidate her. “I don’t beg. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a pretty breathtaking panoramic view of the city skyline, and her focus was somewhere else entirely upstairs. Enzo Blackwood stood by the window, his back turned away from her completely. “I’m listening,” he said, his tone carrying both challenge and intrigue.
Sherry inhaled deeply. This was her moment.
“Margo Fashion House is drowning in debt, but it’s still one of the most recognizable brands in the fashion industry. With the right investment, we can turn it around. You’ll be investing in a legacy, Mr. Blackwood. One that could bring significant returns.”
Enzo’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. “And what do you offer in return?”
Sherry swallowed hard, knowing this was where the stakes heightened.
Sherry reached into her bag and pulled out a carefully prepared contract.
"This proposal outlines my terms of joint control, with profits shared once we stabilize. Skilled artisans and fiercely loyal customers are integral parts of a brand built largely on exceptionally high quality.”
Enzo tilted his head slightly, tapping a finger against his desk. “Interesting.”
A tense silence stretched between them before he finally spoke again. “I don’t do charity, Ms. Hart. "You want me to throw good money after bad?"
"I’m asking you to see potential," she countered. "And I’m willing to offer something in return."
If I invest in something, I expect full control.”
Sherry’s stomach twisted. “Full control?” Enzo’s voice was cold, unwavering.
Enzo leaned back, crossing his fingers.
Sherry’s heart sank. "What do you mean?"
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken challenges.
A faint, chilling smile played on his lips. “I take what I want, and if I help you, I want full control, no conditions. And I expect something in return." His voice lowered, deliberate and commanding.
"Five years. You’ll be my assistant. No complaints, no exceptions. That’s the deal." You’ll report to me. Every decision, every move, you answer to me.”
Sherry blinked, stunned by the audacity of his demand. "Five years? That’s absurd."
"Completely take it or leave it," he said flatly. "You came to me because you’re desperate."
Sherry’s lips parted, a protest forming on her tongue. But the truth was glaring at her: this was her only option.
Enzo said calmly. "You have until the end of tomorrow to decide. After that, my offer disappears."
Sherry stood immediately, frustration and disbelief battling within her. "I won’t be your puppet."
Enzo’s expression didn’t change. "Then walk away. But remember, when Margo Fashion House collapses, it won’t be my problem."
The battle had just begun, and she had no intention of losing.
Midnight cloaked Blackwood Industries like a veil.Too quiet.Too still.The kind of silence only reserved for graveyards... and war zones waiting to scream.Sherry stepped onto the executive floor beside Enzo, her heels echoing against polished marble. The air was cold. Clinical. But she could feel it; something was off.It wasn't just Ethan's betrayal.It was the intimacy of it.Because only someone who loved you could twist the knife deep enough to reach your soul."I trusted him," Enzo muttered beside her, his voice like steel cracking.Sherry didn't respond. She couldn't. The sound of Enzo's rage, the way it vibrated just beneath his skin, terrified her more than gunfire.They entered Ethan's office.Ransacked.The drawers were ripped out, and the laptop was gone. Books torn from shelves. The security server was dismantled. Whoever had done this had time. And access."He knew everything," Sherry whispered. "Security codes. Vault entries. Private correspondence. Even..."Her throat
The private jet touched down just after midnight. No lights. No fanfare. No one to welcome her except a man in a tuxedo holding a black envelope with a red wax seal. "Miss Hart. You've been expected." Sherry adjusted her dark glasses and stepped off the plane, every nerve lit like a fuse. The night air on the Amalfi Coast tasted like salt and secrets with perfume and wealth and something more dangerous simmering beneath it. Victoria's private estate loomed in the distance like a palace stitched together from shadows. Its windows flickered with golden light, music floating faintly on the breeze-a masquerade of predators. Sherry clutched the hidden recording device stitched into the lining of her dress. Tonight, she wasn't Enzo's lover. She wasn't her father's daughter. She was bait. And blade. And she would play their game until she tore the whole thing apart. Inside the estate, the ballroom was a sensual fever dream. Velvet masks, gold champagne, skin on display like armour.
The door to her old apartment stuck in its frame. It groaned like it didn’t want to be opened. Sherry stood in the hallway longer than necessary, fingers hovering on the handle. The place had been abandoned for months, untouched since she’d moved into Enzo’s penthouse, that sleek, sterile empire where nothing was ever out of place. But this place… this was hers. It smelled like dust and memory. She stepped inside. Silence. Broken only by the dull creak of the hardwood beneath her heels. The furniture was draped in sheets, her old-fashioned sketches yellowing under a forgotten lamp. Her favorite throw pillow, the one with the torn corner she never fixed, still sat at an angle like she’d left it only yesterday. And then she saw the mirror. The full-length one beside her closet cracked slightly in the corner. It was clean. Too clean. On the glass, scrawled in crimson lipstick, were six chilling words: “You became what you swore you’d destroy.” Her reflection looked back at h
The silence inside Enzo's penthouse was deceptive. It wasn't peace. It was the moment before a warhead detonated. Sherry stood in the centre of the living room, the USB drive still clutched in her hand. Her fingers had long since gone numb. The second video had played in her head on a loop the entire ride home from the hospital. Enzo's father. Her father. And Victoria, the shadow in every frame. They had all been part of something she hadn't just inherited... She had been born for it. She was never a civilian in this war. She was the collateral. Now she knew it. And Enzo... He sat in his armchair like a king returned from the dead, pale but upright, a bandage still pressed under his open shirt. His glass of bourbon sat untouched. "You saw the second file," he said without looking at her. "Yes." "And?" Sherry's voice cracked as she crossed the room. "How long did you know?" He didn't blink. "I suspected. I didn't know Victoria was that deep in it. I didn't want to beli
Silence hung heavily over the hospital room eerily. Steady beeping from the heart monitor jolted Sherry into the reality that Enzo remained tenuously connected to life by a faint thread of existence. His hand lay limply inside hers, with fingers icy yet somehow still imbued with a faint vital spark. Sleep had eluded her entirely that night. Not entirely, actually. Her cheek bore a faint imprint from a plastic armrest on some hospital chair, pretty recently, it seemed. Her eyes looked raw, but her grip remained tight, somehow still. Then... A stir. A whisper of breath. And the slow, unsteady blink of lashes opened against the pale blue light. Sherry bolted upright. "Enzo?" His mouth parted. Dry, cracked. His eyes moved sluggishly, groggily, but found her. She leaned close, almost scared to breathe. "I'm here." He tried to speak. It came out as a rasp. She grabbed the water cup and gently tilted it to his lips. He drank, coughed, and then exhaled a long, trembling sigh.
The bullet cracked the night wide open.Screams shattered the gala-like glass.Security dove. Guests hit the floor. Champagne flutes exploded on impact.And Sherry couldn't move.The air left her lungs in one strangled gasp as she turned-She was just in time to see Enzo stumble, blood blooming across his white shirt like a rose with thorns.No.He dropped to his knees.No, no, no-She ran.People screamed and scattered, but she tunneled through them like a woman possessed. The moment slowed. Sound drowned beneath the pounding of her heart.She dropped beside him.His body slumped into her arms, blood slick between her fingers.His eyes fluttered. His lips were pale. "Sherry...""Stay with me," she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't you dare leave me again?"His breath hitched. He gripped her wrist."I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."Blood pooled across the floor. Around them. Through them. Like fate written in crimson.Ethan barreled through the panicked crowd, shov
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