LOGINShe expected hostility. What she didn’t expect was the feeling of being watched.
It started with small whispers stopping when she entered a room, lingering gazes that felt too calculating.
Then, as she walked through the lobby, a note slipped from her bag.
Frowning, she picked it up. The handwriting was sharp, almost angry.
“You don’t belong here. Walk away before it’s too late.”
Sherry’s breath hitched.
Her head snapped up, eyes scanning the room. But whoever left the note had already disappeared.
Enzo barely looked up from his desk when Sherry entered his office.
“You’re late,” he said coolly.
Sherry’s grip tightened around the note. “I…”
She hesitated. Should she tell him?
His sharp gaze lifted. “Something wrong?”
Sherry forced her voice to stay steady. “Nothing. Just… adjusting.”
Enzo studied her for a moment, then leaned back. “You’d better adjust fast, Miss Hart. Tokyo isn’t a playground.”
Sherry nodded, slipping the note into her pocket. She could handle this.
Or at least, she thought she could.
Two days later, on the eve of their flight, Enzo did something unexpected.
After an exhausting day of briefings, Sherry looks so pale and exhausted but still needs to finish up for the day against their Tokyo trip.
Enzo appeared at Sherry’s office door.
“Come with me.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Enzo glanced at his watch. “It’s late, and you haven’t eaten.”
Sherry frowned. “How do you know?”
He ignored her question and walked out. “You have ten seconds before I leave without you.”
Sherry huffed but followed.
He didn't answer her question and walked out. "You have ten seconds before I leave without you."
Sherry huffed but followed him immediately.
A shiny black car waited at the entrance, and soon enough, they were driving through the town.
“Where are we going?” she asked, feeling nervous.
“You’ll see.”
Minutes later, they arrived at a private rooftop restaurant.
Sherry’s jaw nearly dropped, and an exclusive skyline view this was… breathtaking.
Enzo sat across from her, his expression unreadable. “Consider this a test.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A test for what?”
“To see how well you follow orders,” he said smoothly. “Now eat.”
Sherry glared at him. The audacity.
But as the night went on, something shifted. The tension between them eased a bit.
For the first time, she saw hints of the man behind his cold exterior.
A man who was calculating but protective. Ruthless but controlled.
A man who both intrigued and infuriated her.
While they ate, Enzo stayed silent, concentrating on his food like someone who controlled everything in his life, even how he ate.
The silence felt heavy to Sherry, becoming more uncomfortable with each moment. But she was determined not to speak first. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Sherry tried to appreciate the breathtaking view, but her mind kept drifting back to him, his man who was both her boss and the key to saving her family’s legacy.
The clink of silverware and the distant hum of conversation faded as a scene played in her mind one so vivid it made her breath hitch.
She imagined his rough, calloused fingers trailing up her bare arm, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His deep voice, usually sharp and commanding, was now husky with desire as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You drive me insane, Sherry," he’d murmur, his breath warm, sending a shiver down her spine.
She could almost feel the heat of his body, the press of his firm chest against hers as he backed her against his office desk, his hands gripping her waist possessively.
After Enzo finished his meal, he carefully folded his napkin and wiped his mouth neatly.
He stood up, the chair protesting softly against the polished floor.
“Ms. Sherry?”
Her eyes snapped up. Enzo was watching her, an amused smirk curling his lips. Had she just sighed out loud?
“Let’s go,” he said coldly. “We’re not finished yet.”
Sherry looked up, confused. “What do you mean? I thought”
"We're heading back to the office," he interrupted her. "There's still stuff to do before the flight tomorrow." When Enzo finished, he cleaned his mouth with the napkin, very neat and orderly in his moves. He got up, the chair scraped softly against the polished floor. "Come on," he commanded, calm and detached.
"We aren't done yet."
Sherry looked up, confused. “What do you mean? I thought”
“We will go back to the office,” he interjected. “There is still paperwork before tomorrow’s journey.”
Her mouth fell open. “Seriously? After all this?” She gestured to the luxurious setting around them.
His eyes flicked over her, a hint of amusement barely visible. “Did you think this was a date?” His voice held a mocking edge. “You’re my assistant, Ms. Hart. Nothing more. Don’t get confused.”
Heat flared in Sherry’s cheeks. “I wasn’t,” she said, then snapped her mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a defense. She stood with stiff shoulders and followed him back to the waiting car.
The drive back to the office was tense. Enzo didn’t speak, and his expression was once more remote, staring straight ahead. Sherry’s thoughts raced;
she couldn’t settle on any one of the thousand questions flying through her head.
Why did he care whether she ate?
Why bring her to such an exclusive place only to turn cold again?
They worked late into the night, Enzo’s demanding presence pushing her to her limits.
“Rest a bit,” Enzo stated without looking at her, still his focus was on the papers before him. “We will leave for Tokyo by 7 a.m don’t be late again.”
Sherry nodded, too weary to say anything. She exited his office, her legs heavy as she trudged to her car.
On the drive home, she had thought about the rooftop restaurant and the unwitnessed side of the man behind the mask of indifference. She shook her head in frustration with herself.
What did it matter? He was her boss, nothing more.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Enzo Blackwood than he let on. And tomorrow’s trip to Tokyo… What was the real reason behind it? What did this deal mean to him? To her?
The exact thought that came to Sherry’s mind was what she had herself in for.
The next morning, Sherry stood at the airport terminal, nerves dancing beneath her skin. Enzo was already there, perfectly composed in a tailored suit that fit him like a second skin.
He was an imposing figure of power and control, his expression cold and unreadable. He barely acknowledged her presence before boarding the private jet, leaving her to follow in his shadow.
The flight to Tokyo was tense. Enzo buried himself in paperwork, his focus impenetrable. Sherry tried to do the same, going over the contract drafts and financial reports, but her thoughts kept drifting.
Why was this deal so crucial?.......
Why did he insist she go with him? There was something up about this trip that he was not being straight with her about, and she was going to find out what it was.
And equally having a playing-out daydream on her mind of walking down to Enzo to have a taste of his nice-looking succulent lips.
“Are you down staring? So that you can go back to your duties.” He smirked.
“Um….. Sherry finally uttered after gazing at him for what seemed like ages.
A few hours later, they landed in Tokyo. Neon lights flashed against the grey sky; the city buzzed with life. But there was no time to enjoy the view.
Enzo walked with sharp, exact movements, taking her to a tall office building that seemed to touch the sky.
Sherry’s heart beat faster as they walked into the modern, intimidating conference room.
Behind the glass walls, the Tokyo skyline stretched out endlessly, setting the scene for the important negotiations ahead.
Three men awaited them, their faces stern and guarded. But it was the fourth figure at the head of the table that made Sherry’s blood run cold.
Victoria.
She stood tall, poised with a predatory smile curving on her lips. Her eyes gleamed with calculated malice as they landed on Sherry.
“Enzo,” Victoria greeted smoothly, her voice a perfect blend of professionalism and poison. “I see you brought… company.” Her gaze flicked to Sherry, the implication sharp and mocking.
Enzo’s expression remained stoic. "In that case, let's not waste her time."
He remained the same indifferent man who displayed Sherry as a mere placeholder. Sherry’s cheeks were flaming, but she put herself in a posture that declared determination.
She would rather die than show her fear to Victoria. The negotiations were terrible, but Enzo kept on the spot being serious and not giving a way to his opponent.
Despite it, Sherry was not quite sure of it, and she had a sensation that Victoria was already there ahead of her, she was far too confident, and she thought she had the negotiations already in her hands.
The cockiness and arrogance of Victoria's words did not disappear from her mouth, but, were even more evident in her lightly smiling eyes.
"I've understood it, Enzo; your generosity in bringing me a most inexperienced assistant is kind of characteristic for you, but I didn't expect that during such a scale of negotiation.". Desperate, perhaps?”
Enzo’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained icy. “Your opinion is irrelevant, Victoria. Stick to the numbers.”
His eyes narrowed as he met Victoria’s smug gaze. “Watch your words, Victoria,” he said, his tone cold and unwavering.
“I don’t bring anyone to my negotiation table without reason. Sherry’s here because she’s capable more than you realize.”
He leaned in, dominating the room.
He quickly looked at Sherry who was already feeling a little bit at peace and then directed his eyes back at Victoria again.
“Calls like them are not the product of desperation but tactical moves. I always try to win.”
Victoria grinned malevolently. “I don’t power trip, but I think it’s pretty influential. It combines with you... Unfortunately for you, the two of them. ”
Under the table, Sherry tightened the grip on her fingertips.
Then, Victoria made her move.
She pushed a document across the table, her nails perfectly done, moving slowly on purpose. “You might find this… interesting,” she said with a smug smile.
Enzo’s face lost color as he read the papers. For a split second, his calm facade slipped, his eyes showing a hint of panic
Months later, Paris smelled like fresh rain and cigarette smoke. The city had a way of holding onto contradictions, of being both soft and sharp, warm and cold, alive and aching with ghosts. For Sherry, it mirrored exactly what lived inside her.It had been four months since she walked out of Enzo’s life, since the night she left behind the quiet devastation of his father’s office and booked a one-way ticket to Paris. She remembered the cold glass of the plane window pressed against her cheek that night, the blur of lights fading beneath her, and the way her body felt like it was made of glass, fragile, breakable, yet somehow still holding together.Now, Paris had become her stage. Her name buzzed across fashion magazines, her designs filled glossy spreads and her face was caught in paparazzi flashes as she stepped onto red carpets in gowns she had sketched on scraps of paper in the middle of sleepless nights. The fashion world had welcomed her back and not just welcomed her, but crown
The drive to the old Blackwood estate was wrapped in silence.Not the quiet they had built between them in recent weeks, the kind that felt like shared breath and unspoken understanding, but the heavier kind, dense with unsaid words. Silence that held questions with answers neither of them wanted to voice.Sherry sat stiffly in the back seat beside Enzo, her eyes fixed on the blurred landscape rolling past the tinted glass. The video from the night before still echoed in her skull, while circling her like a vulture.Love is leverage. It wasn’t just a phrase. It was a curse, one her heart had already begun to believe.Enzo hadn’t said a word since it played. He hadn’t tried to soothe her, hadn’t tried to dismiss the venom of his father’s voice. He had just… sat in it. Like he was carrying the weight of two legacies at once, the one he was born into and the one he had chosen with her.Only this morning had he finally broken the silence. His eyes had been hollow, his voice almost unrecogn
The morning after the storm didn’t arrive with thunder or with the dramatic sweep of lightning across Manhattan’s skyline.It came with something much smaller, softer and almost ordinary.The steady ticking of Sherry’s wall clock in the kitchen. The faint scent of orange blossoms drifted through the cracked-open window and the quiet weight of Enzo Blackwood sleeping on her couch, like a king stripped of his throne and exiled to something far less ceremonial than velvet chairs or mahogany boardrooms.She stood barefoot in her kitchen, wrapped in a robe that had once belonged to her mother, staring at the mug of coffee in her trembling hands. She hadn’t taken a sip yet. The steam curled upward like smoke from a fire she wasn’t ready to put out.She couldn’t stop looking at him.He hadn’t stirred once since she’d draped the blanket across his chest the night before. Enzo Blackwood, the man who had ruled rooms with a glance, who had made titans bend and lovers burn, looked strangely boyish
The studio lights were merciless. They weren’t built for intimacy, for the fragile kind of honesty that tasted like blood in the back of your throat. They were built to strip, to expose and to burn away whatever shadows you tried to hide beneath.And tonight, Sherry Hart walked willingly into the fire.She sat straight-backed in the steel-gray chair, a red silk blouse draping elegantly against her shoulders and black slacks tailored sharp enough to cut. Her makeup was precise, her hair pinned into a sleek twist, every detail curated not for vanity, but for armor, because when the world wanted to destroy you, the smallest crack was all it needed to strike.Across from her sat Richard Lane, America’s most notorious interviewer. His reputation stretched across decades of political assassinations disguised as interviews, of corporate titans unraveling under his questions, of movie stars crumbling into apologies. He was known for his cruelty, his surgical precision and his refusal to let an
The safe deposit box was hidden beneath marble and time. Inside a midtown Manhattan bank, cold and old enough to predate both her fashion house and her shame, Sherry stepped into the private vault room. The manager handed her a small brass key, the kind that felt ceremonial in her palm. She opened the drawer.Inside: a black leather-bound journal, a USB drive and a faded envelope with her name handwritten in her father’s curling script. She felt sad, immediately remembering her deceased parents now.SherryHer breath caught. She touched the paper as if it might crumble. Or like she might.The seal broke with a whisper.“If you are reading this, it means I failed to protect you from the truth I spent half my life hiding.”Back at her apartment, she spread the contents out like pieces of a broken map.The USB drive was labeled "Personal."The … PersonalThe journal? A log of financial transactions and handwritten notes, documenting everything from hidden deals to business lunches with me
The jet touched down in New York just after sunset. The city sprawled beneath them like a restless beast, its towers glinting with indifferent light, streets already alive with horns and voices, a pulse that didn't soften for anyone. To Sherry, it felt less like homecoming and more like sentencing. New York didn't embrace you when you fell; it devoured you. Tonight, it greeted her like a judge in a black robe, cold, formal and unbothered by pleas for mercy.The second her heels hit the tarmac, the weight of the headlines pressed down on her shoulders. She was no longer walking onto familiar ground. She was walking into a courtroom where the verdict had already been written.By the time the convoy of cars pulled into Midtown, the world had already sharpened its knives.The first reporter broke from the barricade before the car had fully stopped. His voice cut through the night, eager and greedy."Ms. Hart! Do you have any comment about falsifying corporate evidence?"Another shoved forw







