Chapter 4: Temptation Behind Closed Doors

Eleanor and Damian sat at their small round table in the cozy kitchen, enjoying a warm breakfast. The morning sun streamed through the window, making the room feel bright and cheerful. They laughed and shared stories, both feeling a sense of happiness in each other's company.

Just then, Sarah emerged from her room, looking beautiful in a stylish outfit. She was preparing for a big meeting. Damian's eyes grew wide as he took in her appearance. Eleanor noticed and said, “Wow, Sarah, you really have the best shape! You're so beautiful. Be careful with the guys out there.”

Sarah laughed, feeling flattered. “Thanks! But I’ll be returning late, so don’t wait for me!” With that, she turned to grab her things. As she did, her eyes caught Damian staring at her in a way that made her heart race. She quickly looked away, feeling a flutter in her stomach.

Outside, Sarah's ride had arrived. She had ordered a sleek, black car that glimmered in the sunlight. The driver smiled and handed her the keys. Just as she was about to get in, Damian called out to her, making her jump.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, looking around nervously. “What if my mom notices?”

Damian chuckled softly, waving his hand nonchalantly. “She’s in the shower,” he replied. He stepped closer, holding out a shiny card. “Here, take this.”

Sarah took the card and saw it featured Damian's name as a CEO. The back had his personal number and the address of his company. Her curiosity sparked, but so did her anxiety. What was she supposed to do with this information?

trying to maintain her composure. “I have to go.”

As she climbed into the car, her mind raced. What could it mean? 

Driving through the streets ,Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that her life was about to change in a significant way. The modern world surrounding her felt different now.

The card in her pocket seemed to hold a secret, one that hinted at new adventures waiting just around the corner.

The boardroom door slammed shut behind Sarah, the echo of it bouncing off the sterile white walls of the corporate hallway.

Her chest heaved with each sharp breath, the silk of her blouse clinging to her skin, damp with frustration. The meeting had been a farce—another round of condescending smiles and lingering gazes that had nothing to do with the quarterly reports and everything to do with the way her fitted blazer hugged her curves.

She could still feel their eyes on her, like fingers tracing the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her skirt rode just high enough to tease when she crossed her legs. Bastards.

She stormed toward the elevator, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble, each step a punctuation to her fury.

The doors slid open, and she stabbed the button for the parking level, her reflection in the mirrored walls showing a woman on the edge—cheeks flushed, lips pressed into a thin line, her dark hair slightly disheveled from running her fingers through it too many times during the meeting.

The descent did little to cool her temper. By the time the doors opened again, her hands were clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

The underground parking lot was dim, the fluorescent lights flickering weakly overhead, casting long shadows between the rows of sleek sedans and polished SUVs.

The air smelled of oil and concrete, the usual stale scent of enclosed spaces. Sarah barely registered it as she marched toward her car, her mind still replaying the way Mr. Harlow had “accidentally” brushed against her when he handed her the reports, his breath reeking of cheap scotch.

She dug into her purse for her keys, her movements jerky, when a low chuckle cut through the silence.

“Rough meeting, Sarah?”

Her head snapped up. Leaning against the hood of a black Audi three spaces down was him—the new investor, the one who’d sat at the head of the table with that infuriating smirk, his sharp suit doing little to hide the way his eyes had undressed her every time she spoke.

His name was Damian, and right now, he was looking at her like she was a steak and he hadn’t eaten in days. His tie was loose, the top button of his shirt undone, as if he’d already started celebrating the end of the workday. Or maybe he just liked the effect it had on women when he looked like that—dangerous, untouchable, hungry.

Sarah’s stomach twisted. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She didn’t wait for an answer, turning back to her car, but the click of a door unlocking made her pause.

A sleek, dark blue Porsche pulled up beside her, the engine purring like a predator sizing up its prey. The window rolled down, and Damian’s voice cut through the hum of the garage, smooth as aged whiskey.

“Get in.”

She whirled on him, her temper flaring. “Excuse me?”

Damian leaned over the passenger seat, his forearm resting on the open window frame, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal the corded muscles of his forearms.

His cologne—something dark and spiced—drifted toward her, wrapping around her senses like a promise. 

“You look like you’re about to punch someone. Eleanor doesn’t need to see you like this.” His gaze flicked over her, lingering on the way her blouse strained against her chest, the rapid rise and fall of her breaths. 

“Come to my place. Cool off.”

Sarah’s molars ground together. She hated how reasonable he sounded, how his voice could shift from smug arrogance to something almost gentle in the span of a sentence.

And he was right—Eleanor, her Mom and Damian’s fiancée, would take one look at her and know something was wrong. She’d pry, she’d worry, she’d drag Sarah to some overpriced wine bar and force her to “talk it out” while Sarah seethed in silence.

The thought made her exhaustion crash over her like a wave.

“Fine,” she bit out, yanking open the passenger door before she could second-guess herself.

The leather seat was still warm from the drive, the scent of Damian’s cologne even stronger inside the car. She buckled in, her skirt riding up her thighs as she shifted, and she didn’t miss the way Damian’s eyes flicked to the exposed skin before he pulled away from the curb.

The drive was tense, the silence between them thick with something Sarah refused to name.

Damian navigated the city streets with easy confidence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his fingers tapping an absent rhythm.

Sarah stared out the window, watching the blur of neon signs and taillights, her mind still replaying the meeting, the way the men had looked at her like she was a distraction, not a colleague. Like her ideas were only worth as much as the cleavage her blazer failed to hide.