Chapter 5- A condition

It’s Monday morning and I’m trying not to hyperventilate. My hands won’t stop shaking, my heartbeat’s doing jumping jacks in my chest, and I’ve already rearranged the pens on my desk six times.

I spent the entire weekend suffocating in guilt replaying the moment I took that money.

By the time I get to work, I’m ten minutes early, but it feels like I’m already late for something. Everyone’s moving around as usual. Phones ringing, keyboards clacking, but I can’t focus.

Where is he?

Damien Blackwood is never late. Not once. He’s the type of man who could set his watch by his own shadow. Always in before 7:30, coffee in hand, suit pressed to precision. But now it’s 8:17, and his office is still dark.

My stomach twists.

Maybe he knows. Maybe he found out. Maybe he’s on the phone with security right now, sending men in suits to drag me out by my elbows.

“Get a grip,” I whisper under my breath. I’ve already finished every single task I could possibly do before noon.

I've rechecked reports, filed the invoices and answered emails that weren’t even for me. The guilt is eating me alive and it’s not even lunchtime.

By the time the clock hits 10:00, I can’t sit anymore. I’ve gone in and out of his office at least five times, pretending to water the plant, rearrange the paper tray, dust the awards on his shelf.

On my sixth trip, I stop at the door, my hand frozen on the knob.

I cross the room slowly tracing the lines of his desk with my fingertips. There isn't a single fingerprint, no clutter, not even a paperclip out of place.

My eyes are drawn to the floor to ceiling glass letting light into the office.

Before I know it, I’m sitting in his chair staring through glass.

From here the city looks alive. Tiny people moving in sync. Everyone has somewhere to be. Everyone's important in their own little world.

I rest my chin on my hand and whisper, “I wonder how this must feel. To look down at everyone and never doubt if you deserve to be up here.”

The words taste bitter.

For a few minutes, I just sit there. Pretending. Imagining what it must be like to be Damien Blackwood.

I’m so lost in the thought that I don’t hear the door open. I don’t hear the footsteps.

What I do hear is his voice. “Good morning, Miss Robinson,” he says, and I freeze so hard my soul leaves my body. “I hope you’re enjoying the view.”

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

My body jerks upright so fast I nearly trip over the chair. My brain short-circuits. My words scatter like marbles across a slick floor. “I—I wasn’t— I mean, I was just—”

He’s standing at the door with his perfectly tailored suit, one hand in his pocket looking like the devil himself. His tone is unreadable, but there’s a faint tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Relax,” he says calmly strolling toward his desk. “I didn’t say you should stand up.”

And somehow, that makes it worse. I attempt to pull myself out of the chair but my body feels heavy.

The sound of his voice makes every thought scatter.

“Don’t stand up,” he continues, and I freeze halfway out of his chair. His voice is calm, so calm it makes my pulse jump. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Robinson.”

My throat tightens. The irony isn’t lost on me. I was comfortable walking around his office, sitting in his chair, pretending to be him like some idiot playing boss for a day. And now he’s here, watching me.

He takes a few slow steps forward, then drops an envelope on the desk. “So,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on me, “I make you comfortable… comfortable enough to steal from me?”

The words hit harder than I expect. My stomach drops, and I can’t move. He slides the envelope toward me, still watching me like he’s studying every breath I take.

“I made you uncomfortable,” he says as his jaw tightened, “then comfortable enough to steal from me?”

He opens the file and flips the page and turns it toward me.

A transaction report. My exact transaction.

How did he know?

For a second, I can’t breathe. The numbers blur. My fingers tremble in my lap.

“What is this, Miss Robinson?” His voice has a hint of something dangerous.

I clasp my hands together then press them to my mouth, shaking. The words tumble out before I can think. “I—I’m so sorry. I can explain.”

He stares at me for a long moment before he speaks again. “Explain what you stole from me,” he says. “What else is there to explain?”

My throat feels tight. “I needed the money,” I say and my voice almost cracks. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me. His expression doesn’t change, but somehow that makes it worse.

“I was going to pay it back,” I add quickly, because the silence feels heavy.

His head tilts slightly. “And how do you plan to pay back a hundred thousand dollars?”

My head jerks up. “What? No, I didn’t take a hundred thousand. I took twenty-five.”

He leans back, almost amused. “Then you’ll pay me back four times that amount.”

“What?” I blink, sure I didn’t hear him right. “What do you mean four times? That’s not fair.”

He shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You can’t steal from me and walk away like nothing happened. You need to learn there are consequences.”

My chest tightens. “I don’t have that kind of money,” I whisper. “Everything I have goes to my mom’s treatment.”

That makes him pause. His eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see something there. It’s small, almost hidden, but it’s there. Something that looks a lot like compassion.

Then he says, almost casually, “There’s a way to make this all go away.”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Marry me. Give me a child.”

For a second, I actually think I misheard him. “What?” I blink multiple times then laugh nervously. “What did you just say?”

He doesn’t smile. “You heard me.”

I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.”

My heart starts pounding. “Are you insane?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

His brows shoot up. He looks shocked, like actually shocked. I’ve never spoken to him like that before. “Is that how you talk to your boss?” he asks with a voice low. This man looks, amused? A smile appears on his face and it just makes my blood boil. This is my life, my actual life.

“Yes,” I snap. “When my boss is crazy.”

The smile touches eyes. “Crazy or not, it’s the best offer you’ll get. I can suggest any arrangement I want. You work for me. You stole from me.”

I shake my head, still trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “Marry you? What do you even mean by that?”

He sits in the chair opposite his, completely calm. “I need a wife. You need money for your mother’s treatment. It’s simple. One year. A baby. Then you’re free.”

I blink at him, stunned. “You’re out of your mind. I’m not doing that.”

He looks at me like I just said something funny. “You don’t have a choice, Kayla. Either you marry me, or I call the cops. You’ll lose your job, your reputation, everything. You’ll be blacklisted from every company in this city.”

I can’t even breathe. My mouth opens, but no words come out. I just stare at him, this man who somehow managed to sound both calm and terrifying at the same time.

And for the first time since I met Damien Blackwood, I realize he means every single word.