THE TEST

The sound of my heels echoed down the marble hallway like a countdown to something I couldn’t escape. My palms were damp, my chest tight, but I forced myself to keep walking, chin up, back straight, toward the tall glass doors of Damien Voss’s office.

I’d spent the entire night trying to understand him. The way he looked at me. The way his silence could strip me bare more than any insult ever could. And now, standing outside his office, I knew this wasn’t just a meeting. It was a test.

I knocked once.

“Come in,” his voice cut through the air low, even, and cold.

The door closed behind me with a soft click, trapping me inside his world again. with floor to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the skyline glinting like steel and glass weapons. He stood near the window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of dark liquid.

He didn’t turn when I entered. He didn’t have to. His presence filled the room long before his gaze did.

“Sit,” he said.

I obeyed, though every muscle in my body screamed for me to run. The leather chair was cold, the silence colder.

Finally, he turned. His grey, sharp, unreadable eyes landed on me like a blade finding its mark.

“You’re late,” he said quietly.

“Traffic,” I whispered.

“Excuses,” he murmured, taking a slow step closer. “You think the world waits for your explanations, Miss Torres?”

My throat tightened. No, sir.

He stopped in front of the desk, towering over me. The light hit his face just right, outlining the cruel perfection of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, and the faint scar near his temple that somehow made him look even more dangerous.

And yet he was beautiful. Beautiful in that merciless way storms are beautiful when they destroy everything in their path.

"Tell me,” he said suddenly. Why do you think I hired you?

My pulse skipped. “Because I’m qualified.”

His lips curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was a warning. You think I didn’t see through you the first day you walked in here? Nervous. Shaking. Too polite. You’re not built for this world, Elena.

I felt my heart drop.

“Then why keep me here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. Because I want to see if you’ll break… or if you’ll surprise me.

The air thickened between us.

He circled the desk slowly, his gaze never leaving me. Every step he took was deliberately measured. I could hear the faint rustle of his suit, the click of his shoes, and the subtle weight of his presence behind me.

“Stand up,” he said.

I did.

He came too close, and my breath caught. I could feel the heat from his body against my back, the faint scent of cedar and smoke that clung to him.

“Turn around.”

When I did, our eyes met. He was darker now, hooded, studying me like I was both a puzzle and a threat.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a tremor down my spine.

“You cut your hair,” he murmured.

“Yesterday,” I managed.

His gaze travelled down, lingering not in lust, but in assessment. “You’re hiding something.”

I swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

“You are. I can see it.” He took another step forward, closing the last inch between us. “You wear confidence like a mask, but your eyes betray you.” The words hit harder than they should’ve. Because he was right.

I wanted to say something, anything, but my mind blanked as his hand reached past me, picking up a folder from the desk. He flipped it open and placed it in front of me.

“Your work,” he said. Your presentation was weak. Numbers inaccurate. Tell me why.

I blinked. “I—I thought they were correct.”

He tilted his head. “You thought.” His voice dropped an octave. “In my world, Miss Torres, thinking isn’t enough. You prove. You dominate.” The way he said the word made my knees weak.

“I’ll redo it,” I whispered.

He smiled faintly. “You’ll do it now.”

My breath hitched. “Now?”

“Right here.” He motioned toward his desk. Use my laptop. It wasn’t a request.

I moved around the desk, fingers trembling as I touched the keyboard. The screen glowed, the cursor blinking like it was mocking me.

Damien stood behind me again, silent. Watching. Every click of the keys sounded too loud in the room. My skin prickled under his gaze.

"Relax,” he said quietly.

I’m trying.

"No,” he murmured. “You’re pretending.”

I froze.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing the shell of my ear. “You think fear makes you weak, but it doesn’t. Fear only reveals what you’re too afraid to admit.” My heart pounded so loud I could hear it. What’s that? I whispered.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped away, his voice shifting back to calm authority. Finish the report. I want it perfect by the end of the day.

I nodded. He started to leave but paused by the door. Oh, and Elena?

Yes?

He turned slightly, the light hitting his profile, the hard lines of his face, and the subtle arrogance in the way he carried himself. “You’ve improved. Don’t mistake my silence for indifference.”

And then he was gone.

I sat there, breathless, my fingers frozen over the keyboard.

What just happened wasn’t just a test of skill; it was psychological warfare. He’d stripped me layer by layer without ever raising his voice. And the worst part?

Somewhere in the chaos of fear and confusion…

I wanted to pass his test.

Just as she’s about to close the laptop, a new message pops up on the screen, from Damien’s email, sent seconds ago.

 Meet me in the private suite tonight. 10 p.m. sharp.

Elena’s heartbeat stops.