UNDER HIS RULE

The alarm buzzed at exactly 6:00 a.m., slicing through the silence of my new apartment. I’d barely slept. My body was in bed, but my mind had been pacing all night, haunted by the memory of Damien Voss’s eyes and the sharp command in his last message.

> “Be ready by 7 AM. Wear black. And Elena… Don’t be late.”

His words replayed in my head over and over like an unbreakable loop.

I dressed in the black dress. So—sleek, delivered earlier, sleek, fitted, with a modest neckline but an aura of quiet power. It wasn’t me. It felt like I was wearing someone else’s skin. But maybe that was the point, and she needed to become someone else to survive this world.

By 6:45, I was already downstairs, waiting. The driver, dressed in black like the rest of Damien’s world, opened the car door without a word.

The city was still waking up, sunlight crawling between skyscrapers, soft horns echoing in the distance. But inside that tinted car, it was nothing but silence and tension.

When we reached Voss Tower, the same familiar dread pressed against my chest. I adjusted my bag, inhaled deeply, and stepped out.

The lobby was teeming with men in tailored suits and women with sharp heels and sharper eyes. I could almost taste the ambition in the air.

Sophia met me the moment. I walked in. “Mi I was, that is. Voss is in a meeting. You’ll wait in the observation lounge until he calls for you.”

I nodded, following her instructions, pretending I knew what I was doing. The lounge overlooked the city, with technologies, leather seats, and a silence that made every breath sound too loud.

I didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later, Sophia returned. “He’s ready for you.”

My heart pounded harder.

She led Damien through a corridor lined with frosted glass and sleek steel. Then, she opened the door to Damien’s office. immaculate and by his desk again, immaculate, unbothered, in a black suit that matched the danger in his aura. He didn’t look up right away; he was signing something, pen moving swiftly across the page.

When he did glance up, his was steady and, like a physical touch, steady and piercing.

“You’re on time,” he said, voice calm but weighted. “Good.”

I tried to keep my tone steady. “People told me not to be late.”

“People hear what I say all the time,” he replied, placing the pen down. “Few actually listen.”

I swallowed hard, unsure whether that was a compliment or a warning.

He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

As I lowered myself into the seat, he caught me with unnerving focus, like he was studying every twitch, every breath.

“Thfront; shehe began, sliding a sleek tablet across the and bee, is your schedule. Every bag, every call, every document that comes across blue. SK will pass through you first. You’ll filter what matters from what doesn’t. You’ll make sure my world runs flawlessly.

I nodded slowly. “Understood.”

“Good. Because failure isn’t an option here.”

His tone was casual, but the edge in it was sharp enough to draw blood.

For the next few hours, I was buried in detailed emails, reports, and calls. I worked silently, trying to focus, to keep my trembling hands still. But I could feel his presence even when he wasn’t looking directly at me. The sound of his voice across the room, the way he paced while on calls, and the subtle authority in everything he did—it was suffocating and magnetic all at once.

By noon, I felt the exhaustion creeping in. My fingers cramped, and my shoulders ached. I reached for my cup of water, but my hands were shaking.

That’s when he noticed.

“Stop,” Damien said, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. I froze.

He walked around the desk and stopped beside me. My pulse spiked.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” he said quietly, almost too quietly. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m fine.”

“Answer me, Elena.” 

I swallowed. “Yesterday.”

His jaw tightened. For a moment, his expression softened, barely noticeable, but real. Then it was gone.

“Come with me.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Lunch,” he said, already walking toward the door. You’re no good to me if you collapse on the desk.

I hesitated, then followed him.

The private dining suite was nothing like the rest of the tower: softer lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a view of the whole city. He gestured for me to sit.

“I don’t usually eat with employees,” he said as he poured himself a glass of water. “But you’re… different.”

I frowned slightly. “Different how?”

He met my eyes. You don’t pretend.

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but before I could ask, he added, “You wear your fear like armor.” That’s rare.

My breath caught. Fear isn’t armor, Mr. Voss. It’s a cage.

He leaned back, a faint smirk playing at his lips. Then maybe it’s time you learn how to turn your cage into a weapon.

Something in his calm, deliberate tone made my chest tighten.

Lunch was quiet, filled with unspoken tension. Every time his gaze brushed against me, I felt my pulse stutter. I hated that he could affect me like that.

When we returned to his office, the afternoon slipped into a blur of meetings. At one point, a man barged in loud and angry, accusing Damien of cutting a deal behind his back.

I flinched as the man slammed his hand on the table. But Damien didn’t even blink.

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” the man hissed.

“Yes,” Damien said, his voice like ice. “And you should remember who you’re talking to.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, and dangerous.

Then Damien leaned forward, his tone dropping to something quiet but lethal. “If you ever raise your voice in my office again, you’ll leave this building with nothing but regret.”

The man paled. I stammered something. Left.

I stared at Damien, frozen. There was no shouting, no violence, but the power in his calm was terrifying.

He turned to me. “You see, Elena… Real control doesn’t need noise. It’s about presence.”

I nodded slowly, still shaken.

He studied me for a long moment. Then his voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “You did well today. Most people crumble under pressure.”

“Maybe I’m already broken,” I said before I could stop myself.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable crossing them. “No,” he murmured. You’re just not done being tested.

I looked up at him, caught between fear and something I couldn’t name.

Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, expression unreadable, before saying, “You’re dismissed. Go home. Rest.”

I stood, gathering my things, my mind spinning with everything that had happened.

Just as I reached the door, his voice stopped me.

“Elena.” I turned.

He was watching me, leaning slightly against the edge of his desk, that unreadable smirk returning.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice low, we’ll see what you’re really made of.

And with that, he turned away, leaving me breathless, confused, and terrified of what the next day would bring.

Because somehow, I knew my test had only just begun.