Girlfriend Interlude

The private elevator chimed, and every head in the outer office turned.

Selene Vaughn didn’t walk she made an entrance.

Tall, sun-kissed, and unapologetically dramatic in a scarlet wrap dress, she looked as if she’d just stepped off a magazine cover. Oversized sunglasses hid half her face, but the slow, amused smile was unmistakable.

“Morning, darlings,” she said to no one in particular, her heels clicking across the polished floor. “Don’t mind me just here to see the boss.”

Assistants exchanged nervous glances. No one stopped her. No one ever did.

Damian’s door swung open before she could knock.

“Selene,” he said evenly. “You’re early.”

“You’re late for me,” she shot back, sweeping into the office as if it belonged to her. She dropped her sunglasses onto his desk, sending a paperweight spinning. “Honestly, Damian, you never text back. A girl could start to feel neglected.”

Damian closed the door behind her. “I was in a meeting.”

“It’s eight-forty-five in the morning,” she said, dropping into one of his leather chairs and crossing her legs. “The market isn’t that needy.”

He took his seat across from her, expression unreadable. “Why are you here, Selene?”

“Because you married someone.” Her tone turned playful, but her eyes sharpened. “A little bird told me the wedding was… low-key. No invitations for old friends. Tragic.”

“It was a business arrangement.” Damian’s voice was flat, final. “You know that.”

Selene tilted her head, studying him. “That’s what you call it? A merger of hearts and balance sheets?”

He didn’t answer.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice dropping to a purr. “So, Damian Cross, titan of industry, now has a wife. Tell me "does the mysterious Mrs. Cross know her husband keeps late nights with models and martinis?”

His jaw tightened a fraction. “My personal life is not a topic for discussion.”

“Oh, I think it is.” Selene’s smile widened. “Especially since your marriage is the talk of the city’s gossip columns. I read one this morning that called it ‘a union of dynasties.’ Very poetic. Shame you left out the romance.”

“I’m not interested in gossip.”

“Then why marry at all?” she pressed. “You never struck me as the ‘I do’ type.”

Damian swiveled his chair to face the skyline, effectively turning his back on her. “Because it made sense.”

Selene let out a low laugh that filled the room. “That poor girl. What’s her name again "Aria"? She must feel so special, knowing she’s the smartest line on a spreadsheet.”

“She understands the arrangement,” he said without turning.

Selene rose, her perfume trailing like a challenge. “You say that, but women rarely understand being ignored. Eventually they want… more.” She stepped closer, standing just behind his chair. “And you, Damian, are terrible at giving more.”

He remained still, a wall of calm. “Is there a reason for this visit beyond commentary?”

“Maybe I just missed you.” Her breath was warm near his ear. “Maybe I wanted to remind you that paperwork doesn’t change desire.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched. Damian finally stood, forcing her to take a step back.

“This isn’t a good time,” he said, voice like steel. “I have a board meeting.”

Selene’s grin didn’t fade. “It’s never a good time with you. That’s half the fun.”

She glided toward the door, pausing only to glance over her shoulder. “Give my regards to your… contract bride.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a faint echo of laughter.

Damian exhaled once, slow and controlled, then pressed the intercom.

“Evelyn,” he said, his voice even. “Clear my schedule for the next fifteen minutes. And have the boardroom ready.”

“Yes, sir,” came the crisp reply.

He straightened his tie, the only sign of irritation a brief flicker in his eyes. Selene thrived on chaos. He thrived on order. And order would win as it always did.

Still, as he reached for the Vanguard merger file, the faint scent of her perfume lingered like an unwanted reminder that some things refused to be filed away.

The boardroom emptied on schedule, leaving only the faint smell of espresso and tension behind. Damian lingered a moment after the last executive filed out, eyes on the city spread beyond the glass wall. Deals were moving exactly as he’d predicted. Vanguard’s resistance was softening. By nightfall he’d own the company in everything but name.

He liked when the world followed the plan.

A soft knock broke the quiet. Evelyn stepped inside, tablet in hand, her expression as composed as ever.

“Your wife called,” she said, voice low but clear. “Mrs. Cross asked to confirm tonight’s charity dinner. She wondered if you’d be joining her.”

Damian turned from the window. “I have a late briefing.”

“I told her you might be delayed,” Evelyn continued. “She said she’ll attend regardless.”

He gave a single nod. “Send her my regards. Politely.”

Evelyn made a quick note on her screen. “There’s also a courier from Carter Industries contracts for the new joint venture. Shall I forward them for your review?”

“Yes. I’ll sign before I leave.”

She waited, as if gauging whether to add more, then simply said, “Anything else, sir?”

“No.” His voice was smooth, final.

Evelyn inclined her head and withdrew, the door closing with a muted click.

Silence reclaimed the room.

Damian crossed to his desk and sat, fingers drumming once against the polished wood. Aria’s name hovered in the air like an echo. She’d made no demands, no complaints since the wedding. A wife in title only. Efficient. Predictable. Exactly what he’d bargained for.

And yet—

He remembered the steadiness in her eyes during the wedding ceremony . No pleading. No theatrics. A quiet strength that unsettled him more than Selene’s games ever could.

He shoved the thought aside, focusing on the merger files. Numbers didn’t ask questions. Numbers obeyed.

A minute passed. Then five. The city outside brightened into late afternoon, neon beginning to pulse in the distance. He should have felt satisfaction. Instead, a small, unwelcome flicker of curiosity slipped past his defenses.

What would Aria wear to the charity dinner? Would she stand alone, perfectly poised, while people whispered about the absent husband? Did she care?

He exhaled sharply and reached for his pen.

Curiosity was a distraction. And Damian Cross did not entertain distractions.

The skyline outside his window bled into night, each skyscraper lit like a circuit in a vast machine. Damian leaned back in the chair, a silent figure framed in neon.

The day’s victories should have left him satisfied Vanguard folded, the market tilted in his favor, Selene kept at bay. Instead, a thin current of restlessness hummed beneath the quiet.

He tried to bury it under numbers, scrolling through projections until the lines blurred. It didn’t work.

Aria’s face surfaced, uninvited. Not the wedding photo in the press no, the memory of her steady gaze across the signing table. Calm, calculating. Almost amused.

Most people flinched beneath his silence. She hadn’t.

Damian set the tablet down, fingers steepled. He told himself it was strategy knowing a partner’s mind was good business. But the thought lingered, stubborn as a shadow.

What was she thinking tonight, walking alone into a room full of sharks who called themselves donors? Did she care that he wasn’t beside her? Did she ever care at all?

The questions hung in the dark office like static. Damian closed his eyes, willing them away.

When he opened them, the city still glowed, indifferent, but the curiosity refused to fade.