Chapter 5

The Monday after the gala felt unreal.

Lena’s phone hadn’t stopped buzzing. Pictures from the party had exploded across the internet. Headlines read:

“Who’s the Mystery Woman on Rafael Blackthorne’s Arm?”

“From Assistant to It Girl? Meet Lena Carter.”

“Power Couple in the Making?”

Lena groaned and slid deeper into her coffee cup.

“Two weeks ago, I was breaking up bar fights and refilling ketchup bottles,” she muttered. “Now I’m being shipped with the most un-dateable billionaire in Manhattan.”

At least Rafael hadn’t brought it up—yet.

When she walked into the office, however, the mood was… strange.

Everyone stared.

The front desk girl, the interns, even Vivienne—whose eyes sliced across the room like knives dipped in Chanel No. 5.

“Morning,” Lena said, trying to stay breezy.

No one answered.

Vivienne smiled, tight-lipped. “Mr. Blackthorne’s in his office.”

Lena blinked. “You’re… being polite.”

“Don’t get used to it, darling.”

That definitely wasn’t creepy at all.

She took a deep breath and entered Rafael’s office.

He stood at the window, dressed in charcoal gray today, tie loose, his hair messier than usual. When he turned to her, his gaze roamed from her boots to her mouth, slowly.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I’m three minutes early.”

“I missed you for five.”

Her breath caught. “You’re not starting this again.”

“Starting what?”

“This…” She gestured between them. “The tension. The flirting. The post-party weirdness.”

He leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “You’re right. Let’s be professional.”

“Thank you—”

“You’re fired.”

She blinked. “What?!”

“From being my assistant.”

“…What?”

“I’m promoting you,” he said, tossing a thick folder onto the desk. “You’re now Director of Special Projects.”

She stared at it like it might bite.

“Is that even a real title?”

“I just made it up. Perks include a private office, a company card…” He stepped closer. “And mandatory dinners with your boss.”

Her stomach did a full somersault.

“I don’t know if that’s HR-compliant.”

“I own HR.”

“And what exactly are these ‘special projects’?”

His mouth curved into a slow, infuriating smile.

“Mostly… me.”

Lena rolled her eyes, but she was already biting her lip to hide a grin.

That night, he texted her one word:

Dinner.

When she asked where, he simply replied:

Dress like you want to ruin me.

She chose a black satin dress with thin straps and a low dip in the back. Nothing over the top—until she caught Rafael’s expression at the door.

He was dressed in black again—button-down shirt unbuttoned just enough to distract her thoughts and ruin her focus. His jaw was sharp, freshly shaved, and when he looked at her…

“Say something,” she whispered, suddenly nervous.

“You wore that on purpose.”

“You told me to.”

“Remind me to never give you power again.”

His town car took them not to a restaurant but to his penthouse.

He led her through glass doors to a candlelit rooftop garden, with a private table set beneath string lights. Manhattan glowed beneath them.

“I thought you said dinner,” she said, breathless.

“I did.” He pulled out her chair. “But I didn’t say with company.”

“Do you do this often? Seduce women on rooftops with wine and mood lighting?”

He poured her a glass. “Only you.”

She sipped, narrowing her eyes. “You know this isn’t a real date.”

“Of course not.” He leaned in, voice lower. “Unless you want it to be.”

Her skin flushed under the heat of his gaze.

They ate slowly—pasta in white wine sauce, soft bread, warm chocolate cake—and halfway through, Lena relaxed. For once, Rafael wasn’t barking orders or dodging calls. He asked her questions. About her mom. About waitressing. About her dream to open a food truck someday.

And when she laughed, really laughed, he stared at her like it hurt.

“You do that a lot,” she said softly.

“What?”

“Look at me like you want to say something but won’t.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for the things I want to say.”

“Try me.”

He pushed his chair back and stood, walking around the table until he stood behind her. His fingers brushed her shoulders, slowly sliding the straps of her dress down her arms.

“I want to take you inside,” he murmured. “Lay you out on my bed. And remind you that no one will ever look at you the way I do.”

She turned her head, voice barely above a whisper. “Then why haven’t you?”

He bent down, lips grazing her ear. “Because if I touch you tonight, I won’t stop.”

They didn’t make it to the bed.

Rafael backed her against the wall the moment they stepped into the penthouse, his lips crashing into hers like he’d been waiting a lifetime. There was no hesitation. No slowness. Just fire.

He kissed like a man who didn’t beg—only took.

Her hands tangled in his shirt, fingers tugging at the buttons, desperate for skin.

He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her into the living room, laying her on the velvet couch like she was made of silk and starlight. His mouth found her neck, her collarbone, the place just below her ear that made her gasp.

“I should go,” she whispered, even as her hips arched toward him.

“I won’t let you.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“So are you.”

Their clothes hit the floor in pieces—his shirt first, her dress next. His body hovered over hers, heat and muscle and all-consuming tension.

She traced his jaw. “You hide a lot.”

“So do you.”

Their foreheads touched.

And then—

The world disappeared.

Later, they lay tangled under a cashmere throw, the city lights flickering through the glass walls.

Rafael brushed a strand of hair from her face, looking vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before.

“You scare me, Lena.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because you make me want to be a better man. And I’ve never had to do that before.”

Her chest tightened.

“You act like you’re stone,” she said softly, “but I see the cracks.”

He looked away.

She reached for his hand, linking their fingers.

“I like the cracks.”

By the time she got home, it was nearly 2 a.m.

Her phone buzzed with a message from him.

I don’t sleep well. But tonight, I might.

She smiled, heart warm and aching.

She’d come into his world expecting chaos.

But maybe… just maybe…

She was the one shaking the foundation.