2

Elena's Point of View

My phone was ringing.

I opened my eyes and for one second I had no idea where I was. The ceiling was too high. The sheets were too soft. My head hurt like someone had hit it with a hammer.

Then I felt the soreness between my legs, and it all came back.

Oh my God.

I sat up so fast the room spun. The bed was empty. The pillow next to mine was cold, and there was no note, no message, nothing. Just a faint smell of his cologne on the sheets.

He was gone.

The phone kept ringing. I grabbed it from the floor and saw the time.

8:12.

"Fuck!" I jumped out of bed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Work started at nine. Damian Cross had fired a man last month for being five minutes late. Five minutes. I didn't even want to think about what he would do to me.

I found my dress on the floor, crumpled like a rag. My underwear was somewhere under the couch. One of my shoes was by the door and the other one was nowhere. I didn't have time to look. I pulled the dress on, grabbed my bag, and ran out of that suite barefoot on one side, holding my heels in my hand.

The hallway was empty. Thank God. The club was empty too, just a few cleaners mopping the floor and stacking chairs. One of them looked at me with a small smile, and I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

I walked out the front door with my head down like a thief.

The morning sun hit my face and made my headache ten times worse. I got into a taxi and gave the driver my address, then leaned my head on the window and closed my eyes.

And that was when the anger came.

Not at him. At me.

How stupid are you, Elena?

I had slept with Damian Cross. The man who humiliated me in front of ten people. The man who called me a child. The man who had made my life hell for two years. And I had moaned his name like I couldn't live without him.

And the worst part? The part that made me want to scream into my hands?

I had hoped he would be there when I woke up.

I had actually hoped. Like some silly girl in a movie. I wanted to see him in that bed, with his arm still around me, maybe a little less cold. Maybe a little less like himself.

What the hell was wrong with me?

"Damn it," I whispered. "You're such an idiot."

The driver looked at me in the mirror. I looked out the window instead.

Of course he was gone. Men like Damian didn't stay. They took what they wanted and left before the sun came up, and they went back to being untouchable. He probably woke up, put on his suit, and forgot my name by the time he reached the elevator.

And I was the fool who had wanted more.

At home, I had exactly twenty minutes.

I tore off the dress and threw it in the corner of the room. I didn't even look at it. I turned the shower on cold, because hot water would make me want to stay, and I stood under it for three minutes, scrubbing my skin like I could wash him off me.

It didn't work. I could still feel his hands on my hips. I could still hear him in my ear. Watch what I do to you.

"Stop it," I told myself. "Stop thinking about it, you freak."

I got out, dried my hair halfway, and pulled on the first outfit I found, a gray pencil skirt and a white blouse. No time for breakfast. No time for coffee. My stomach growled, and I ignored it. I put on lipstick in the car mirror at a red light and nearly hit the car in front of me.

8:47.

I made it to the parking lot of Cross Industries at 8:56 and ran to the entrance with my heart in my throat. My head was pounding, my stomach was empty, and my legs felt weak. I was dizzy, and I didn't know if it was from hunger or nerves.

Just walk in and act normal. He's your boss. Last night was nothing. Nothing happened.

I repeated it in my head all the way to the front doors. Nothing happened. Nothing happened.

I pushed the glass doors open.

And I stopped.

The lobby was never crowded in the morning. People came in, scanned their badges, and went straight to the elevators. That was how it worked. Nobody stood around. Nobody talked.

But today, the lobby was full.

Dozens of employees stood in a tight half circle near the reception desk. Some were whispering. Some had their phones in their hands, but no one was using them. The receptionist had her hand over her mouth. A man from accounting had gone completely pale.

I frowned. The back of my neck started to prickle.

"What's going on?" I asked the woman nearest to me.

She didn't answer. She just stepped aside, her eyes wide, and I saw what everyone was looking at.

In the middle of the lobby stood Damian Cross.

He was in a black suit, perfectly pressed. His hair was neat. His tie was straight. But his face was something I had never seen before, and I had seen him angry a hundred times. This was different. His jaw was so tight I could see the muscle jump in his cheek. His eyes were dark and cold, and his whole body was held so stiff it looked like he might break something just by moving.

In his hand, he held a stack of papers.

He wasn't yelling. That was what scared me. Damian always yelled. But now he stood completely still, and the silence in the room felt like the air before a storm.

My stomach dropped.

He knows, I thought. Somebody saw me leave the club. Somebody talked.

My mouth went dry. My hands went cold.

Then his eyes lifted from the papers and moved across the crowd, slowly, like a predator looking for something. They passed over the receptionist. They passed over the man from accounting.

And they landed on me.