LOGINAs we stepped out of the private elevator onto the executive floor of Hart Global, the air didn't just turn cold; it pressurized.
Lucien didnāt slow down. He moved through the office like a king walking through a conquered territory. Every head snapped up. Every conversation died. I felt the weight of a dozen gazes, some curious, some hungry, some sharp with envy, but before I could even blink, Lucien had grabbed me by the small of my back and was marching me towards the office right next to his. "Sit," he commanded, gesturing to a desk piled with thick folders. "Summarize these merger histories. All of them. By lunch." "This would take a legal team a week," I said, staring at the mountain of paper. "Then youād better start reading, Scarlett. And stay inside. I donāt want you socializing with the staff. They have work to do, and youāre a distraction they canāt afford." I scoffed at his arrogance. He disappeared into his own office, leaving me trapped in a high-end fishbowl. I was three folders deep into dry corporate papers when the door swung open without a knock. A woman stood there, draped in a cream silk dress that probably cost more than my earnings. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bun so tight it looked painful, and her eyesāa piercing, icy blueāraked over me with pure, unadulterated venom. Liza Vane. The CEO of Vane Logistics and the woman the tabloids claimed was the "Next Mrs. Hart" She didn't speak at first. She just walked in, leaning her hip against my desk and looking at me like I was a smudge on her windshield. "The new charity case," she mused. "I expected... more. You look like a stray dog" running her eyes all over me. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. Here I was trying to be good girl and mind my business but this trouble came knocking. "And you look like youāre lost. The lobby is forty floors down." It came out sharp before I could bit them back. Lizaās eyes flared, but she smoothed her dress with a manicured hand. "Iām never lost in this building, darling. I spend more nights in the penthouse than youāve spent hours. Lucien likes things... familiar. He likes a woman who knows exactly how he takes his pleasure." She leaned over the desk, her cloying perfume filling my lungs. "Go downstairs and get me a sugar-free oat milk latte. And make it quick. Lucien and I have a meeting, and I don't like to be kept waiting by the help." I looked through the glass wall. Lucien was sitting at his desk, his eyes fixed on a monitor, but the slight tilt of his head told me he was listening through the intercom. I turned back to Elena and let out a soft, mocking laugh. "A latte? Iām sorry, is there a sign on my forehead that says Barista? Or are you just so used to barking orders at people who are paid to tolerate you that you've forgotten how to use your own legs?" Lizaās jaw tightened. "Do you have any idea who I am? Iām the woman who will be running this empire alongside Lucien.. Iāve seen every side of him youāll never reach." "If you've spent that much time in his bed and you're still insecure enough to pick a fight with a 'stray dog' , then you must not have been very memorable, Elena." I stood up, leaning in until we were nose-to-nose. "If you want a coffee, go fetch it yourself. Iām busy doing the work youāre clearly too vapid to understand." Elenaās face contorted. "You little slut.." She raised her hand as if to slap me, but I caught her wrist mid-air. My grip was iron. "Try it," I whispered, my voice dropping to a dangerous low. "And Iāll show you exactly what a 'stray dog' do to people who dare to undermine her." A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the air. We both froze. Lucien was standing in the doorway connecting our offices, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. For the first time since Iād met him, the icy mask was gone, replaced by a look of sheer, dark amusement. "She has a point, Liza," Lucien drawled, his grey eyes dancing with a wicked glint. "If you're thirsty, the breakroom is down the hall. Scarlett is here to work, not to be your personal assistant." Liza flushed a deep, ugly red. "Lucien! This... this creature just threatened me! After everything we've shared.." "What we've 'shared' was a business arrangement with benefits that expired six months ago," Lucien said, his voice turning cold as he stepped into the room. He walked past Liza as if she were furniture and stopped in front of me. "And as for the creature... I think she handled you just fine." Liza sputtered, looking between us before spinning on her heel and storming out, her heels clicking a furious rhythm against the marble. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and slumped back against the desk. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" "Immensely," Lucien admitted. He stepped closer, invading my space until I was trapped between the desk and his towering frame. He reached out, his thumb catching my chin and forcing me to look up. "Youāre sharp-mouthed, Scarlett. Brave. Arrogant." "I learned from the best," I bit back. His gaze dropped to my lips, and the amusement in his eyes shifted into something heavy, a dark, suffocating hunger. "One of these days," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that made my toes curl, "I might be forced to take you aside myself and discipline that mouth of yours thoroughly." My pulse hammered against my throat. "Is that a threat, Mr. Hart?" "It's a promise," he breathed. He leaned in, his lips a hairās breadth from mine, long enough for the tension to snap. Then, he pulled back abruptly. "Boardroom. Five minutes. And if you talk to the directors like you just talked to Liza... I might just have to give you a raise." He walked out, leaving me trembling and craving a touch I knew would destroy me. I grabbed my notepad, my head spinning, and followed him toward the massive double doors of the boardroom. But as the directors looked up, their faces pale with fear, I realized I wasn't just there to take minutes.. maybe to observe how he breaks directors in the boardroom.The heavy door of the armored SUV clicked shut, instantly sealing out the sound of the roaring downpour.I sat there, a shivering, dripping mess of neon-pink tulle, bleeding water onto the immaculate black leather passenger seat. The blast of the vehicleās high-powered heater hit my frozen skin like a physical wave, making me shudder violently as goosebumps erupted across my arms. My teeth rattled so loudly in the quiet cabin that it was embarrassing.Damon didn't say a word. He didn't offer a gentle smile, he didn't hand me a towel, and he didn't ask if I was okay. He simply reached into the back seat, grabbed his heavy, oversized leather jacket, and tossed it into my lap. It smelled heavily of rich tobacco, rain, and the distinct, metallic tang of gun oil."Put it on," he commanded, pulling the SUV away from the curb with a smooth, dangerous acceleration that pushed me back into the seat. "Before you completely ruin my interior."I didn't have the energy to fight him or point out ho
They wanted to break me.It didn't take a genius to figure out the brothers' strategy. If they couldn't legally fight the Board of Directors, they would simply make my life such a living hell that I would hand back the "Social Liaison" clipboards, pack my bags, and beg to be sent back to the slums.The retaliation started at 8:00 AM sharp. As the newly appointed image manager, my first task was simple on paper: collect their schedules and wardrobe preferences for Fridayās Founders Gala.In reality, it was like walking into a minefield with a target painted on my back.I started with Kai. His domain was the sub-basement of the penthouse, a high-tech cavern of server racks, glowing blue LED lights, and a hum so loud it vibrated in my teeth. When I stepped inside, the temperature plummeted. It felt like walking into a meat locker."Kai?" I called out, shivering instantly in my blazer. "I need your itinerary for Friday."Kai didn't look up from his multi-monitor setup. He was typing with
My hands were raw. It was 2:00 AM, and I was sitting on the cold tile of the penthouse laundry room, scrubbing the last faint trace of espresso out of Kaiās white hoodie. Every time I rubbed the fabric, my mind flashed back to the locker room, the heavy press of his body, the heat of his shirtless chest, and the terrifyingly arrogant way heād told me to hand-wash only. "Grown men acting like toddlers," I muttered, wringing out the heavy cotton. "Iām supposed to be taming them, not doing their dry cleaning." I didn't get to sleep until four. By seven, I was back in a tailored suit, standing in the formal dining room where breakfast was served. The atmosphere was suffocating. Usually, the brothers avoided each other like the plague, but today, all four of them were present. Lucien sat at the head, looking like an icy king reading the financial times. Damon was across from him, nursing a black coffee, his leather jacket replaced by a sharp black button-down that still couldn't hide
Scarlettās POV If Lucien was the ice and Damon was the shadow, Theo was the blinding, chaotic sun. I stood at the edge of the photography set, clutching a tray of expensive lattes like my life depended on it. Theo had sent me out twenty minutes ago with a list of "very specific" caffeine requirements, and as I maneuvered through the maze of cables and lighting rigs, I couldn't help but wonder if I had traded a life of dancing for a life as a glorified, live-in maid. Is this the Hart legacy? I thought bitterly. Boardrooms by night, barista by day? I was so busy staring at the back of Theoās head, watching him bask in the sighs and fawning looks of a dozen female assistantsāthat I didn't see the figure stepping out from behind a black velvet curtain. I slammed into something solid. Hard. The tray tilted, and the cups went flying. A dark, scalding wave of espresso and milk erupted, drenching the front of the manās pristine, limited-edition white tech-wear hoodie. The studio went s
Lucien's POV I watched her face turn the color of ash at the mention of the Moretti name, and for the first time in ten years, my pulse actually stuttered. Scarlett didn't just look shocked. She looked haunted. She looked like a woman who had just seen the reaper standing in the corner of my private garage. I wanted to reach out, to demand to know how a girl from a strip club knew the name of the most sadistic cartel head in the Mediterranean, but the words died in my throat. Damon was already watching me, his eyes hooded and mocking, waiting for me to fail. "Get upstairs," I snapped, my voice harsher than intended because I didn't know how to handle the sudden, sickening pang of guilt twisting in my gut. Scarlett didn't argue. She didn't even look at me. She turned and walked toward the elevator, her shoulders hunched as if she were trying to shield herself from a ghost. As soon as the doors hissed shut, I turned on Damon. "If you ever use her as bait for your 'business' again
The interior of the SUV was a stark contrast to the filth of the alleyway. It smelled of expensive leather, gun oil, and the lingering scent of Damonās smoke. Outside the armored glass, the city blurred into streaks of neon, but inside, the silence was heavy enough to choke on.Damon sat beside me, his long legs stretched out, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he had just put a bullet through a manās hand. He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the back of the driverās head, his expression unreadable."Thank you," I whispered, my voice still trembling. My fingers were curled into the fabric of the seat so tightly my knuckles were white. "If you hadn't shown up⦠I donāt even want to think about where Iād be right now."Damon finally turned his head. The shadows played across the sharp angles of his face, making him look more like a god than a man. He reached out, his hand tracing the line of my jaw in a way it made me almost go crazy. It wasn't a caress; it was a check of his n







