Chapter Two: Sparks in the Lion’s

The hum of the design studio echoed softly around Elena as she settled into her workspace. Her fingers brushed over the smooth drafting table, eyes flitting over the neatly arranged swatches and tools. It smelled of fresh paper, clean linen, and faint traces of leather — the kind of scent that whispered power.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. First day. Big break. No mistakes. Her phone buzzed; it was a text from Brielle.

Brielle: Have you met him yet? Is he as fine as the internet says? 👀

Elena shook her head, grinning despite herself. She glanced around the open studio, careful not to draw attention as she typed back.

Elena: He’s… intense.

Brielle’s response came within seconds.

Brielle: So he’s FINE. Got it. Don’t fall for him, girl. That’s a trap with a capital T.

Elena snorted softly, shoving her phone back into her bag. Don’t worry, Brielle. He’s the last person I’d fall for.

Her gaze shifted across the room, landing on the sleek, glass-walled office where Damien Cross was currently on a call. His back was to her, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing smoothly as he spoke. His tailored suit fit like it had been made from ambition itself.

Her jaw tightened. No amount of good looks could make up for a man who lived to control everything around him. She’d seen men like him before — all sharp edges and silent judgment. They took what they wanted and left everyone else to pick up the pieces.

Not this time, she told herself.

Her fingers tapped on the tablet in front of her, pulling up the specs for the penthouse design. The project was massive — an entire overhaul of the company’s most exclusive property. The challenge was exhilarating, and she felt the spark of creativity flickering to life inside her. Focus on the work, not the man.

But fate wasn’t going to let her have that peace for long.

“Ms. Hart,” a cool, commanding voice called out.

Her head shot up. Damien Cross stood a few feet from her, hands in his pockets, his gaze pinned on her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

How does he move so quietly in those shoes? she wondered, forcing herself to stand. “Yes, Mr. Cross?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning her with a look that was half-curiosity, half-calculation. “You’ve reviewed the project outline?”

“I have.” She folded her hands neatly in front of her, keeping her tone steady. “I’ve already started brainstorming some concepts.”

His brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected that answer. “Good. Walk me through them.”

Her heart gave a sharp jolt, but she masked it with a calm smile. “Of course.”

Elena stepped to the large interactive display on the wall, tapping the screen to pull up the digital mood board she had quickly pieced together the night before. Warm, modern textures filled the screen — muted earth tones, sharp contrasts of black and white, and elegant metallic finishes.

“I’m leaning toward a design that reflects luxury without being ostentatious,” she explained, stepping aside so he could see the board clearly. “I want it to feel like home but with an edge of refinement. The kind of space where you can host a business partner or unwind after a long day.”

Damien’s gaze flicked over the images, his expression unreadable. No reaction. No feedback. Just silence.

Her fingers tensed at her sides, and she forced herself to keep going. “I’ve also considered incorporating elements of texture play — smooth marble alongside raw wood, soft leather against brushed steel. It adds dimension to the space without overwhelming it.”

She glanced at him, searching for some sign of approval. Nothing. He was a statue, carved from stone and ego.

Elena’s pulse quickened. “If you’d prefer a different direction, I can adjust—”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his eyes locking on hers.

Her breath caught. “Do what?”

“Doubt yourself.” He stepped closer, his gaze sharper now. “You presented it with confidence, and then the second you didn’t see approval, you backpedaled. Don’t.”

Her lips parted, surprise flickering through her chest like a spark of fire. Did he just… give me advice?

“I wasn’t backpedaling,” she said, lifting her chin slightly. “I was being adaptable.”

A shadow of a smile touched his lips, there for barely a second. “Adapt, yes. But don’t apologize for having vision.”

He stepped back, eyes sweeping over the board one last time. “I like it. Clean it up. Sharpen the edges. And bring me a formal presentation tomorrow at 8:00 AM.”

Her eyes widened. “Tomorrow? That’s not a lot of time to—”

“Was that doubt I just heard?” He raised a brow, daring her to argue.

Her jaw tightened. “No. I’ll have it ready.”

“Good.” He turned and strode toward his office, his presence pulling attention from every corner of the studio.

Elena watched him go, her heart still thudding in her chest. Did I just get a compliment… or a warning?

She sighed, rolling her shoulders back. Doesn’t matter. I’m ready.

Later That Evening

Elena sat on her living room floor, her laptop open, design files spread around her like a whirlwind had passed through. A half-empty plate of takeout sat on the coffee table. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, piecing together the presentation for the next day.

Her phone buzzed again, and she groaned. Brielle, not now. But when she glanced at the screen, her heart skipped.

Unknown Number: Don’t forget. 8:00 AM sharp. No mistakes, Ms. Hart.

Her breath hitched. How did he get my number?

She squinted at the message, then typed back.

Elena: Who is this?

Three dots appeared, typing… then stopped. Then started again.

Unknown Number: Damien Cross.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the name like it might explode.

Elena: Noted, Mr. Cross. I’ll be ready.

He didn’t reply, but she knew he wouldn’t. People like Damien Cross didn’t do small talk. He just makes sure you’re aware he’s watching.

With a huff, she tossed her phone aside and returned to her work. Her fingers flew over the keys, faster and sharper now, her mind replaying his words. Don’t doubt yourself.

She leaned in, eyes narrowing with determination.

Fine, Mr. Cross. Watch me shine.

The Next Morning

The sky was still a dull gray when Elena arrived at Cross Enterprises. Her hands clutched a sleek black portfolio containing her presentation notes. Her heart thrummed like a drum, steady but insistent.

The receptionist greeted her with a knowing nod. “He’s waiting in the conference room.”

Her heels clicked against the marble floors, echoing louder than she’d have liked. She hated that sound — it made her feel like everyone was listening.

When she reached the conference room, she paused at the door, eyes fixed on the frosted glass. Don’t doubt yourself.

Her fingers hovered over the handle for half a second. Be sharp. Be ready. Be bold.

She pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Damien was seated at the head of the table, his eyes already on her, sharp as ever. The faintest smirk played on his lips, like he’d been waiting to see if she’d falter.

“Ms. Hart,” he said, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “Impress me.”

Her eyes locked on his, her voice clear, steady, and unwavering.

“I intend to.”