Chapter Two

Chapter 2: The Ghost in the Glass Tower

Maya showed up fifteen minutes early the next day, because late wasn’t even an option in a place like this. She hadn’t slept. Her mind kept replaying the elevator ride, the heavy silence outside Damien Blackwood’s office, and the assistant’s icy warning: “Sign everything. He doesn’t tolerate leaks.” It felt less like an internship and more like stepping into a lion’s den—with a blindfold on. Now, walking into the private lounge again, Maya smoothed her blouse and tried to breathe. There was no coffee shop hum here, no casual chatter. Just tension. Glass. Steel. Control. “Thompson?” a sharp voice called. Maya looked up. A woman—blonde, tall, sleek as marble—stepped out from a nearby door, holding a digital tablet. Her heels clicked like gunfire on the floor. “I’m Elle. Mr. Blackwood’s senior executive assistant,” she said. “You’ll be working under me.” “Yes, ma’am,” Maya said immediately. Elle arched a brow. “No need for ‘ma’am.’ Just do your job right.” Maya nodded, feeling like she was already failing. They moved down a long corridor lined with black-tinted glass. On the far right, she caught a glimpse of a closed door guarded by two silent men in suits. No signs. No labels. But she knew what—who—was behind that door. The air shifted there. Like the building itself knew who was sitting just beyond the glass. They didn’t stop. Instead, Elle led her into a smaller office on the next wing—sleek desk, minimalist décor, a corner with a round table stacked with marketing folders. “You’ll start here,” Elle said briskly. “You’ll help file, sort, review, and—if you prove you’re more than decorative—assist in prepping internal reports.” Maya’s face warmed. Decorative? “I’ll do whatever’s needed,” she replied carefully. Elle studied her with a flicker of something unreadable. Not quite hostility. Not quite approval either. “We’ll see,” she said. “Blackwood Enterprises doesn’t hand out gold stars for effort.” The morning flew by in a blur of names, passwords, documents, and near-constant corrections. Maya’s hands were trembling by the time she finally got into the rhythm of the database system. Elle never raised her voice, but her critiques were sharp. “Don’t highlight in red, that’s only for flagged deals.” “Always file CEO-level memos in the locked drive first.” “No coffee runs. This isn’t a sitcom.” Maya bit her tongue and nodded, absorbing every detail like a sponge. But what rattled her the most was how present Damien Blackwood felt, even without showing his face. Everyone referred to him with a hush, like he could appear at any moment. “Mr. Blackwood doesn’t like delays.” “Make sure the reports are uploaded by three—Mr. Blackwood checks them personally.” “Don’t block that hallway. That’s Mr. Blackwood’s route.” His name wasn’t spoken with admiration. It was reverence. Caution. Power made flesh. She saw glimpses of him, or thought she did—reflections in the glass, flashes of black suits and broad shoulders down distant hallways. Always surrounded. Always guarded. Never still. But she never saw his face. Not yet. At lunch, Maya sat alone on the rooftop terrace employees rarely used. She could see the city stretched endlessly below her—millions of lives moving forward, just like hers was trying to. She unwrapped a sad-looking sandwich from her bag and took a small bite. Her phone buzzed. A text from the hospital. Jamie’s levels stable today. Docs say we’re holding steady. She smiled in relief, exhaling for what felt like the first time in hours. That one text reminded her why she was here. This wasn’t about chasing some corporate dream. She wasn’t here to get a foot in the door of luxury. She was here for him. Her brother. The only family she had left. If working under people like Elle… in buildings like this… around ghosts like Damien Blackwood… could get her even one inch closer to a stable future — She’d take it. She’d take all of it. When she returned from lunch, there was a new tension in the air. People were whispering. Moving faster. Maya ducked into her assigned office, but Elle was already at her desk, tapping out emails furiously. “Something wrong?” Maya asked softly. Elle didn’t look up. “Mr. Blackwood’s returning to the tower today. Earlier than expected.” Maya’s mouth went dry. He’d been away? On business? She hadn’t known. Elle stood suddenly and smoothed the front of her dress. “Do not speak to him. Do not look directly at him unless spoken to. And whatever you do, don’t block the elevator corridor when he passes through.” Maya blinked. “I—I wasn’t planning to—” “I’m serious,” Elle snapped, suddenly deadpan. “He notices everything.” The next thirty minutes were chaos. The lounge was cleared. The hallway near the executive suite was roped off. Staff bustled like nervous birds. Maya stayed rooted behind her desk, eyes glued to her monitor—but her heart thudded loud in her chest. Some part of her knew… she’d feel it when he arrived. And she did. A sudden stillness. The way voices dropped. The faint thrum of elevator doors opening somewhere behind her. Footsteps. Heavy. Measured. Confident. She didn’t dare turn her head. But she saw Elle straighten, clipboard in hand. Saw the reflection of a tall, broad-shouldered figure flanked by two others pass by the tinted glass. She only caught the edge of a jawline. A cufflink flashing under the light. Then he was gone. Damien Blackwood. Real. Walking these halls. Breathing the same air. And Maya—just the intern—was officially in his world now.