Chapter 2 — The Temptation Behind Closed Doors

Alessandra’s POV

“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE GETTING YOURSELF INTO, ALESSANDRA.”

Napahinto ako sa harap ng p***o nang marinig ang malamig na boses ni Damian Blackwood sa kabilang linya.

I was still staring at the newspaper photograph on my phone. The missing heiress. The dead woman. And the man who had just warned me that she was someone he should have forgotten.

“Then tell me,” I demanded. “Who was she?”

Silence.

“Damian?”

“Come to my office tomorrow. Seven in the evening.”

“Why can't you tell me now?”

“Because this conversation isn't meant for the phone.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “You can't just order me around whenever you want.”

A quiet, humorless laugh came through the speaker.

“Is that what you think I'm doing?”

“That's what you always do.”

“Then perhaps you should stop answering my calls.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he spoke again.

“Good night, Alessandra.”

The call ended.

I stared at my phone, completely speechless.

“Napakayabang talaga ng lalaking iyon!”

But even as I complained, my fingers remained wrapped around the phone, and my mind kept returning to the same unsettling thought.

Why did Damian Blackwood sound more afraid than angry?

And why did a part of me still want to see him tomorrow?

The next evening, I stood outside Damian's office at exactly seven.

I had spent the entire day trying to convince myself that this was strictly about work. I wore a fitted black blouse, a knee-length skirt, and heels that made me feel slightly more confident than I actually was.

I knocked twice.

“Come in.”

Damian stood behind his desk, his sleeves rolled up and his black tie loosened. The top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.

I immediately regretted noticing.

“Good evening, sir.”

His eyes traveled over me briefly before returning to my face.

“You're punctual.”

“You told me to be here at seven.”

“And you always follow instructions?”

“Only when they're part of my job description.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Still feisty.”

“Still arrogant.”

He chuckled softly.

It was becoming increasingly dangerous how much I liked hearing that sound.

“Sit down, Alessandra.”

I took the chair opposite him.

He placed a photograph on the desk. It was the same woman from the mysterious message.

“Her name was Isabelle Laurent,” he said. “Victoria's younger sister.”

I studied the picture.

“What happened to her?”

“She disappeared three years ago.”

“And the newspaper says she was found dead.”

“Her body was never officially identified.”

My stomach tightened.

“Then why did the article say she was dead?”

“Because someone wanted the world to believe it.”

I looked up sharply.

“Are you saying she's alive?”

Damian's expression turned unreadable.

“I'm saying that you should stop investigating this.”

“That's not an answer.”

“No. It's a warning.”

I pushed the photograph toward him.

“You keep telling me what to do, but you never explain anything. How am I supposed to trust you?”

His gaze settled on mine.

“You shouldn't.”

His answer surprised me.

“Trust is dangerous, Alessandra. Especially when you give it to someone who knows exactly how to use it against you.”

For a moment, I saw something beneath his cold expression. Something tired. Something lonely.

Then it disappeared.

“Now,” he continued, “tell me exactly what the sender said.”

I recounted the messages, including the warning about the woman who had disappeared.

When I finished, Damian leaned back in his chair.

“Did the sender contact you again?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Damian, why would someone warn me about you?”

He stood and walked around his desk.

“Because someone has noticed you.”

“Why would anyone care about me?”

He stopped beside my chair.

“Perhaps because I've started paying attention to you.”

My heart skipped.

I immediately looked away.

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say things that can be misunderstood.”

He bent slightly, bringing his face closer to mine.

“Then tell me what you think I mean.”

I turned toward him.

The distance between us was suddenly distracting.

“I think you enjoy making people uncomfortable.”

“Only certain people.”

“And I'm one of them?”

His eyes held mine.

“Unfortunately.”

“There's another matter we need to discuss.”

I straightened in my chair, grateful for the change of subject.

“Work-related?”

“Partly.”

He handed me a folder containing his schedule for the following week.

“You'll accompany me to a private business dinner on Friday.”

I scanned the details.

“Why me? Doesn't your fiancée usually accompany you to these events?”

“Victoria has other commitments.”

“And what should I do?”

“Keep me organized. Answer questions when necessary. Don't leave my side unless I tell you to.”

I looked up.

“Anything else?”

His gaze lingered on my face.

“Wear something that makes you feel confident.”

I blinked.

“That's not exactly a professional instruction.”

“Then consider it advice.”

“From my boss?”

“From a man who has excellent taste.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Your confidence is exhausting.”

“And yet, you keep looking at me.”

My cheeks warmed.

“I'm looking at you because you're talking.”

“Of course.”

He leaned against the edge of his desk.

“Tell me something, Alessandra. Have you ever been kissed by a man who knew exactly what he was doing?”

I nearly choked on my own breath.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Why are we talking about kissing?”

“Because you look like you're about to run away.”

“I'm considering it.”

He smiled slowly.

“Then I'll make this easy for you.”

He stepped away from the desk, giving me room to stand.

“I won't touch you without your permission. I won't ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

His voice lowered.

“But I won't pretend I haven't noticed the way you look at me, either.”

I rose from the chair.

“You're engaged, Damian.”

His smile faded.

“I know.”

“Then you shouldn't be saying any of this.”

“You're right.”

The simple admission caught me off guard.

He looked toward the windows.

“That's why you should be careful around me.”

I gathered the folder against my chest.

“Maybe you should be careful around me, too.”

His eyes returned to mine.

“Why?”

“Because I'm not one of the women who will let you decide everything for them.”

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he smiled—not the cold, arrogant smile I knew, but something softer.

“That's exactly what makes you dangerous.”

It was nearly nine when I finished organizing his documents.

Damian was still working, his attention fixed on a contract.

I stood beside his desk.

“I'm going home, sir.”

He glanced at the clock.

“Have you eaten?”

I hesitated.

“Not yet.”

His expression changed.

“You've been working since morning without dinner?”

“I had a sandwich.”

“When?”

“Lunch.”

“It's nine o'clock, Alessandra.”

“Thank you for the information, sir. I can read a clock.”

He gave me a disapproving look.

“Sit down.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm ordering dinner.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know.”

He picked up his phone.

“Which is why I'm choosing to.”

Twenty minutes later, food arrived from the restaurant downstairs. We ate in the small lounge beside his office, with the city lights shining beyond the glass walls.

For once, Damian wasn't giving orders or discussing business.

He asked about my university classes, my plans for the future, and why I had chosen to work while studying.

I told him about my mother and the financial difficulties my family had been facing.

He listened without interrupting.

When I finished, he set down his fork.

“You shouldn't have to carry everything alone.”

I looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“Sometimes, you don't get to choose what you carry.”

His gaze softened.

“Perhaps.”

For a brief moment, I saw a man I hadn't expected to find beneath the billionaire's polished exterior.

Then I caught him watching me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“You're staring.”

“Am I not allowed to look at my own assistant?”

“You're allowed. I'm allowed to complain.”

He laughed.

“Fair enough.”

I smiled before I could stop myself.

His laughter faded as he watched me.

“What?” I asked again, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he repeated. “I just wanted to see you smile.”

My heart did something embarrassing.

I quickly looked down at my plate.

“Don't say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because you make it difficult to remember that you're my boss.”

His expression turned serious.

“And you make it difficult to remember that I should keep my distance.”

The air between us changed.

Neither of us spoke.

Then Damian stood and offered me his hand.

“Come here.”

I looked at his hand suspiciously.

“Why?”

“There's something I want to show you.”

I placed my hand in his.

He led me toward the windows overlooking the city.

The lights below glittered like scattered diamonds.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Very.”

He turned toward me.

“I've spent years building an empire, Alessandra. I've had everything money could buy.”

His gaze lowered to our joined hands.

“But sometimes, I wonder whether I've forgotten how to want something I can't control.”

I slowly withdrew my hand.

“People aren't things you can control, Damian.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“I'm trying to.”

When I finally reached the elevator, Damian followed me.

“You don't need to escort me,” I said.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

He pressed the elevator button.

“Because I wanted a few more minutes with you.”

My breath caught.

He said it so simply that I couldn't find a sarcastic response.

The elevator doors opened.

We stepped inside.

As the doors began to close, Damian reached forward and pressed the button to keep them open.

“Alessandra.”

I turned.

“Yes?”

“If I weren't engaged, would you give me a chance?”

My heart hammered.

“That isn't a fair question.”

“Why?”

“Because you are engaged.”

He nodded slowly.

“That's fair.”

For a moment, I thought he would let the subject go.

Instead, he stepped closer—not touching me, but close enough that I could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

“I won't ask you to wait for me,” he said. “And I won't ask you to be someone else's secret.”

I stared at him.

“Then what are you asking?”

His gaze met mine.

“Nothing.”

He stepped back, allowing the elevator doors to open fully.

“Good night, Alessandra.”

I walked out without answering.

But as the elevator descended, I pressed my fingers against my lips, frustrated with myself for imagining what it might have felt like if he had kissed me.

At home, I found a message waiting on my phone.

An unknown number.

Unknown: Did Damian tell you about Isabelle?

I typed a reply.

Me: Who are you?

The answer arrived immediately.

Unknown: Someone who knows what happens when Damian Blackwood wants a woman.

Another message followed.

Unknown: Ask him why Isabelle was wearing his ring the night she disappeared.

My blood turned cold.

A photograph appeared.

Isabelle stood beside Damian, her fingers intertwined with his. On her left hand was a diamond ring.

The same ring I had seen in the photograph from the newspaper.

Then my phone rang.

Damian.

I answered with trembling fingers.

“Alessandra, listen to me carefully.”

His voice was tense.

“Did someone send you another photograph?”

I closed my eyes.

“Yes.”

A long silence followed.

“Don't leave your house tonight,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I think I know who's contacting you.”

“Who?”

His answer came in a whisper.

“Isabelle.”

I froze.

“But she's supposed to be dead.”

“That's what everyone believes.”

A sound came from outside my bedroom window.

Three slow knocks.

I turned toward the curtains.

My phone slipped in my hand as Damian's voice suddenly sharpened.

“Alessandra? Are you there?”

Another knock.

Then a woman's voice whispered from the other side of the glass.

“Ask your precious CEO why he let me disappear.”

I couldn't breathe.

Because when I pulled the curtain aside, the woman standing outside looked exactly like Isabelle Laurent.

And she was holding a photograph of Damian kissing me.

End of Chapter 2.