The boardroom was freezing, the kind of cold that felt engineered—not for comfort, but for discipline. Ross Tower had the kind of air-conditioning that whispered one message: stay alert.
Still, my palms felt warm, almost feverish, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. It had everything to do with the man standing at the head of the table.
Damion King.
CEO.
Walking contradiction.
A force wrapped in charcoal suit fabric and an expression carved from the most dangerous shade of calm.
He didn't look at me when I entered the meeting, not directly. But something in the air shifted, like the molecules recognized him before my eyes did. Something invisible and sharp pricked down my spine, and my breath snagged, annoyingly, like I'd forgotten how to inhale in front of other humans. Or vampires. Or whatever he was.
I took my seat beside Liam—my brother always smelled faintly of citrus and bad ideas, a comforting blend—and pretended not to notice the weight in the room leaning toward me in a way that made the edges of my bones hum.
"Welcome, everyone," Damion said.
His voice rolled out low, smooth, authoritative. If sound could smirk, his voice definitely did.
The meeting began.
Strategic alignments. Mergers. Market shifts. Financial projections. The usual empire-level chaos that made rich men richer and everyone else dizzy.
But I heard none of it.
Not really.
Not while Damion kept moving around the table like a gravitational field. Every step he took was precise, purposeful, a kind of silent choreography between predator and elegance. And every time he spoke, something in me tightened—annoyance, attraction, danger, curiosity. A whole blended cocktail of what is wrong with me.
I took careful notes. Or pretended to.
My handwriting looked like a panic attack.
"…Ms. Ross?"
Damion's voice cut through the room like a blade wrapped in velvet.
My pen froze.
Everyone turned to me.
"Yes?" I answered, somehow sounding normal—even though inside, my heartbeat was doing double dutch.
"Your insight?" he asked, eyes steady on mine. "Regarding the restructuring of the expansion initiative."
Right. He'd asked me something.
Something important, probably, given the looks from the board members.
My mind raced—but one thing about growing up with parents who trained you to appear perfect in public: you learn how to improvise.
"We shouldn't push the expansion until the key regions stabilize," I said. "If we do, the risk margin spikes significantly. We should reinforce the existing markets before we introduce the new ones. Otherwise, we spread too thin, too fast."
Silence hummed for a moment.
Then—
Damion's mouth curved. Not fully into a smile… just the ghost of one.
But on him, even a ghost felt intimate.
"Well said," he murmured. "Continue."
Just like that, my lungs filled again.
Liam nudged me lightly under the table, the universal sibling signal for good job, showoff, but I kept my gaze forward. Because if I looked at him—at Damion—any longer, I'd start overthinking.
The meeting dragged on for another hour. An hour in which Damion expertly avoided looking at me again, even though every instinct in my body screamed he was aware of me the entire time.
Finally, chairs scraped, papers shuffled, and people began leaving.
Liam walked out with two other executives.
Kia was on a business call and waved me off.
I gathered my things—slowly, because something told me to.
I felt him behind me before I heard him.
"Mira."
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
I turned.
Damion stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a file.
He didn't gesture. Didn't ask.
He simply waited.
And for some reason, that was enough.
I walked toward him, each step feeling absurdly louder in my head than it was in real life.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked.
His gaze slid to mine, slow and deliberate, like he enjoyed drawing out the moment.
"Close the door."
My heart did something violent.
But I obeyed.
The soft click of the door sealed us into an expensive, silent universe.
He turned fully toward me.
"Your presentation last week," he said, "I've reviewed it."
My brows lifted. "The one on the supply chain restructuring?"
"Yes."
He stepped closer, that subtle predatory smoothness in his movement.
"You were bolder than I expected."
"Is that a compliment?"
"A statement."
I crossed my arms, partly defensive, partly to stop my pulse from being obvious. "And what did you want to discuss about it?"
"Your strategy."
His eyes held mine hostage. "And your hesitation."
"I didn't hesitate."
"You did."
I felt heat flare under my skin. "I didn't."
He stepped in, close enough that I had to tilt my chin up a little.
"Oh, Mira," he said softly. "You did."
The way he said my name…
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't safe.
"Well," I said, steadying myself, "even if I did, I still made the right call."
He didn't argue.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he reached out—slow, like he wanted to give me a chance to step back.
I didn't.
Fingertips brushed under my chin. Barely. A whisper of contact.
But the impact…
"It suits you," he said quietly.
I swallowed. "What does?"
"Confidence."
I exhaled shakily. "Is that… what you called me in here for? To talk about confidence?"
"No."
His voice dipped lower. "That's not why."
I felt something inside me tighten.
Dangerously.
"What did you want, then?" I asked.
His eyes flicked to my mouth.
Just for a second.
But enough to light a fuse inside my chest.
"You're saying the wrong things," Damion said to me.
My breath caught. "What are you talking about?"
His thumb grazed my lower lip—barely there, but I felt it everywhere.
"I told you," he murmured, "I only want to hear my name on those lips."
Everything inside me went silent.
Warm.
Explosive.
Before I could respond, he stepped back—not far, but enough to make air rush between us again.
The absence of his touch burned more than the touch itself.
I blinked, trying to regain footing. "Damion… I don't understand what you're doing."
"You do," he replied simply.
His gaze softened—not warm, but something deeper. Something that felt like curiosity tangled with possession.
"You're—" I stopped myself.
But it was too late.
"I'm what?" he asked.
"Different," I said, quietly.
A strange shift crossed his face.
Not surprise.
Something older.
Sadder.
"Different isn't always a bad thing," he said.
"It can be."
"For some," he conceded. "Not for you."
"How would you know?"
He looked at me with a kind of familiarity I didn't understand.
Or maybe didn't want to.
"Mira," he murmured, "you have no idea what I know."
The way he said it…
I felt like he was holding secrets with my name carved into them.
Before I could ask, a notification buzzed in my pocket.
A text.
From an unknown number.
My blood iced.
Damion looked at me, reading my shift instantly. "What's wrong?"
I showed him the screen.
"Back in his company again, little star? Careful. Some shadows swallow whole."
The air went colder.
Damion's expression changed—sharp, lethal quiet. A predator's focus shifting to threat mode.
"Who sent that?" he asked.
His voice wasn't human just then.
Not in tone.
Not in temperature.
"I… don't know," I said, feeling a thin line of fear coil around my ribs. "It's him. Again."
Damion stepped closer.
Too close.
Close enough that if fear were a visible thing, he'd see it in my eyes.
"Mira," he said, voice low, "listen to me carefully."
He moved like gravity had chosen only him.
Like the room wanted him closer to me.
"You're not alone," he said quietly.
Then, something so subtle I barely caught it—his eyes darkened, a deeper shade, like ink swirling in water.
He lifted a hand, hesitated, then placed it lightly on my wrist.
Warm.
Firm.
Almost gentle.
"I won't let anything happen to you."
The way he said it…
It didn't feel like reassurance.
It felt like a vow made centuries ago.
I tried to steady my breathing. "Damion, you don't even know who he is."
He held my gaze, unblinking.
"Don't I?"
A shiver ripped through me.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Before I could speak, someone knocked on the door.
We both froze.
"Come in," Damion said, instantly composed again.
The door opened.
Magnus stood there.
He didn't look at me at first.
His gaze pinned his brother with an expression halfway between annoyance and curiosity.
"You disappeared," Magnus said dryly. "Important meeting or… personal business?"
Damion didn't move away from me.
Not even an inch.
Magnus's eyes finally shifted—landing on me.
And I saw it.
The flicker.
The interest.
"Ah," he said softly. "I see."
My pulse thumped.
Damion exhaled once—a quiet, warning sound.
"Not now, Magnus."
Magnus smirked faintly. "You never liked sharing things you deem yours."
My heart spasmed.
Damion's jaw tightened.
"That's enough."
Magnus raised a brow. "Relax, brother. I only came to remind you of the meeting with the Council tonight."
Damion didn't answer.
Magnus looked at me again—longer this time.
But not with the same intensity as Damion.
More like… curiosity.
Interest.
Spark.
Recognition.
He gave me a slight nod. Almost charming.
"Mira Ross," he said. "A pleasure."
I swallowed. "Hello."
He left as quietly as he came.
The moment the door clicked shut, I let myself breathe again.
Damion didn't move.
He just watched the door for a long moment… like the entire room had shifted around us.
Then his eyes returned to me.
"You should go home," he said softly.
"That doesn't sound like advice," I muttered.
"It isn't."
He stepped closer—one last time—and lowered his voice to something sinful and quiet.
"It's a warning."
And then, as if he hadn't just twisted my entire soul into a knot, he stepped away, turned his back, and dismissed me without another word.
But his voice followed me out, even if he didn't say anything else.
It followed me down the elevator…
Out the building…
Into my car…
Into my chest…
And I didn't know if he'd meant the warning for the stalker.
Or for himself.