The alarm went off at 5:45 AM sharp.
Sera Langford opened her eyes to the darkness, her body still curled beneath a threadbare blanket. The industrial radiator in the corner hissed but failed to push warmth into the icy air. She blinked against the dim light filtering through broken blinds and forced herself upright.
She didn't have time for dreams. Or nightmares.
The temporary rental she lived in was little more than a converted loft above an old tailor's shop—peeling paint, creaking pipes, and exactly the kind of place no one thought to look. Which was precisely why she'd chosen it.
Her phone buzzed once—an alert from Vale Industries: Security Credential Update Successful. Lucien Vale had clearly accessed her file. She expected that. No one survived in his world without getting examined under a microscope. But she had made sure there was nothing to find. The truth was buried deep, behind locked accounts and erased traces.
Her gaze lingered on the small mirror above the chipped sink. Her eyes were tired, jaw clenched. The reflection stared back like a stranger.
She used to be someone else.
But that girl didn't exist anymore.
By 6:30 AM, Sera was dressed in a fitted black pencil skirt, white blouse, and tailored blazer that made her look more high-level than temp. She tied her hair up into a clean twist, slid on minimalist makeup, and stepped into heels that didn't belong to her—but made her walk like she owned the room.
She didn't intend to fade into the background today.
Not after yesterday.
---
Lucien Vale stood at the window of his penthouse office, coffee untouched in his hand. The skyline glimmered with pre-dawn promise, but his mind wasn't on the city or the markets opening in Tokyo.
It was on her.
Sera Langford.
The name rolled around in his thoughts like a puzzle missing too many pieces. There was something off—too composed, too quiet, too untraceable. She hadn't flinched yesterday. Most people did when he looked at them too long. She met his gaze like it was a duel.
It irritated him.
It intrigued him more.
A knock interrupted the silence. Rebecca entered, tablet in hand.
"The Cavanaugh account briefing is in twenty minutes. And the Shanghai partners sent their adjusted proposal overnight."
He barely nodded. "Anything else?"
She hesitated.
"There's been a change to your assistant placement. HR reassigned Miss Langford to your executive support team. As of this morning."
Lucien turned to face her, jaw tightening.
"Who authorized it?"
"Apparently HR flagged her as a 'high-potential talent.' Someone upstairs fast-tracked it."
He gave a low, humorless laugh. "Convenient."
"You want me to override it?"
"No," he said, too quickly. "Let her come."
Rebecca blinked. "Are you sure?"
Lucien turned back to the window, voice low.
"I want to see how she handles the fire."
---
The elevator to the executive floor opened with a hushed ding. Sera stepped out, heels echoing on polished marble. People glanced up from their desks. Her presence turned heads—not because of her looks, but because of her energy. She walked with the air of someone who had nothing to lose and everything to hide.
Lucien's door was open.
She entered without knocking.
He was behind his desk, reviewing documents, but looked up when she entered.
"You're early," he said.
"Better than late."
She placed a slim black binder on his desk.
"Your agenda. Updated down to the minute. I rescheduled the Tokyo call so it doesn't overlap with Cavanaugh, flagged your contract review for noon, and moved your lunch to 1:15. The caterer confirmed."
Lucien leaned back, studying her. "You've been busy."
"I like efficiency."
"And control?"
She met his gaze evenly. "Only when necessary."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Careful, Miss Langford. Control is expensive. In my world, it's currency."
"Then I guess I'll save you money."
Lucien stood and walked around the desk. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black suit that cost more than her rent for six months. His presence was kinetic. Commanding. He didn't speak immediately, just circled her slowly, like a wolf examining prey—or a general sizing up a soldier.
"You're not afraid of me," he said finally.
"Should I be?"
"Yes."
Silence crackled like static between them.
"You'll be working closely with me now," Lucien said. "That means long hours. No mistakes. And absolute discretion."
"I understand."
"I doubt that. But you will."
He was testing her. She could feel it—pressing for cracks, waiting for her to falter. But she'd survived worse than sharp words and intimidation. She'd survived betrayal. Humiliation. Blood.
Lucien moved closer. Close enough to smell the expensive cologne that clung to his skin—wood smoke, leather, and something darker.
"Tell me, Sera," he said softly. "Why Vale Industries?"
She paused. "It was available."
He tilted his head. "You expect me to believe you chose the most cutthroat firm on Wall Street by accident?"
"No," she said. "I chose it because only the fearless survive here. And I need to prove I still can."
That gave him pause.
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his expression—respect, maybe. Or suspicion. Then it was gone.
"I expect results. Don't disappoint me."
Sera nodded. "I won't."
She turned to leave, her pulse thrumming like a drumbeat. She knew better than to look back. Especially not at a man like him.
But as the door clicked shut behind her, Lucien allowed himself a smile.
She was playing a dangerous game.
And so was he.