Zara Lancaster never believed in fate. Just strategy, leverage, and well-drafted legal agreements. The boardroom, not the bedroom, was her battlefield. But even she couldn't have anticipated this or him either.
She stepped into the private lounge of the Rosedale Tower penthouse, heels echoing off the marble floors, her tailored crimson suit hugging her curves like a warning sign: Do not cross. The room was dimly lit, sleek, masculine. Like the man seated at the far end, his silhouette cut from smoke and steel, his suit hugged his build dangerously.
Damian Wolfe didn't rise to greet her. He looked up from the contract on the glass table, his ice-gray eyes locking onto hers with a calm, unsettling intensity.
For a split second he too his her appearance before uttering...
"You're late," he said.
Zara arched a brow. "You're not worth being early for" she bit back.
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. Dangerous, Confident. He's the type of man who saw red flags as decorations and signals at the same time.
She took the seat across from him, legs crossing deliberately. He didn't look away. And she hated that a part of her liked that.
"So," she said, glancing at the document between them. "This is the offer" her gaze going over the details of the contact.
"It's a deal," Damian corrected, his voice like velvet over gravel. "A necessary arrangement. For both of us."
Zara didn't flinch. She needed this. Her company was on the verge of a merger, and his firm controlled the deciding shares. A scandal had rocked his empire six months ago, no one trusted him anymore. They needed each other. That's what made this dangerous.
The contract spelled it out: a joint partnership for twelve months. Public appearances. Strategic alignment. In exchange, Zara would retain control of her company and Damian would repair his image through association with her.
But it came with a cost. Everything did.
"There's a clause here about cohabitation," she said slowly. raising her head from the contract to meet his gaze... fingers pointing to the phrase
Damian nodded. His eyes not leaving her's "The media will smell blood if we don't sell the connection. Living separately won't cut it."
She snorted. "So, I'm supposed to play house with a man I don't trust? in front of a world waiting for me to fail?" absolutely not.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, those sharp eyes now locked on hers with startling clarity.
"Trust has nothing to do with it. You want power. I want redemption. We both want control. We just pretend to be something more to get it."
The audacity of it. The brilliance. The trap.
Zara hated that it made sense.
She scanned the final page, fingers hovering over the signature line. "And if I say no?"
Damian leaned back, relaxed. "Then your board takes my offer. You lose everything."
The bast*rd. Arrogant, calculating… sexy in that cruel, forbidden kind of way. Zara's pulse thudded in her throat, rage and desire burning together like kerosene.
She picked up the pen.
"Fine," she said, signing with a single, practiced stroke. "But let's get one thing straight."
He raised a brow. "Yes?"
"If you ever try to screw me over," she said, leaning close until their lips were a breath apart, "I'll make sure you never get up again."
Damian's smile was slow, wicked. Like he was already imagining the different ways she might screw him.
"I'm counting on it."