Chapter Four
The following morning, the penthouse hummed with quiet precision.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows like liquid gold, casting long shadows across sleek marble. The scent of rich coffee and cedar hung in the air.
Celine stepped into the main lounge in a tailored charcoal pantsuit and soft silk blouse, her dark curls pinned up in a sleek twist, her makeup understated but lethal. She was no longer just the daughter of a fallen tycoon—she looked every inch the rising executive she intended to become.
But as she entered the room, she immediately sensed it:
She was being watched.
Three people turned to look at her from the leather sectional, each of them sharply dressed, and radiating the kind of cool power that could only be earned—not bought.
At the head of the group sat a woman.
She stood slowly, her heels clicking on the stone floor like punctuation marks in a courtroom. Tall, poised, with high cheekbones and almond-shaped green eyes that flicked over Celine like she was being appraised—and likely dismissed.
She wore a body-hugging navy sheath dress, her platinum blonde hair pulled into a slick knot at the nape of her neck, and her diamond earrings flashed like warning signs. Everything about her screamed legacy. Ruthless. Beautiful. Untouchable.
"You must be the girl."
The words came out like a verdict.
Celine arched a brow. "And you must be the welcome committee."
One of the men on the couch snorted under his breath. The woman didn't so much as blink.
"My name is Eva Laurent," she said, offering a hand like it was a formality. "Head of Strategic Acquisitions. And Damian's longest-standing… advisor."
That pause.
Celine didn't miss it.
She took the woman's hand, her grip firm. "Celine Marlowe. Strategic liability turned asset."
Eva's lips curved. "We'll see about that."
Before either could say more, a voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Eva. Play nice."
Celine turned as Damian entered the room, dressed in a tailored black suit with no tie, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to be a deliberate provocation. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he moved with the lazy confidence of a man who owned more than just the building—they all moved around him.
"I'd hate to start the morning with blood on the floors," he added.
Eva's smile turned razor-thin. "Then stop bringing in strays."
Celine stiffened, but Damian simply walked past Eva without looking at her. Instead, he stopped next to Celine and handed her a file.
"No more hypotheticals," he said. "You're shadowing me in a live merger negotiation. Keep your mouth shut. Eyes open. And if Eva tries to bury you, dig faster."
Celine opened the file, already flipping through it as they walked. "Noted."
Three Hours Later — Midtown, Manhattan
The boardroom felt more like a warzone.
Celine stood just behind Damian's left shoulder as he sat at the long obsidian table flanked by lawyers, analysts, and the CEO of a struggling fashion conglomerate.
It was a hostile buyout. And Damian wasn't negotiating.
He was stripping armor.
With calm, elegant brutality, he dismantled their valuation arguments, exposed creative accounting tricks, and offered a buyout figure so cutting it left the CEO's hands trembling.
"I think we're done here," Damian said coolly, rising.
Celine hadn't said a word.
But Eva had noticed her every reaction.
On the ride back, Eva turned to her. "Do you even understand what just happened in there?"
Celine kept her eyes ahead. "Yes. He didn't just buy the company. He bought their fear."
Eva's jaw ticked.
Damian chuckled under his breath. "Careful, Eva. She might just replace you one day."
Eva didn't smile.
And neither did Celine.
That Night — Damian's Private Office
Celine stood in front of his massive desk as he reviewed the reports she'd compiled post-meeting.
"You highlighted the weak point in their legal protections," he said without looking up. "Good. You're starting to think like me."
"That should terrify you," she said softly.
He looked up at her, slowly closing the file.
"It does," he said. "But I like the things that scare me."
The silence between them cracked like static.
"Eva's going to come for me," Celine said.
Damian tilted his head. "Of course she is. She's territorial. Brilliant. Jealous. The perfect opponent."
"And you're going to let her?"
"No," he said simply. "I'm going to watch. And see if you deserve the throne you're reaching for."
He stood, stepping close.
"There are two types of people in my world, Celine. The ones I protect… and the ones I sharpen."
He reached out, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. A deceptively gentle gesture.
"So which do you want to be?"
Her pulse pounded in her throat. "Neither."
He smiled darkly.
"Then I look forward to watching you bleed."
Chapter Four Cliffhanger Ending:
The elevator doors opened, and Celine stepped inside.
But just before they closed, a hand shot between them.
Eva.
She stepped in, calm as glass, and pressed the button to the top floor—the private suites.
As the doors shut, she turned slowly toward Celine.
"I thought you should know," she said, voice icy. "The last girl who stood where you're standing now… ended up in headlines."
Celine didn't flinch. "Then I guess I'll give them something worth printing."
Eva's green eyes flashed.
"Welcome to the fire, darling," she whispered. "Let's see if you burn."
The elevator ride was long—too long.
Celine stood beside Eva in a silence sharp enough to draw blood. The faint hum of the steel cables and the soft chime of the floor indicators were the only sounds between them.
She could feel Eva watching her. Assessing her. Like a predator weighing the merits of wasting energy on the kill.
But Celine wasn't prey.
Not anymore.
When the doors opened, Eva gave her one last look—calm, poised, a shark in heels.
"Careful," she said smoothly. "He might want to sharpen you, but we both know what happens to knives that get too close to the fire."
Celine stepped out first.
"I don't melt," she said over her shoulder. "I forge."
Eva didn't reply, but the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips was full of unspoken war.
Later that night — Celine's new suite
The room Damian had assigned her was luxurious in an understated, masculine way. Dark woods, steel accents, expensive art that didn't try too hard. It wasn't her. Not yet.
Celine stood in front of the vanity, unpinning her hair, her dark curls tumbling free like smoke.
She was exhausted. But not from the work.
From the games.
The shifting power. The silent threats. The way Damian looked at her like she was both his next project and his next mistake.
And God help her—the way she wanted to be both.
Just as she reached for her robe, a buzz came from the suite's intercom.
Security.
"There's someone here to see you," the voice said.
"I'm not expecting anyone."
"He said he was an old friend. He wouldn't give a name. But he knows your father's old alias. Falcon."
Celine's breath caught.
No one knew that name.
Except for one man.
Fifteen minutes later — Private Lounge
Celine stormed into the empty lounge, heart pounding beneath her silk camisole and robe.
She didn't have to wait long.
He was already there, seated casually on the edge of a leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other, sipping from a crystal tumbler like he owned the place.
Julian Vega.
Her father's former protégé.
And her first heartbreak.
He looked older now—late thirties, with golden tan skin, dark scruff along a sharp jaw, and eyes like cut obsidian. Always dressed like he was halfway between a red carpet and a gunfight.
And still just as dangerous.
"Still breaking into penthouses, Jules?" she said coolly.
He grinned. "Still wearing my shirts to bed?"
She scowled—and realized, belatedly, that the robe she'd thrown on in haste had a monogrammed JV on the inside lining.
He chuckled. "Glad to know I left a mark."
She crossed her arms. "Why are you here?"
"I came to warn you," he said, setting down the drink. "Damian Blackwell doesn't save people, Celine. He recruits them. Then he uses them. Until they break."
"You think I don't know who I'm dealing with?"
"I think you forgot," he said softly. "You're not just stepping into his world. You're sleeping in the heart of it."
"Spying for my father again?" she asked, voice icy.
Julian's expression darkened. "Your father's dead. And if you keep playing with Blackwell, you'll be next."
Celine stiffened.
"I don't need you to protect me."
"No," Julian said, rising. "But you'll wish I had."
He stepped toward her—too close—and whispered:
"He sent someone after me too, you know. After I walked. After I refused to let him destroy me."
She narrowed her eyes. "So this is about revenge."
Julian leaned in, his voice like smoke and threat. "No, darling. This is about war. And you're in bed with the wrong general."
Meanwhile — Damian's Office
Damian stood at his desk, staring at the security footage on the screen.
Julian Vega. In his building. In his penthouse.
Talking to his Celine.
His jaw tensed.
Behind him, Vincent Vale—the ever-calm advisor in a crisp grey suit, salt at his temples, and the perpetual stillness of a man used to chaos—stepped forward.
"You want me to remove him?"
Damian's eyes didn't leave the screen.
"No," he said coldly. "Let him stay. Let her remember exactly what kind of man he is."
"And if she doesn't?"
Damian finally turned.
"Then I'll remind her."
Chapter Four Cliffhanger (Final Lines):
Back in the lounge, Julian reached for her hand—but Celine pulled away.
"I'm not the girl you left behind," she said.
Julian smirked. "We'll see."
He leaned close again, and this time his words were quieter. Darker.
"Just know this, Celine—Blackwell may be the king in his tower, but I know where all the bodies are buried. Including your father's."
He turned, walking into the dark hallway.
Celine stood frozen.
But behind her, another voice murmured from the shadows.
"You really should lock your doors, Celine."
She turned sharply.
Damian.
Watching.
Listening.
His eyes weren't angry.
They were calculating.
"Looks like we'll be digging up old ghosts together," he said. "Let's hope you're not hiding one of your own."