Chapter one: The Email

Amara West had exactly two goals for her first day at Kane Enterprises:

1. Keep her head down.

2. Don’t get fired.

She failed both by 9:37 a.m.

The office was a sleek symphony of glass, steel, and silence. Everything gleamed—polished surfaces, spotless floors, and employees who walked like they were auditioning for a dystopian fashion show. Everyone was beautiful. Everyone was terrifying.

And Amara? She was faking it.

Her cherry lipstick was a little too bold. Her curls had already started rebelling. And her confidence, which had been sky-high outside the building, had wilted by the time she stepped into the mirrored elevator.

Still, she was there for a reason. Not for the job. Not for the paycheck. But for answers. And maybe—just maybe—a little revenge.

She adjusted the hem of her black pencil skirt, took a deep breath, and smiled like she had every right to be there.

The temp desk they gave her was two floors below the executive level. Safe, anonymous. Perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

—

It all started with a meme.

Not just any meme—a wildly inappropriate, wholly unprofessional one. A shirtless man in a tie, captioned: "When your boss says ‘work late’ but you hear ‘let’s roleplay.’”

It was meant for her best friend, Nina.

It was sent to Dominic Kane.

Her boss.

CEO. Billionaire. Cold-blooded legend. And the very reason she was there.

She realized the mistake three seconds too late. Her email app froze, then dinged cheerfully. Message sent.

“No, no, no…” she muttered, frantically clicking unsend like her life depended on it. Because it did.

But this was Kane Enterprises.

There was no undo.

Her phone buzzed exactly five minutes later.

> From: Mr. D. Kane

Subject: Come to my office. Now.

Location: Floor 50

Oh, hell.

---

The elevator ride to the top floor was less like transportation and more like ascending to judgment. The air thinned. The temperature dropped. And by the time the doors opened, Amara felt like she was walking into a lion’s den.

Dominic Kane’s office was massive, glass-walled, and cold enough to make a glacier feel warm. It looked out over the Manhattan skyline like he owned the entire city—and maybe he did.

He stood by the window, tall and cut from some dark, perfect stone. Black suit. White shirt. No tie. The open collar showed a tantalizing hint of tanned skin and a thick vein that ran along his neck.

Amara's pulse skipped.

He didn’t turn around when she walked in. Just said, “Close the door.”

She obeyed.

“Knew it was you,” he said. His voice was deep, smooth, and coated with something lethal. “West, right? The temp.”

“I—yes. Sir.”

He finally turned, and she nearly forgot how to breathe.

Dominic Kane was not just handsome. He was arresting. Piercing blue eyes. Sharp jaw. Five o’clock shadow that looked like it was sculpted. Every inch of him radiated dominance.

“Explain the email.”

Amara opened her mouth. Closed it. Then tried again. “That… wasn’t meant for you.”

“No?” He took a step forward. “Do you often fantasize about your boss giving you after-hours assignments?”

Her cheeks burned. “It was a joke. Sent to the wrong contact.”

Dominic’s eyes swept over her, slow and deliberate. “You think this place is a joke?”

“No, Mr. Kane.”

He stopped just in front of her. She could smell him—rich cologne and something darker. Danger, maybe.

His voice dropped. “I should fire you.”

She swallowed. “I understand.”

“But I won’t.”

That surprised her. “You..won’t?”

“No. I don’t reward incompetence with escape.” His lips twitched. “Besides, I find your mistake... .interesting.”

“Interesting,” she repeated, pulse skittering.

“You wanted my attention,” he said, stepping even closer. “Now you have it.”

She didn’t move. Couldn't. His presence was overwhelming. Not just his body—his power. Like the air bent around him.

“I’ll keep you on,” he said, “but under new terms. You report directly to me now. No complaints. No errors. And absolutely no more jokes.”

She stared. “You’re promoting me?”

He smirked. “Promote isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Then what is this?”

“A test,” he said softly. “To see how long you’ll last.”

Before she could reply, he turned and walked away—like he hadn’t just flipped her world upside down.

“You may go.”

Dismissed.

---

Back at her desk, Amara sat in stunned silence.

She should be panicking. She should be quitting. But instead...her heart was racing in a way she didn’t hate.

Dominic Kane was dangerous. But not just the corporate kind.

He looked at her like he wanted to dissect her—and maybe devour her. He spoke like he owned the world. And now, for some twisted reason, he wanted her close.

She should walk away.

Instead, she opened a fresh notepad.

Play the game, she wrote. But don’t get burned.

---

The Next Day

Amara’s inbox dinged at exactly 7:00 a.m.

> From: Mr. D. Kane

Subject: Coffee

Body: Black. No sugar. One minute late = fired.

She rolled her eyes, threw on lipstick, and headed to war.

By 7:29, she was outside his office, holding the coffee like it was a grenade. She knocked. No answer.

She opened the door anyway.

Dominic was behind his desk, typing. He looked up—and smirked.

“Four seconds early,” he said. “A miracle.”

“I live to impress.”

His eyes lingered on her dress—scarlet, silk, slightly too tight. “So I see.”

She walked to the desk and placed the coffee down. “Anything else, sir?”

“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, hands steepled. “You’re wearing perfume.”

“You told me to look presentable.”

“I told you nothing,” he said. “But now that you’ve started...”

She raised a brow. “Are you actually giving me a dress code?”

His smile was pure sin. “You seem to enjoy rules.”

“I break them.”

“That’s not the same as disliking them.”

Amara's throat went dry.

This wasn’t flirting. This was something else. A high-stakes game where the board was invisible and the rules changed every second.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, backing away.

“Do,” he said. “And West?”

She paused in the doorway.

“No more memes. Next time you send me something that inappropriate...” His eyes darkened. “Make sure it’s intentional.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and her knees nearly gave out.

Oh, hell.

She was in trouble.

---

Later That Week

The tension between them grew like static—each glance a spark, every word a dare. He was cold and exacting in public. But in private?

Different.

He watched her. Closely. Obsessively.

She tested him with sarcasm. He punished her with silence. Or smirks. Or impossible tasks.

At night, she thought about him. The way he stood behind her too close. The gravel in his voice when he whispered instructions. The way her name sounded in his mouth.

It wasn’t a crush. It was a compulsion.

And she hated herself for liking it.

Then came Friday night.

They were the last ones in the office. The sky was dark, city lights glittering like stars. She was finishing reports. He was behind her.

Too close.

“You’re breathing hard,” he murmured.

“I’m working.”

“You’re distracted.”

“You’re distracting.”

He said nothing. Just walked around the desk, so slowly, until he was in front of her.

Amara stood, refusing to step back.

Dominic’s gaze flicked to her lips.

“Say something,” she breathed.

“I’m trying not to,” he said. “Because if I do…”

His hand rose. He brushed a stray curl from her cheek. Let his fingers linger.

“If I do, I’ll say something I can’t take back.”

She swallowed. “Try me.”

He leaned in, lips a whisper from hers.

Then his phone rang.

The spell shattered.

Dominic stepped away, jaw tight. “Go home, Amara.”

“I—”

“Now.”

She grabbed her bag and left.

But the moment she stepped into the elevator, she pressed a hand to her chest.

Her heart was racing.

She was officially in over her head.

And worse?

She didn’t want out.