Elara Moore learned very early in her career that power had a sound.
It wasn't loud.
It didn't announce itself.
Power moved quietly through glass walls, whispered phone calls, men who didn't need to repeat themselves.
Lucien Blackwell was power refined.
She felt him before she saw him.
The boardroom had gone still the moment he entered, conversations dissolving into silence like smoke sucked into a vacuum. Elara kept her eyes lowered, focused on the tablet in her hands, even as the air shifted tightened around her.
One word. Calm. Controlled.
Her pulse reacted before her mind did.
She hated that.
Lucien Blackwell took the head of the table, tailored black suit immaculate, posture relaxed in a way that made everyone else look like they were trying too hard. He didn't rush. He didn't scan the room.
He already knew who was there.
Elara passed out the final reports, professional, invisible, exactly as she had trained herself to be. She placed one folder beside Lucien's right hand, careful not to brush his fingers.
She failed.
His gaze lifted.
Not abruptly.
Not rudely.
Deliberately.
Dark eyes sharp, unreadable locked onto her face, and something in her chest tightened. She had the irrational urge to step back, as if proximity itself were a mistake.
Stay, he said quietly.
It wasn't a request.
Her fingers stilled on the folder. The room waited.
Yes, sir, she said, hating how easily the word came out.
Lucien's attention lingered a moment longer before he returned to the meeting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just tilted her world by asking her to remain standing while everyone else sat.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. Elara barely heard the discussion profits, acquisitions, strategy because she was acutely aware of every inch of space between her and the man who hadn't looked at her again.
Until he did.
Ms. Moore.
Her breath caught. Yes?
You compiled this report?
Yes.
A pause. He read. Slowly. Thoroughly.
Efficient, he said at last. Precise. You don't waste words.
She swallowed. I don't see the point.
The corner of his mouth curved not a smile, but something colder. Interested.
Neither do I.
The meeting ended shortly after. Chairs scraped back, voices returned, tension released in nervous laughter and hurried exits. Elara gathered her things quickly, already planning her escape.
Ms. Moore, Lucien said.
Everyone else left.
The door closed with a soft, final sound that echoed far too loudly.
She stood alone with him in the boardroom, heart beating faster than it should.
You're new, he said, rising from his seat at last.
Yes, sir.
You don't fidget.
She forced herself to meet his eyes. I don't need to.
Silence stretched.
Lucien stepped closer not invading her space, not touching but near enough that she could smell his cologne. Something dark. Expensive. Controlled.
You understand hierarchy, he said. Rules.
Yes.
And yet, he murmured, you look at me like you're deciding whether to break them.
Heat curled low in her stomach, unwelcome and sharp.
That's not my intention.
No, he agreed. It's your instinct.
Her pulse throbbed where his gaze dropped to her throat, where it jumped visibly. She resisted the urge to cover it.
Follow me, he said.
Again no question.
She obeyed.
His office was everything she expected: glass walls, clean lines, city skyline stretching endlessly beyond. Power in architecture. Control in design.
Lucien moved behind his desk but didn't sit. He leaned against it instead, arms crossed loosely, watching her like she was something he hadn't decided how to handle yet.
Close the door.
She did.
The click echoed through her.
You were warned about me, he said.
It wasn't a question.
Yes.
And you still took the position.
I need the job.
His gaze sharpened. Everyone needs something.
She stood straight, hands clasped in front of her. Professional. Polite. Contained.
He walked around the desk slowly, unhurried, circling her like a thought he hadn't finished yet.
You don't smile much, he observed.
I work better that way.
Do you obey that way too?
Her breath faltered.
I follow instructions.
Lucien stopped directly in front of her. Close enough now that the air felt charged, heavy with awareness.
Good, he said softly. Because I don't repeat myself.
Her skin tingled not from fear, exactly, but from something far more dangerous.
Interest.
You'll be working closely with me, he continued. Long hours. Late nights. Absolute discretion.
Yes, sir.
His gaze dipped just briefly to her hands.
You wear tension well, he said. But don't confuse my approval for leniency.
She lifted her chin. I wouldn't.
Another pause.
This one felt different.
Satisfied.
You may go, he said.
Relief rushed through her, sharp and sudden. She turned toward the door, fingers brushing the handle
"Ms. Moore."
She froze, Yes?
His voice dropped, quieter now.
Next time I tell you to stay, he said, it won't be for business.
Her breath left her lungs in a slow, trembling exhale.
Yes, sir, she whispered before she could stop herself.
Lucien watched her carefully, eyes darkening at the sound.
Good, he said.
The door closed behind her.
Elara leaned against the hallway wall, pulse racing, body buzzing with something she refused to name.
She told herself it was nothing.
She told herself she was still in control.
Inside his office, Lucien Blackwell adjusted his cufflinks and allowed himself a single thought dangerous and precise.
She would be a problem.
And he already wanted to see how far she'd let him command her.