The elevator rose with an irritating smoothness, as if it were gently carrying me into the serpent's nest.
I checked my reflection in the golden mirror of the cabin. The neckline of my dress was a piece of precision engineering. I adjusted it slightly lower, ensuring that the black lace of my lingerie offered just a sinful glimpse—enough to make the curve of my breasts seem like they were a breath away from spilling free.
I knew exactly what I was doing.
Men like Arthur Cavalcanti don't look at your résumé—they look at your throat, your lips, the sway of your hips.
And I was going to give him a show he didn't even know he wanted.
The doors opened on the 40th floor.
The carpet was so soft it swallowed my footsteps, but the scent of luxury was overwhelming.
I was led into his office.
Arthur stood with his back to me, staring out at the city.
He was younger than his father, with narrower shoulders and a posture that screamed insecurity dressed up in money.
When he turned, I saw the exact moment the oxygen left his lungs.
"Miss… Martins?" he stammered, his eyes immediately dropping to my neckline before rising, embarrassed, to my face.
"Elena. Please," I said, my voice like velvet wrapped around blades.
I walked toward his desk, exaggerating the sway of my hips. I didn't sit right away. Instead, I leaned forward over the glass desk to hand him my folder, letting gravity do the work.
I saw the sweat form on his forehead as he stared, hypnotized, at the curve of my chest, nearly spilling from the dress just inches from his face.
I could hear his heartbeat pounding.
Poor Arthur.
So predictable.
"It's an impressive résumé," he said, his voice slightly higher as he struggled to focus on the papers.
"I'm a woman of many talents, Mr. Cavalcanti," I replied, sitting down and slowly crossing my legs, letting the slit of my dress rise to the edge of what was acceptable. "And I always get what I want. Especially when the challenge is… stimulating."
I ran the tip of my tongue across my lips, holding his gaze.
He was in a trance.
I wasn't just a candidate—I was the embodiment of every fantasy his father had probably forbidden him to have.
"What do you want, Elena?" he asked, his voice now a rough whisper, professionalism completely forgotten.
I leaned forward again, closing the distance until he could feel the warmth of my skin and the scent of my expensive perfume.
"I want to be close to power," I whispered, my eyes shining with a mischief he mistook for desire. "And I want you to show me what it feels like to be at the top."
Arthur reached out, as if to touch the exposed skin above my neckline, but pulled back at the last second.
The control was mine.
I could feel his desire radiating like heat.
He was my access.
My key.
My way into the mansion—and to Lorenzo.
"The job is yours," he said, nearly breathless. "You start now."
I smiled.
A smile that never reached my cold eyes.
The first domino had fallen.
Arthur thought he had just hired a secretary.
But in truth, he had just opened the doors to the virus that would destroy his bloodline.
As he stood to show me the office, I felt his gaze burning into my back.
I was the predator.
And dinner…
had only just begun.