Lucian Blackwood stood at the edge of his world.

Fifty stories high, in the heart of Blackwood Tower, he gazed through the vast, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the city—a kingdom of steel, light, and power that belonged to him.

The skyline stretched endlessly beyond the tinted glass, the early morning glow barely piercing through the storm-heavy clouds. Below, the city was already awake, buzzing with life. People rushed through the streets, taxis wove through traffic, and in the heart of it all, his empire thrived.

Lucian stood still, his hands in the pockets of his flawlessly tailored black suit, the cool fabric resting against his skin. Every inch of him was composed, immovable.

The office behind him was a reflection of his lethal precision—minimalist, sleek, cold, 

A massive black marble desk, empty except for his laptop and a crystal glass of whiskey, untouched,Shelves lined with legal binders, market reports, and steel-gray decor—everything structured, calculated, A single watch ticking on the wall, precise and measured, like the man himself.

Everything in this space had a purpose.

Everything in his life was under his absolute control.

And yet…

Lucian's jaw clenched, a flicker of irritation curling beneath his ribs. Restlessness. A thing he didn't allow himself to feel.

Not anymore.

He turned from the window, crossing the room with measured steps, his polished shoes silent against the marble floor. He stopped before his desk, his fingers grazing the cool, sharp edges.

A single breath in. Steady. Unshaken.

Yet something unsettled him. Something he couldn't name.

With a quiet exhale, he reached for the drawer beneath his desk and pulled it open.

Inside, beneath neatly stacked files and a sleek, loaded Glock, lay a single framed photograph.

Lucian picked it up.

And for the first time that morning, his breath hitched.

The woman in the picture stared back at him.

Her eyes—hauntingly familiar—held a softness that no longer existed in his world.

Gone. Lost. Buried.

A sharp knock at the door dragged him from the abyss of the past. His expression hardened instantly, the photo slipping back into the drawer.

The past was a ghost. He had no use for ghosts.

"Enter." His voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

The door opened, and Victor Sloan stepped inside.

Victor was the kind of man who never wasted time.

His movements were crisp, efficient, his dark suit impeccable. A former intelligence officer turned corporate strategist, he was one of the few people Lucian trusted to anticipate his needs before they were spoken.

"Sir," Victor greeted, handing him a sleek tablet.

Lucian took it, scrolling through the morning reports.

Numbers. Acquisitions. Market fluctuations.

It was all predictable. Controlled. The world moved as he dictated it to.

Until—

Something caught his eye on the screen.

A security feed.

Lucian's scrolling stilled.

His breath stopped.

His entire body went rigid.

On the screen, sitting in the lobby among a row of other applicants, was a girl.

No.

Not a girl. A ghost.

She sat with her hands clasped over a worn leather folder, her posture straight but uncertain. Every so often, her fingers traced the edges of the paper inside—a nervous habit.

She was young, mid-twenties at most, with a face that belonged to a world of softness, not the ruthless corridors of his empire.

And yet…

Lucian's grip tightened on the tablet.

She shouldn't be real.

Because this girl, looked exactly like a woman who no longer existed.

It was impossible. And yet, she was sitting right there, completely unaware that she had just walked into the jaws of a wolf.

A slow, dangerous hum settled in Lucian's chest.

The air in the room felt thinner, sharper.

His pulse was steady, but something in his mind was shifting. Calculating.

He couldn't help being curious about her

His world was one of cold control, of steel and power. He did not believe in coincidences.

And yet, here she was.

Sitting in his building.

Applying for a position in his company.

Lucian exhaled slowly, his voice calm, controlled.

"Who is she?"

Victor arched a brow at the screen, dipped his hands into his pockets, took his phone and scrolled through it before replying. "Lyra Monroe. Twenty-four. Applied for a junior clerical position in the finance department."

Lucian's jaw ticked. Clerk. That wouldn't do.

"Background?"

"Clean. No criminal record. Bachelor's in Business. Currently unemployed, recently relocated." Victor paused. "Her financial records indicate struggles—unpaid bills, rent overdue by two months."

Lucian's gaze remained locked on the screen.

A small, barely-there smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

She needed this job.

Which meant… she wouldn't refuse him.

He picked up his phone.

Victor's eyes flickered with understanding. "You want her hired."

Lucian's reply was immediate. "No."

Victor's brow furrowed.

Lucian's voice dropped into something dark and final.

"I want her in my office."

Victor hesitated. "Sir, she applied for a junior—"

Lucian's gaze sliced to him, cold and absolute.

"I don't care."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Victor nodded. "Understood."

Lucian set the phone down, his eyes never leaving the screen.

...…

Lyra sat in the waiting area, her stomach a knot of nerves.

She needed this job.

Desperately.

She adjusted the button on her blouse, willing herself to stay composed.

The receptionist's voice broke through her thoughts.

"Miss Monroe?"

Lyra stood quickly. "Yes?"

The woman gave her a polite but distant smile. "Your interview has been moved."

Lyra frowned. "Moved?"

"Yes." The receptionist's voice was neutral. "You'll be meeting with the CEO."

Lyra's breath stalled.

The CEO?

Why?

Something cold slithered down her spine.

She had no choice but to follow.

As the elevator doors closed around her, she felt a strange sense of unease.