Chapter 5 The Line

The echo of Damien's kiss lingered long after the gala lights dimmed and the driver dropped her off at her apartment. Emma stood in front of her bathroom mirror, fingers grazing her lips like she could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers.

She had kissed men before. She had felt desire. But never like this. Never like this.

It wasn't attraction-it was surrender. And that terrified her.

She stared at her reflection, at the dark makeup smudged beneath her eyes, at the elegant curve of the dress still clinging to her skin. She didn't look like herself. Not the girl who had worked double shifts at the bookstore. Not the daughter who had held her father's hand in the hospital, terrified of losing everything.

No, the woman in the mirror looked like she belonged to someone.

And worse-she didn't seem to mind.

---

The Next Morning

Emma showed up at the office two hours early, hoping the silence would help her find clarity. But clarity was a luxury she no longer had.

Lydia raised an eyebrow as Emma passed her desk. "Early bird. Trying to impress him?"

"I'm trying to get ahead," Emma replied, forcing a neutral tone.

Lydia leaned in slightly. "Be careful. That man doesn't let people ahead-he puts them exactly where he wants them."

Emma didn't answer.

---

Inside his office, Damien was already seated, sipping coffee like the world bent to his will. And maybe it did.

"You're early," he noted.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why not?" he asked, without looking up.

She hesitated. "You know why."

He finally met her eyes. "Good. That means it's working."

"What is?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands tucked in his pockets. "Control is an illusion, Emma. You think you're resisting. You think you're holding a line. But the moment you question that line... it's already gone."

She crossed her arms, defensive. "I haven't given in."

"No," he said, turning back to her. "But you're starting to wonder what it would feel like."

The truth cut too deep. She turned away.

---

Later That Day

He called her into his private suite on the 50th floor. This time, she didn't hesitate.

"You're learning," he said, watching her closely.

"I'm adapting."

"Same thing."

He motioned toward the window-side couch. "Sit."

She obeyed. His gaze raked over her slowly, and something flickered in his expression-approval, possession, maybe both.

"You wore perfume today," he said.

She blinked. "You noticed?"

"I always notice."

Emma's breath caught as he approached, his hand reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"You're doubting yourself," he said softly.

Her voice broke. "I don't know who I'm becoming."

He knelt in front of her, and the gesture-so intimate, so unexpected-shattered her defenses.

"You're becoming mine," he whispered.

And for the first time, she didn't argue.

---

That Night

Emma lay awake in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, heart pounding.

She had told herself this was business. A transaction.

But she couldn't forget the feel of his hand in her hair. The way her name sounded when he said it-like it was meant to be spoken only by him.

She touched her lips, remembering the kiss.

I should pull back, she thought. I should run.

But she didn't.

She fell asleep thinking of him.