Chapter 3 The Dress That Changed Everything

Emery's POV

By 6:45 PM, I was pacing in circles in my bedroom, staring at the garment bag hanging from the closet door like it might bite me.

It had arrived that afternoon with no note. Just a sleek black tag that said "Wear me."

Tessa had practically squealed when she unzipped it for me, revealing a deep emerald green gown that shimmered like melted glass under the overhead light. It was daring. Sculpted. A plunge neckline and a thigh-high slit I wasn't brave enough to wear in a dream, let alone to a corporate dinner with Landon Hart.

"I can't wear this," I whispered, shaking my head. "He's testing me."

"No, babe. He's undressing you," Tessa corrected, perched on the edge of my bed with popcorn in one hand. "That man has plans. And judging by this dress, they don't involve spreadsheets."

I groaned. "It's work. It's not like that."

But we both knew I didn't believe that.

I slipped into the gown anyway. The fabric molded to my body like it had memorized every curve. I'd never worn anything that made me feel... expensive. Like I belonged in a room full of billion-dollar contracts and backhanded compliments.

When the sleek black car pulled up outside, I was already waiting by the curb.

The driver mid-fifties, gray suit, polite smile

opened the door without a word. The interior smelled like leather and wealth. The kind of silence that came with power.

Twenty-five minutes later, we pulled into the private entrance of a luxury hotel I'd only seen in Forbes articles. Men in tuxedos. Women in diamonds. Champagne in glass towers.

I stepped out and instantly felt every eye.

But only one gaze found me and didn't look away.

Landon.

He stood at the entrance, jaw tight, talking to someone on his phone. His eyes locked onto mine the second I emerged from the car. His words slowed, then stopped. He said something short and sharp into the phone before ending the call.

And just like that, he was walking toward me.

His gaze swept over the dress slow, appreciative, unreadable.

"You clean up well," he murmured.

I cleared my throat. "You chose the dress."

"Exactly." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "It fits. Everywhere."

I looked away, trying to control the heat rising in my cheeks. "So... what exactly do you want me to observe tonight?"

His hand lightly touched the small of my back as he guided me toward the doors. "Power plays. Fake laughs. People pretending to care. And one man who might try to stab me with a dessert fork before dessert."

I blinked. "That's... oddly specific."

"He's the CFO," Landon said coolly. "And I'm planning to force a merger he doesn't want. Keep your ears open and your smile polite. If you get overwhelmed, say you need the restroom."

"Is that the secret code?"

"No. It just means you need the restroom."

Despite myself, I laughed softly.

He looked down at me with something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

The grand ballroom was absurd. Chandelier light scattered across crystal glasses, casting rippling gold across polished marble floors. The hum of low conversations buzzed like a thousand secrets waiting to be overheard.

We moved through the crowd like a current parting for us. Or maybe just for him.

"Landon," a voice drawled to our left. "Didn't expect you to bring... company."

The man who stepped into view was tall, sharp-featured, with blue eyes that looked like they were always calculating. He extended a hand toward me first.

"Dorian West. I run Argent Financial. And you must be the reason every man in here is now underdressed."

I shook his hand, forcing a smile. "Emery Clarke. Executive assistant."

His eyes narrowed just slightly. "To Landon?"

"Yes."

His gaze darted to Landon and back again. "Bold move."

Landon's voice was steel wrapped in silk. "She's efficient. Observant. And not here to be objectified."

"Shame." Dorian's smile was lazy, but there was something dangerous lurking behind it.

My instincts screamed predator.

"Excuse us," Landon said smoothly, his hand gripping mine not on my back this time, but lower. Possessive. Intimate.

Once we were out of earshot, I leaned in. "Who is that?"

"My biggest rival. Dorian thinks charm can substitute for strategy. He's wrong."

"Is he dangerous?"

Landon's jaw flexed. "Only if you let him think he's smarter than you."

For the next hour, I stood beside Landon as he worked the room with a level of precision I'd never seen before. It wasn't networking. It was warfare. Every handshake was calculated. Every nod rehearsed. And he did it all while keeping one eye on me.

And yet something kept shifting.

There was a moment just one when his fingers brushed my wrist under the table. Barely a second, but I felt it everywhere.

And later, when a waitress leaned in far too close to pour his wine, I noticed the way his eyes flicked to me as if checking for... what? Jealousy?

The weird part? It was there.

At 9:45, I stepped away to catch my breath and fresh air.

The hotel's rooftop terrace was empty, lit only by soft overhead string lights. I leaned against the railing, exhaling into the night. The city glittered below, alive and endless.

And then he was behind me.

I didn't turn, but I felt him.

"I told you to say 'restroom' if you needed space," he said, voice lower now.

"I needed air."

"You looked overwhelmed."

"I'm not glass. I don't shatter that easily."

His silence wrapped around me like a second skin.

"I don't regret hiring you," he said quietly. "But I do regret bringing you here."

I turned slowly. "Why?"

"Because now they've seen you."

I blinked. "And that's... bad?"

His gaze was fierce. Intense. Unapologetic. "It means they'll try to use you. To get to me. To test your loyalty. Or worse test mine."

My breath caught.

He stepped closer. "You think I hired you because you were the smartest applicant?"

"I thought"

"You were," he interrupted. "But that's not why I picked you."

"Then why?"

His eyes dropped to my lips. Held. "Because you walked in like you didn't belong and still dared to look me in the eye."

His hand lifted hovered near my cheek but didn't touch.

"And that means," he added softly, "you're more dangerous than you know."

Before I could respond, the rooftop door slammed open behind us.

Dorian.

He looked between us, a flicker of amusement on his face. "Am I interrupting something... intimate?"

Landon's posture shifted subtly. Less CEO. More predator.

But it was Dorian who moved.

Dorian's gaze moved between us like a scalpel slow, slicing, intrusive. His smirk deepened as his hands slid into his pockets like he owned the rooftop and all the air in it.

"Intimate moments on company time?" he asked. "My, my. Has Landon finally found his weakness in a pair of stilettos?"

I tensed, but Landon didn't move. His body went still in a way that made the silence feel... threatening.

"You're interrupting, Dorian," Landon said calmly. "Go crawl back into the shadows where you're more comfortable."

Dorian ignored him and stepped toward me instead. "Forgive me. Emery, was it? You should know people like Landon collect pretty things when they're bored. And burn them when they're done."

I opened my mouth, but Landon was faster.

"She's not yours to insult."

"But she's yours to use, right?" Dorian cut in, smile venomous. "I wonder what your board would say if they knew your new assistant came gift-wrapped in a gown you selected yourself?"

My stomach twisted. He wasn't just taunting. He was threatening.

Landon's jaw ticked. "One more word and I'll bury you in a lawsuit so deep you'll be breathing through subpoenas."

That was when I did something even I didn't see coming.

I stepped forward, past Landon, straight into Dorian's space. "You don't scare me," I said, voice low but clear.

His brows lifted, amused.

"And neither does your half-baked attempt at a power play. If you really had any dirt on Landon, you wouldn't be on a rooftop sniffing around like a jealous ex. You'd already be holding the matches."

That knocked the smile right off his face.

I turned away, heartbeat in my throat, only now realizing what I'd done.

Landon was watching me like I'd just flipped his entire chessboard.

Dorian let out a slow exhale. "Well... this is going to be fun." His footsteps retreated with that ominous finality that made my skin crawl. He disappeared back through the rooftop door without another word.

The silence after was thunderous.

Landon looked at me. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," I said, still breathless. "But I couldn't let him talk to you like that. Or to me."

Something in his expression shifted. Heat. Maybe admiration. Maybe something more dangerous.

He stepped closer, voice low. "You keep surprising me."

I swallowed. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," he murmured. "But it's going to make staying away from you... hell."

Before I could reply, his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.

He hesitated. Looked at the screen. And suddenly, the electricity in his expression short-circuited.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer right away. Just stared out at the skyline like he was calculating a hundred things at once.

Then he turned to me. "I have to leave. Tonight. Something urgent came up. You'll ride home with my driver."

"What's going on?" I asked. "Is everything okay?"

He didn't meet my eyes. "I'll explain soon."

But something about the way he said it guarded, clipped told me whatever it was, it wasn't okay.

He pressed a hand to my waist, then stopped short of pulling me in. As if he wanted to... but wouldn't.

"Stay sharp, Emery," he said softly. "Don't trust anyone in that room. Not even the ones who smile."

Then he was gone.

Just like that.

And I stood there under the lights, alone again. Trying to calm the adrenaline still rushing through my veins, trying to make sense of the emotional whiplash.

I didn't know what had just shifted between us...

Or what storm Landon was walking into.

But one thing was painfully clear:

I wasn't just a secretary anymore.

I was part of something bigger.

Darker.

And I had a feeling...

This was just the beginning.

The next morning, I walked into the office to find Landon's door wide open.

But his desk?

Empty.

No laptop.

No coat.

No trace.

Just a single envelope lying on my chair, addressed to me in his handwriting.

And inside, only one sentence:

"Don't trust Dorian. If I don't come back, find the flash drive I hid in my safe."