Chapter 3 – Inside the Lion’s Den

Tamara’s POV

The Greenwood Corporation tower scraped the clouds like it owned the sky. I stood at the base, staring up, heart pounding.

This was it.

Six months.

One contract.

And the man who could ruin me in every way.

The receptionist glanced up. “You must be Miss White. Mr. Greenwood’s secretary?”

Secretary. Right.

I nodded, muttering a soft “Yes,” and followed the waiting escort into the elevator.

As we rose, my nerves tangled into knots. I didn’t belong in a place like this. The walls were too polished. The people too perfect. I was just a girl who made the mistake of trusting a mother addicted to luck and lies.

When the elevator opened, Adrian was already waiting—towering in his crisp charcoal suit, one hand in his pocket, the other adjusting a cufflink like he had all the time and power in the world.

His gaze slid over me, sharp and unreadable. “You're late.”

It was only two minutes past.

“I—”

“No excuses,” he cut me off. “You work on my time now.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

He turned and walked down the hallway. I trailed behind him, heels clicking, heart racing. He pushed open a sleek glass door—his office—and stepped aside for me to enter first.

It smelled like leather, spice, and something dangerous.

“You’ll handle my calls, calendar, and correspondence,” he said, tossing a folder onto the desk. “You’ll dress appropriately. Speak only when spoken to. And—” his eyes locked with mine “—you’ll always be available when I need you. For anything.”

I shivered at the implication.

“I understand.”

He smirked faintly. “I doubt you do. Yet.”

He sat, motioning toward the chair across from him. “Sit.”

I sat.

He didn’t speak again. Just typed, signed documents, sipped his espresso. For a man who’d stripped me with his eyes and hands just hours ago, he was now treating me like a ghost.

Until noon.

“Lunch,” he said suddenly. “Come.”

Before I could react, he was already on his feet and heading for the private lounge.

The room was quiet, dimly lit, set with a table for two. Steak. Wine. Something rich and expensive I couldn’t pronounce.

“I’m not really hungry,” I said.

“Eat anyway,” he ordered.

I obeyed.

We ate in silence. I tried not to stare at him—his perfect jawline, the way he rolled up his sleeves, the gold watch glinting on his wrist—but it was impossible.

Then I felt it. His foot, brushing against mine under the table.

I froze.

He didn’t stop.

I looked up. His eyes were on me, burning.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, voice low.

I didn’t answer.

He stood and walked around the table. My body tensed.

He leaned down, hand resting beside my plate. His mouth close to my ear.

“Every man in this building will want you,” he murmured. “But you’re mine.”

My breath hitched. He tilted my chin and looked into my eyes.

“Don’t make me regret claiming you.”

Then he kissed me.

Not like last night—this kiss wasn’t angry. It wasn’t brutal.

It was possessive. Slow. Controlled.

His lips moved over mine like he wanted to savor every second. His hand moved to my waist, pulling me against him.

And my body—traitorous, stupid body—responded.

Heat rose in my stomach. I kissed him back.

Just for a second.

Then I pulled away, confused and flustered.

His jaw clenched. He stepped back like he was ashamed of what he just did.

“This won’t happen again,” he said coldly.

But the way his eyes lingered on my lips said otherwise.

I left the room dizzy, breathless, and terrified—not of him…

But of the way I was starting to feel.

I sold myself to survive. But why do I feel like I’m the one being hunted?”