She was in Jake Stark’s office again, but everything was wrong.

The city lights blurred beyond the glass. The cold steel furniture was gone, replaced by heat, shadows, and him.

“Lock the door,” Jake said, voice low, dangerous.

Her body obeyed before her mind could protest. When she turned back, he was already there sleeves rolled up, tie loose, his gaze a promise and a threat.

His mouth claimed hers, hot and relentless. He kissed like he wanted to erase her, his hands tearing at her blouse, dragging her onto the desk.

“Mine,” he growled against her skin.

“Yes,” she gasped, even as a part of her screamed no.

***

Zara jerked awake, heart hammering, sheets tangled around her sweat-damp legs.

Same dream. Again.

Her chest rose and fell as she pressed a trembling hand over her mouth. She wasn’t just dreaming about Jake Stark anymore. She was dreaming about belonging to him.

She bit down hard on her lip, furious at her own mind for betraying her. Dream or not, she swore she’d never let Jake Stark take anything else from her not her waking hours, and certainly not her will.

she was supposed to hate him.

Hate him for what he did to her, her family.

Her late father. Her mum who had slowly withdrawn into silence. Her little innocent brother.

She wiped a tear as it streamed down her cheek before quietly pulling the duvet tighter around her.

Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon.

Her fingers brushed against the folded photo tucked in her bedside drawer, a snapshot of her father, smiling before everything shattered. She shoved it deeper, willing herself to focus.

***

Zara ran into the Starks building the next morning. She was late.

Only thirty-two seconds, but for Jake Stark that might as well be a crime.

Her heels snapped against Stark Industries’ pristine marble floor, each step a countdown.

Through the glass walls of his office, she saw him seated at his desk, still as a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

The moment she opened the door, his gaze pinned her where she stood.

“You’re thirty-two seconds late,” he said, voice calm but cutting.

***

Zara crossed the expanse of his office and placed the morning files on his desk, careful to keep her hand steady. Her pulse raced in remembrance of the dream, and his musky scent which filled the room wasn't’t helping. Jake Stark didn’t look up right away, just kept typing each keystroke precisely, measured, like everything about him.

Finally, he stopped and leaned back, eyes lifting to hers. Cool. Assessing. Intimidating.

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

“I’ll make it up in efficiency.”

She held his gaze, careful not to blink. If he wanted submission, he’d have to look elsewhere.

A brow arched, the barest hint of amusement flickering across his face.

“Do you think I measure time in efficiency, Miss Commbs?”

“No, Mr Stark.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled.

“I measure it in control. Yours. Mine. Everyone.

Her stomach tightened. She’d read about this man for years, painted him as a monster in her mind. But sitting here, she felt something worse: curiosity. He wasn’t barking orders or slamming fists. He didn’t need to. Power settled around him like a second skin.

His phone buzzed, a faint encrypted alert flashing briefly on the screen. He glanced down but said nothing.

“Status on yesterday’s board meeting notes?”

“They’ve been summarized, color-coded, and forwarded to your personal inbox.”

“And the investor dinner tonight?”

“Confirmed. You’re expected at eight. I’ve arranged transportation and security as requested.”

He nodded once, then closed the laptop.

“Good. Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

Zara lowered herself into the chair opposite, heart drumming. She’d been working here for three weeks, and this was the first time he’d asked her to sit.

“You’ve heard the stories about me,” he said, voice casual, almost bored. “That I fired over a hundred people in one night.”

She schooled her face into neutrality.

“Yes.”

“And yet, you took the job.”

“I needed it.”

“Need,” he said, leaning back, “makes people predictable. I don’t like predictable. I keep them out of my company.”

The words stung more than they should. She wanted to snap that she wasn’t predictable, that she was here for more than a paycheck. But any slip of her true purpose would be fatal.

“I’ll take that set,” she said instead, matching his calm.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth, so quick she might have imagined it.

Then his phone buzzed again, sharper this time. He picked it up, read the message, and the smile vanished.

“Change of plans,” he said, standing. “You’re coming with me tonight.”

She blinked.

“To the dinner?”

“To the war zone I call an investor meeting,” he corrected. “I want to see how you handle pressure that doesn’t come from me.”

Before she could answer, he was already striding toward the door.

“Bring the Larson file. And wear something that doesn’t scream "assistant.”

Zara sat frozen for a moment.

Tonight would put her closer to him than ever, and closer to the people who might know the truth about her father’s downfall. It was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to waste.

But as she gathered the files, a single thought clung like a thorn:

What if getting closer to Jake Stark meant getting burned?

***

The restaurant was all glass and steel, perched high above the city, the lights below twinkling like distant stars. Zara followed Jake, heels soft against the polished floor. The room buzzed with the low murmur of power and money.

At the long table, four men sat waiting, their suits were expensive, their smiles sharp like knives. They didn’t need to say a word Zara could feel their appraisal. Assistant or threat? The answer was still out there.

Jake settled into the chair at the head like a king taking his throne. “Gentlemen,” he said, voice low and controlled, “let’s begin.”

What followed was no mere business talk. It was war.

Questions came fast, precise markets, losses, competitors circling like vultures. Jake’s answers were cold blades, slicing doubt and fear with surgical precision. His tone never rose, but each word landed like a bomb.

Halfway through, a man with silver hair, Halvorsen, leaned back with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Stark, your empire’s bleeding money. Maybe it’s time to admit you’re not invincible.”

Jake’s gaze froze him. “Careful with words like ‘invincible.’ People disappear when they believe they are.”

The room chilled.

Zara’s pen stilled.

A waiter broke the tension with drinks, but Jake didn’t relax. As he signed the bill, he leaned close, voice barely a whisper. “Watch their hands, not their words. That’s where the real danger lies.” she felt the words down her spine.

As the meeting went on, Zara’s gaze snagged on Halvorsen’s twitching hand under the table. He’d slipped his phone out, fingers moving fast. She jotted a note in the margin of her pad Surveillance? Data leak? and slid it toward Jake.

His eyes flicked to it, then to her. For a fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth curved in approval.

The meeting ended with stiff handshakes and forced smiles. Outside, the night air was heavy. Zara’s mind raced.

She expected a ruthless CEO. Instead, she saw a man who controlled everything even fear.

The car was halfway to drop her off when Jake’s phone buzzed. He answered with a calm that didn’t reach his eyes.

“When?” His voice dropped low.

A pause.

“Keep him alive. I’m on my way.”

He hung up, eyes locking on Zara. Dark. Unreadable.

“We’re going to the office. Now.”

Her breath caught.

His words hit her like ice. ‘Keep him alive.’ The room seemed to tilt. Goosebumps prickled her skin, and the files in her hand suddenly felt heavier. Whoever ‘him’ was, danger had just become painfully real.”

“What happened?”

He turned to look at her for a second before looking back into his phone.

His silence said more than words.