Ella had forgotten what it felt like to breathe slowly.
The train was packed. Too many elbows, too much noise, and a damp kind of heat that clung to her skin even though it was barely 8 a.m. Outside the window, the city blurred; grey, impatient, indifferent. Just like her job.
Her blouse clung to her back by the time she stepped into the bland office building that smelled like burnt coffee and recycled ambition. Another day behind a desk that wasn't hers, answering phones with a voice that didn't sound like hers, for people who barely looked her in the eye.
"Morning," she muttered to no one in particular.
Her manager didn't respond. He rarely did.
By lunch, Ella's head was pounding. She'd skipped breakfast again. The inbox was overflowing. Someone had spilled something sticky on the reception counter. Her knees ached from standing.
Then, at exactly 2:06 p.m., her phone buzzed.
An email.
Subject: Interview Invitation – Wolfe Media Group
She blinked. Thought maybe it was spam. But no. It was real.
Dear Ms Monroe,
You are invited to an in-person interview for the role of Administrative Associate at Wolfe Media Group.
Date: Tomorrow
Time: 9:30 a.m.
Location: Wolfe HQ, Kingsford
Please confirm attendance.
That was it. No "kind regards," no fluff. Just instructions; confident, cold, and absolute.
She didn't remember applying. Maybe she had, weeks ago, during one of those late-night job hunts she never finished. Wolfe Media was another world: elite, private, impossible.
Still, she typed back: Confirmed. See you tomorrow.
*****
By dawn, she was on the train again, this time heading out of town, pressed against the window as the city gave way to smaller buildings, then trees, then glass towers again.
She'd packed lightly: a plain navy dress, a folder with her CV, lip balm she wouldn't use. Her hands trembled once, but she hid them in her coat.
The Wolfe building rose like something out of a film: dark glass, sleek edges, a logo etched into stone.
She hesitated at the doors.
Inside, everything was quiet. Too quiet. The air smelled expensive. A woman at the desk gave her a name tag and told her to take the lift to the 21st floor.
No one smiled.
In the waiting room, she sat alone.
Until the door opened.
A tall woman in a tailored black suit called her name. "Ella Monroe?"
"Yes." She stood, smoothing the front of her dress.
The interview was short, a few questions about organisation, pressure, past jobs. Ella answered carefully. She didn't oversell. She didn't pretend.
She just told the truth.
Then, halfway through, the door opened again.
She turned.
He entered like he owned time itself.
Dark suit. Crisp white shirt. A face that didn't need kindness to be beautiful. Damian Wolfe didn't look at her right away. He spoke to the woman beside her, murmured something she couldn't hear. Then, as if sensing her gaze, his eyes met hers.
Everything slowed.
Steel grey eyes. Controlled, unreadable. But the way they locked on her, it made her spine straighten and her lungs hesitate. She didn't blink.
Neither did he.
It wasn't polite interest. It wasn't even curiosity.
It was... stillness. Like recognition.
Like warning.
"This is Mr Wolfe," the woman said, clearing her throat. "Our CEO."
He nodded once. "Carry on." His voice was low. Clean. Like it had never needed to raise itself to be obeyed.
As he turned to leave, his eyes flicked back to Ella and stayed for just a second too long.
And then he was gone.
But something lingered in the room after him. Heat. Static. The vague awareness of being watched or marked.
The rest of the interview blurred. Ella answered questions, smiled where expected. But inside her, something had lit up.
Something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Not attraction, exactly.
Something more dangerous.
*****
By evening, she was home again. Her flat was quiet, one of those in-between places with plain curtains and mismatched mugs. Safe. But temporary.
She kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag, sat on the edge of the bed like she didn't know whether to cry or laugh. She hadn't eaten. She didn't expect anything. Not really.
It had just been a day. A strange one. He had been on her mind for the rest of the day.
She had some leftovers for dinner and by midnight, she was asleep, face turned to the wall, dreams soft and blurred.
*****
The phone rang at 6:42 a.m.
She fumbled for it, groggy. "Hello?"
A woman's voice, clipped and clear. "Miss Monroe?"
"Yes?"
"You've been selected. Welcome to Wolfe Media Group. Your contract and relocation package will be sent today. You start Monday."
Ella sat up.
"I—thank you. That's—thank you."
The line clicked off.
She sat in the early light, phone in hand, mouth slightly open.
Her job, her life... Now just history at this turnaround moment.
Her old job, her old life... It all felt like it had already started slipping away.
And in the back of her mind, clear as glass, she saw him again.
The CEO.
Not his title.
Not his money.
Just his eyes.
And how they had looked at her.
Like a man seeing the storm he shouldn't chase.
And wanting it anyway.
Is that truly it or is she mistaking?