Chain Of The Obsession

I clenched my teeth and decked the heavy tray across one of my arms, navigating the packed diner. The smell of burnt coffee and greasy fries permeated my uniform, and the sounds of clinking glasses and chatter, mixed with an old radio played at a decibel level that sent my ears into shock. My feet were throbbing, my back was sore, but I put on a smile, looking beyond the fatigue that hung me from limb to limb.

Rent was due. Again.

I needed every last tip I could have tonight.

"Table six, extra sugar," Marla, my manager, barked, running past me, carrying two plates of burgers.

"I understand," I said under my breath, already setting out toward the booth by the window.

The man sitting there didn't even look up when I set the coffee before him. He was reading his phone, dressed in a suit that probably set him back the price of my year's rent.

I looked away, and held the tray tighter. One more hour. All I needed to do was survive another hour.

Then it happened.

A hard collision. A crash. A gasp.

Scalding heat sprayed all over my front, soaking my thin uniform.

The tray crashed to the floor, cups broken, coffee and pie splattered everywhere.

For a second, I stood frozen. Heart pounding against my ribs, terror escalating quickly.

Slowly, I looked up.

And came face-to-face with the coldest blue eyes I'd ever seen.

The man loomed over me, the very embodiment of sharp, ruthless power. Black suit, white shirt, an expensive watch gleaming on his wrist. His jaw was set, his lips a narrow line.

But it was the eyes that made my breath hitch icy blue, penetrating, as if he could see right through me.

I swallowed hard. "I-I'm sorry"

"You should be."

His voice was low, dangerous.

I followed his gaze and my stomach knotted. Coffee dripped from his perfectly tailored suit, soaking the fine fabric.

Oh no.

I fumbled through napkins with trembling hands. "Let me-"

"Don't." It was like a whip, leaving the mark of its sharp, cutting tone.

My fingers froze in midair. I flinched.

The diner had gone silent. Now, every pair of eyes was on us.

I licked at my dry lips, trying again. "It was an accident."

"Accidents," he said, his eyes darkening, "have consequences."

It was the way he delivered it that set my heart racing.

I straightened my shoulders. "I-I'll compensate for the dry cleaning."

A slow smirk creased his lips, but it had no warmth. Only something cold. Calculating.

"You can't afford it."

My cheeks burned. He wasn't wrong.

"Before I could reply, he dug out a credit card from his jacket, handed it to me, and tossed it on the counter next to us.

"You owe me."

I blinked at him. "Owe you?"

His gaze didn't waver. "You ruined my suit."

"It was an accident!" I said again, frustration entering my voice.

"I don't believe in coincidence," he said genially. "Or charity."

I let out a sharp breath. "I don't have that kind of money."

"I'm not asking for money."

I frowned. "Then what?"

"You'll work for me."

A beat of silence.

I stared at him. "What?"

"Three months," he said, as though this was absolutely normal. "You will work for me to pay off your debt."

My heart pounded. "That's ridiculous."

He arched his brow. "Is it?"

"Yes!" I stepped back and shook my head. "You're crazy if you think."

He left me hanging with a gusty sigh. He tilted his head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle he was solving.

"You could say no," he said lazily, "but I should warn you - this suit costs more than you make in six months. And my patience isn't infinite."

My stomach twisted.

I glanced around the diner. Marla was behind the counter, pretending not to look, but of course knew she'd fire me if I caused more trouble.

I clenched my fists.

This was unfair.

This was insane.

But I didn't have options.

I could barely afford rent. If he chose to press charges, I would drown in debt faster than I already was.

"I don't even know who you are," I said, stalling.

There was a flicker in his eyes. Amusement.

"Damien Blackwood."

My breath caught.

I had heard that name before.

Everyone had.

Damien Blackwood, head of Blackwood Enterprises. Ruthless. Dangerous. A billionaire who steamrolled anyone who stood in his path.

And I had just poured coffee on him.

Great.

I exhaled shakily. "It's not like I have a choice, is it?"

His lips curled. "No."

I hesitated. "But what, exactly, would I be doing?"

"Personal assistant."

I frowned. "You already have one."

"I do."

"So why-"

"I do not like debts," he interrupted smooth as glass. "And now you owe me."

My pulse pounded.

This was a bad idea.

A terrible, awful idea.

But what choice did I have?

I swallowed hard. "Fine."

And his smirk intensified, and for a moment I thought I must have just walked right into a trap.

Philip pivoted, aiming for the door. "Report to my office in the morning at eight o'clock, sharp.

I grimaced after his disappearance. "Where is your office?"

He looked over one shoulder, blue eyes glittering.

"You'll figure it out."

Then he was gone.

I let out a shaky breath.

What the hell had I just promised?

I shouldn't have come.

"Towers" was the thought looping in my mind as I stared at the glass-clouding skyscraper. The giant Blackwood Enterprises logo loomed overhead, taunting me with the invitation to enter.

It was an intimidating-looking building - like the man who owned it.

Damien Blackwood.

I gripped the strap of my tattered satchel, willing my nerves to steady. The morning rush hummed around me, business people in suits scurrying past, sleek cars swerving to the curb, but I felt frozen in place.

I could turn around. Walk away. Act like last night didn't happen.

But then what?

I had no money. Rent was still due. And Damien wasn't the kind to let things go.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and entered through the glass doors.

The lobby was stunning - floors of white marble, huge chandeliers, walls covered with smooth black panels. A polished receptionist was seated behind an oversized desk, giving me barely a glance.

I walked up hesitantly. "Um ... I'm here to see Mr. Blackwood."

Finally, she turned to me, her eyes roving over my secondhand top and cheap jeans. A flicker of some pity? Disdain? crossed her face.

"Do you have an appointment?"

I swallowed. "He told me to come."

She raised a brow, clearly skeptical. "Your name?"

"Elena Carter."

She entered something on her computer, and then paused. She had widened her eyes for the briefest of moments, then stared at him like a chunk of ice behind a desk.

"You're supposed," she said, pushing a button. "Take the elevator to the top floor."

I hesitated. "Top floor?"

She didn't respond, already on to the next call.

Great.

Heart racing, I approached the shiny black elevator. As soon as I entered, the doors closed, trapping me in.

I breathed in sharply as I watched the numbers gradually increase.

15th floor. 20th floor. 30th floor.

Second by second, my nerves cooled tighter.

What did I just walk into?

Then the doors opened with a gentle chime.

And there he was.

Damien stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, hands in his pockets, gazing out over the city. Sharp morning light carved shadows across his strong jaw, the inhibition-less angles of his suit only enhancing his dominance.

For a second, I was frozen.

Then he turned.

His blue eyes zeroed in on mine, unreadable and penetrating.

"You're late," he murmured.

I checked the clock. 7:59 AM.

I scowled. "It's not even eight yet."

His lips twitched. "Exactly. Sit."

He waved at the sleek chair sitting in front of his massive desk.

I hesitated before moving on, my heart racing.

As soon as I sat down, he rested back against his desk, arms crossed.

"Let's set a few things straight," he said, his tone steady but stern. You work for me now. Which means that you have to do things my way.

I swallowed. "What rules?"

He tilted his head. Rule one: always be on time.

Rule 2 : Do what I say, no questions asked'

I frowned. "That sounds like slavery."

His lips twitched. "That sounds like work."

I folded my arms. "Anything else?"

"Yes."

He leaned in a little closer, his eyes darkening.

"Rule three never lied to me."

The air between us thickened.

I don't know why, but the way he said it made my pulse stutter.

Before I could answer, he sat up straight.

"Your job starts now."

I blinked. "What the hell am I doing?"

His eyes slid over me, weighing me. Then he grabbed a stack of papers and set them in front of me.

"Read through those. Memorize the details. If you mess up, you're out."

I looked at the paper contract agreements, business deals, numbers that made my head spin.

I looked back at him. "You think I'm supposed to understand all this?"

He smirked. "You're smart. Figure it out."

I gritted my teeth, but said nothing.

Instead, I took the first document and started to read.

I didn't know what I was getting myself into.

But I knew Damien Blackwood wasn't finished yet.