The Return
The city skyline stretched before Natalia Greer like a battlefield waiting to be conquered. The towering glass monoliths reflected the dying embers of the sunset, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson—colors of victory, or perhaps, impending destruction. She adjusted her blazer, smoothing the invisible wrinkles as she stepped into the sleek lobby of Cross Enterprises.
Everything about the building screamed power. It was a fortress of wealth and influence, a place where deals were struck with ruthless precision, where the weak were swallowed whole and forgotten. And at the top of it all sat the man she had spent the last six years preparing to destroy.
Damon Cross.
Her heart clenched involuntarily at the name, but she forced her breath to steady. She wasn’t the girl who had fled in the dead of night, her life in tatters. That Natalia was dead. Elise Moore, the woman she had crafted from the ashes, was untouchable.
She approached the reception desk with practiced ease, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The woman behind the counter barely glanced up, too engrossed in whatever urgent task demanded her attention.
“I’m here for my final interview with Mr. Cross,” Natalia said, her voice smooth, professional.
The receptionist tapped a few keys on her tablet, then nodded. “Elise Moore, correct? You’re expected. Take the private elevator to the fiftieth floor.”
Natalia gave a polite nod and strode toward the elevator, her pulse steady even as tension coiled in her stomach. The doors whispered shut around her, enclosing her in a cage of mirrored steel. She exhaled slowly, schooling her expression into impassivity.
She had planned this moment for years, rehearsed every possibility, anticipated every move. Yet, as the numbers ascended, she felt the first stirrings of something she hadn’t accounted for.
Dread.
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal a floor devoid of unnecessary decoration. Stark, modern, and clinical—much like the man who ruled over it. The air smelled of polished wood and something else—subtle yet distinct. Power.
A man stood near the far window, his back to her. Broad-shouldered, commanding, every inch of him exuding an effortless authority that set her nerves on edge. Even after all these years, the sight of him struck like a well-aimed dagger to the ribs.
Damon Cross.
Her fingers curled into her palm, nails biting into her skin as she forced herself to move forward.
“I assume you’re Elise Moore.”
His voice, smooth as aged whiskey, wrapped around her. He turned, and the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding hitched in her throat.
Time had sharpened him. The boyish arrogance she remembered had hardened into something more dangerous. His jawline was sharper, his features cut with a precision that spoke of power honed over years. Dark eyes, assessing and unreadable, locked onto hers, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something beneath the cold detachment.
Recognition?
No. Impossible.
“Yes, Mr. Cross,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He didn’t offer a hand, nor did she. Instead, he studied her as if peeling back layers she hadn’t meant to expose. She met his gaze with unwavering steadiness, the years of practice ensuring she betrayed nothing.
“Your background is impressive,” he said finally, motioning for her to sit. “Fluent in three languages, exceptional analytical skills, experience in high-profile mergers. Yet, you’ve managed to keep a remarkably low profile. No social media. No personal traces. Why is that?”
Her lips curved in a carefully measured smile. “I prefer my work to speak for itself.”
He leaned back, tapping a finger against the polished desk. “A woman who values discretion. That could be useful.”
Natalia tilted her head slightly, feigning curiosity. “And what is it exactly that you need, Mr. Cross?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Loyalty.”
The word hung between them, thick with implications she refused to acknowledge. Her fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair, but outwardly, she remained unmoved.
“I can be loyal,” she said. The lie slipped out as smoothly as any truth.
Damon studied her for another prolonged moment, then nodded. “You’re hired.”
A rush of triumph surged through her veins, but she didn’t let it show. She had expected an extensive interview, a battle of wits. Instead, he had handed her the keys to his empire in mere minutes.
Too easy.
She should have been pleased. Instead, unease settled in her chest. Damon Cross was not a man who made impulsive decisions. He was calculating, meticulous. So why had he chosen her so quickly?
“You start tomorrow,” he said, rising to his feet. “Report to my office at seven sharp.”
She stood as well, adjusting her blazer with a measured grace. “Understood, Mr. Cross.”
As she turned to leave, his voice halted her. “One more thing.”
She glanced back, masking her apprehension with curiosity.
“Do you always wear your mask so well?”
The question was spoken so casually, so smoothly, that it almost didn’t register as a threat. But Natalia wasn’t foolish enough to mistake it for anything else.
Her smile didn’t falter. “We all wear masks, Mr. Cross. Some just fit better than others.”
His gaze lingered for a beat too long before he nodded. “We’ll see about that.”
Natalia stepped into the elevator, her heart pounding against her ribs as the doors slid shut. Only when she was alone did she allow herself a slow exhale.
She had won the first battle.
But the war was just beginning.