Chapter 2

DAMON'S POV

The single most valuable asset in my empire was control. I controlled boardrooms, investments, and multi-billion-dollar acquisitions with a snap of my fingers.

As the morning sunlight crept through the glass of my penthouse, I realized I was quickly losing control over the woman slipping out from under my arm.

I didn't open my eyes immediately. I stayed perfectly still, listening to the rustle of the sheets as Quin disengaged herself from my grip.

This morning, her movements were fast, calculated, and hasty. Usually, she would give me a kiss on my lips, or linger in bed with me, her palms resting on my chest as she traced its contours. But this morning was different.

I opened my eyes just in time to watch her move toward the bathroom. Her red dress from last night lay neatly folded on the chair. As the water in the shower ran, I could hear her humming a song. She rarely hummed except when she was nervous.

My father's words from yesterday re-echoed through my head: A public engagement between you and Kimberly Smith before the year ends…

I grabbed the sheets, squeezing it tightly. Quin had heard it. She had been standing behind me when my father proclaimed those words.

When she stepped out twenty-five minutes later, she was totally transformed. Her messy bun from last night was now styled into a slick, tight bun. She wore her usual work outfit: a cream-colored shirt, neatly tucked into her blue pencil skirt, and heels that clicked in a sharp rhythm against the hardwood floor.

The Quin who had gasped my name on my bed last night was gone. In her place stood my professional and diligent secretary.

I sat up, leaning back on the bed as she walked into the kitchen space, reappearing with a mug of black coffee. She set it down on the nightstand clumsily, spilling the contents. She immediately murmured an apology, her fingers fiddling with the band of her wristwatch.

“Your daily overview is uploaded to your tablet, Mr. Frederick,” Quin said, her voice smooth and clear. “The board meeting starts at nine-thirty. I have already sent out emails and arranged for your car.” Her eyes met mine, but she quickly looked away.

A sharp twinge of annoyance swept through my chest. For eleven months, we had abided by the same strict, unwritten rules: sheer, burning desire behind closed doors, and professional distance outside of them.

But this sudden coldness felt odd; it wasn't part of the routine. It felt like she was slipping away from me. Total withdrawal.

I stood up, raw and bare-chested. I closed the gap between us in three heavy strides. Quin didn't flinch, but her breath grew heavier, causing a slight shift in her composure which I caught quickly.

“Why are you so eager to leave?” I asked, my voice husky from sleep. “It's almost seven; traffic is usually heavy after seven,” she replied, taking a step backward while holding her tablet like a demarcation between us.

I reached out for her, my fingers firmly wrapping around her wrist. She stiffened, her eyes wide. I pulled her closer and leaned down near her neck.

“You belong to me, Quin—right on this bed,” I growled softly. I could feel her stiffen more as my grip tightened.

I held her neck, softly planting kisses down to her collarbone, feeling her pulse throb against my thumb. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a second. I had an effect on her that she couldn't resist, no matter how hard she tried.

“I'll see you at the office, Mr. Frederick,” she said, her voice a soft whisper. She pulled her wrist back the minute I loosened my grip. Without another word, she turned and walked to the entrance. I watched her until she was out of sight.

I took a sip of the black coffee, my legs crossed as I stared out at the city horizon. My father could push for engagements and alliances all he wanted, but would never dictate who my heart chose. Something had changed in her. It felt like a revolution, and I hated it. I took another sip, the heat of the coffee burning my tongue.

Quin was mine—her body and mind, all mine. Whatever game she was beginning to play, I was going to make sure I emerged as the winner.

By eight-thirty, I arrived at my office on the thirty-fifth floor of Frederick's Enterprise. I had transitioned from the untamed penthouse lover to the corporate CEO. I straightened my suit jacket, my face resetting into its usual expression of steel.

As I walked around the corner leading to the main conference wing, I halted abruptly.

Standing near the windows of the lobby was Quin. But she wasn't alone; a smile was on her lips.

Lucian Evans, the lead regional liaison for our new partner—young, wealthy, and complacent—was leaning against the glass, laughing softly. Quin was standing a step away from him, a faint smile curving her lips as she made a note on her tablet.

An instinctive flash of jealousy ripped through my chest violently. As he touched her shoulder, a primal rush of possessiveness rose from my stomach, slamming into my chest.

Why is she smiling at another man? My subconscious roared. She hadn't smiled at me this morning. She had been cold, giving me work updates and professional efficiency. Yet she was emanating effortless charm for a man who didn't own a single minute of her time.

My knuckles turned white as the grip on my briefcase tightened. The rules said I had no right to react in public. The rules said we were strangers in this building.

Our eyes met, but she quickly looked away, focusing her attention back on Lucian. My heart burned.

“Fuck the rules,” I muttered, stepping forward.