Lila Chen stepped out of the revolving glass doors of Blackwood Enterprises at exactly 7:47 a.m., the sharp click of her black heels echoing across the marble lobby like a secret she was tired of keeping. She adjusted the strap of her leather tote, fingers brushing the cool metal clasp, and let out a slow breath that fogged the air for half a second.
"Morning, Ms. Chen," the security guard called, lifting his coffee cup in that same half-smile he gave her every single Monday.
"Morning, Marcus," she answered, voice steady, professional, the way she'd trained it to sound for three years now. She gave him a small nod, the kind that said nothing to see here, even though her pulse was already doing that stupid little flutter it always did when she knew Damien was already upstairs.
She rode the main elevator up with three other employees, smiling politely when they made small talk about the weather. Inside her head, though, she was counting the floors. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. The private executive elevator was only two steps away once these doors opened.
The moment the car emptied on the twenty-seventh floor, Lila slipped around the corner, keyed in the code only she and Damien knew, and stepped into the sleek mirrored box that smelled faintly of his cologne and her own perfume mixed together from last night.
The doors hadn't even fully closed before a large hand caught her waist from behind.
"You're two minutes late," Damien Blackwood murmured against her ear, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in silk. His fingers flexed on the curve of her hip, pulling her back against the hard line of his chest. "I've been thinking about this since I woke up."
Lila tilted her head, letting her sleek bun brush his jaw. "Two minutes? That's practically early for you, Mr. Blackwood." She reached back and gripped his tie, tugging just enough to feel the silk slide through her fingers. "Thought you had that 8:15 with the Tokyo team."
"I moved it." His other hand came up, knuckles tracing the line of her jaw before he turned her to face him. Gray eyes locked on hers, dark and hungry. "Told them I needed ten extra minutes with my assistant. They didn't ask questions."
Lila's breath caught as he backed her against the mirrored wall. The cool glass met her spine through her silk blouse. "Ten minutes?" She arched one brow, lips curving. "That's generous. Last time you said five and we still almost got caught."
Damien's mouth hovered over hers, not quite kissing, just sharing the same air. "I'm feeling generous today." His thumb brushed her lower lip, pressing it down slightly. "Tell me you missed me, Lila. Say it out loud before I lose my mind."
She slid her hands up his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his white shirt stretch over muscle. "I missed you," she whispered, voice dropping. "I missed the way you look at me like I'm the only thing in this building that's real." Her fingers found the top button of his shirt and popped it open. "I missed your hands. I missed the way you say my name when no one else is listening."
He groaned softly, forehead dropping to hers. "Fuck, Lila." His palm slid down her side, bunching the fabric of her pencil skirt. "You know what that does to me."
The elevator dinged softly at the private executive floor. Neither of them moved.
"Tell me again," he said, lips brushing hers now, teasing. "Tell me why you put up with all this hiding bullshit every single day."
Lila's heart hammered against her ribs. She hooked one leg around his calf, pulling him closer. "Because when you kiss me like this… it's worth it." She nipped at his bottom lip. "Because the second those doors close, you're not my boss anymore. You're mine. My husband. Even if the whole world thinks I'm just the perfect little assistant who never makes mistakes."
Damien's hand slipped under her skirt, fingers digging into the soft skin of her thigh. "Say it again. Husband."
"My husband," she breathed, the word tasting dangerous and sweet at the same time. She rocked against him, feeling exactly how much he wanted her. "Three years of stolen minutes and locked doors and late-night 'emergency meetings'… and I still can't get enough of you, Damien Blackwood."
He kissed her then hard, deep, the kind of kiss that made her forget the elevator even existed. His tongue slid against hers, slow and claiming. Lila moaned into his mouth, fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging just hard enough to make him growl.
When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing like they'd run up all thirty floors. His tie was crooked. Her blouse had come untucked. A strand of her long dark hair had escaped the bun and curled against her cheek.
Damien rested his forehead against hers again, thumb stroking her flushed cheekbone. "I hate that I can't walk into a meeting and pull you onto my lap in front of everyone," he said, voice rough. "I hate that I have to watch you call me Mr. Blackwood like you didn't scream my name last night."
Lila smiled, small and secret, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Then make it up to me tonight. After the Tokyo call. After the board briefing. After you pretend I'm just the woman who keeps your calendar straight."
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through her. "Deal. My office. 6:30. Door locked. You, me, and that desk you like so much."
"Promise?" She traced his jaw with her fingertip, feeling the faint stubble he hadn't shaved yet.
"Promise." He kissed her once more, slower this time, like he was sealing it. "Now fix your hair before someone sees what I did to you."
Lila laughed softly and stepped back, smoothing her skirt down while he straightened his tie. The elevator doors opened on the executive floor. She stepped out first, professional mask sliding back into place like it had never left.
The rest of the morning blurred in a haze of meetings and conference calls. Lila sat at the long glass table in the boardroom, legs crossed, taking perfect notes while Damien presented quarterly figures. Every time his eyes flicked to her, heat coiled low in her belly.
During a ten-minute break, she followed him into his private office under the excuse of "updating the calendar."
He shut the door behind them, spun her around, and backed her against it.
"Two minutes," he said, already reaching for the buttons of her blouse. "That's all I need right now."
Lila's laugh turned into a gasp as his mouth found her throat. "Damien…the door…"
"Locked," he muttered against her skin, fingers working fast. "Say my name again. The way you did in the elevator."
"Damien," she whispered, head tipping back, hands fisting in his hair. "God, Damien… you're going to ruin me before lunch."
"Good." He nipped at her collarbone. "Because I plan on ruining you every single day for the rest of our lives, Mrs. Blackwood."
She smiled against his shoulder, heart full and aching at the same time. "Then don't stop."
They stayed like that tangled, whispering, stealing minutes that felt like hours until the next meeting reminder buzzed on both their phones.
By 6:25 p.m., the office had emptied. Lila waited at her desk, pulse thrumming, pretending to organize files while the last few employees said goodnight.
At 6:29, Damien's office door opened.
He didn't say a word. Just looked at her across the open-plan floor, gray eyes dark with everything they couldn't say out loud.
Lila stood, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward him, heels clicking softly.
He held the door open for her, then closed and locked it the second she stepped inside.
The moment the lock clicked, he had her against the desk.
"Lila," he said, voice rough as he lifted her onto the edge, hands sliding up her thighs. "Tell me you're still mine after all these years of hiding."
"I'm yours," she answered, legs wrapping around his waist, fingers working his belt open. "Always yours. Even when I have to call you Mr. Blackwood in front of the entire board."
He kissed her like he was starving, deep and messy and perfect. Papers scattered. Her blouse came open. His shirt followed.
Between kisses he kept talking, low and desperate. "I love you like this. All composed and perfect out there… and completely mine in here."
Lila moaned softly, pulling him closer. "Then show me. Right now. Before someone knocks."
They didn't make it to the couch. The desk was closer.
Later, when their breathing had finally slowed and her head rested against his chest, Damien pressed a kiss to her temple.
"Go home," he whispered. "I'll meet you at the penthouse in thirty. I just need to send one last email."
Lila nodded, fixing her clothes with shaky hands and a secret smile. She kissed him once more at the door soft, lingering
then stepped back into the empty office.
Her heels clicked across the floor toward her desk. She reached for her bag, then paused.
The top drawer the one she always kept locked was slightly ajar.
Frowning, Lila pulled it open the rest of the way.
Inside, neatly folded on top of her spare notebook, lay a pair of black lace panties.
The exact pair she had worn last night.
A small white note rested on top, written in neat, unfamiliar ha
ndwriting.
"I watched him fuck you… and I want my turn."
Lila's fingers froze on the edge of the drawer.