The first time I met Damien Vale, I wanted to slap him.
The second time, I wanted to kiss him.
The third time, I discovered he was the reason my father died.
Unfortunately, the first time was happening right now.
I stood outside the tallest building in the city with a folder pressed against my chest and tried not to look at the reflection staring back at me through the glass doors.
Black trousers.
White blouse.
Cheap heels.
Hair pulled into a neat bun because loose hair made me look younger than twenty-four, and I had spent the last five years trying to look older than my circumstances.
My palms were sweating.
I wiped them against my trousers.
“Get yourself together, Amara.”
The security guard behind the desk glanced at me.
I smiled politely.
He didn’t smile back.
Of course.
Everyone knew the Bell name.
Five years ago, my father’s face had been on every television screen in the country.
BUSINESS TYCOON MURDERED.
FINANCIAL ADVISER SENTENCED TO LIFE.
THE FALL OF JONATHAN BELL.
My father.
Jonathan Bell.
A brilliant financial adviser.
A loving husband.
A terrible murderer.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
I used to believe it too.
Until the night before he died.
I could still hear his voice.
I didn’t kill Richard Vale.
You have to believe me, Mara.
There are things they don’t want you to know.
Then he’d leaned closer to the prison phone, his eyes red and desperate.
“Find the black ledger.”
Three words.
That was all he’d given me.
Then he died the next morning.
And I spent the next five years trying to forget them.
Until today.
“Ms.
Bell?”
I looked up.
A woman in a charcoal suit stood behind the reception desk.
“Yes?”
“Mr.
Vale is ready for you.”
My stomach tightened.
Mr.
Vale.
Damien Vale.
Richard Vale’s eldest son.
The man who had inherited everything my father supposedly stole.
The man whose family had watched mine fall apart from the safety of their golden towers.
I had applied for dozens of jobs.
I had never expected this one.
Especially not after seeing the name at the top of the contract.
VALE ENTERPRISES.
“Thank you.”
I took the elevator to the forty-second floor.
Every second felt like a countdown.
When the doors opened, silence greeted me.
The reception area was enormous.
Marble floors.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Black leather furniture.
A wall displaying photographs of the Vale family through generations.
I stopped.
There he was.
Richard Vale.
Smiling beside his wife.
And beside them stood a younger Damien.
Maybe seventeen.
Maybe eighteen.
His arm was around his mother’s shoulder.
He looked happy.
I stared at the photograph longer than I should have.
“Beautiful family, isn’t it?”
I turned.
A man in a navy suit stood behind me.
Early thirties.
Sharp features.
Easy smile.
“Sorry?”
He nodded toward the photograph.
“The Vales.”
I looked at him carefully.
“And you are?”
“Sebastian Cross.”
The name meant something.
My father’s old case file.
I remembered seeing it.
Sebastian Cross — Vale family attorney and close friend to Damien Vale.
He extended his hand.
I didn’t take it.
His smile faded slightly.
“Ms.
Bell.”
“So you know who I am.”
“Everyone in this building knows who you are.”
There was something unpleasantly calm about the way he said it.
I tightened my grip on my folder.
“Good to know.”
He studied me for a moment.
Then he stepped aside.
“Mr.
Vale doesn’t like waiting.”
“Neither do I.”
His eyebrow lifted.
For the first time, his smile looked genuine.
“I think you’re going to be interesting.”
Before I could respond, the office doors opened.
A woman stepped out.
She looked me over from head to toe.
Then she whispered something to Sebastian.
His expression changed.
“She’s here,” he said.
The woman nodded and walked away.
Sebastian turned back to me.
“Good luck.”
“I don’t need luck.”
He smiled.
“You might.”
Then he disappeared down the corridor.
I stared after him.
Wonderful.
I was already beginning to hate this place.
I knocked on the massive black door.
“Come in.”
The voice was deep.
Calm.
Controlled.
I opened the door.
And forgot how to breathe.
Damien Vale stood beside the window with his back to me.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Black suit.
White shirt.
No tie.
One hand was resting in his pocket while the other held a glass of water.
He didn’t turn around immediately.
Instead, he looked out over the city.
“You’re late.”
I checked my watch.
“I’m four minutes early.”
He finally turned.
And I understood why every magazine in the country seemed obsessed with him.
Damien Vale was unfairly handsome.
Dark hair.
Sharp jaw.
A faint scar near his eyebrow.
Eyes so dark they looked almost black from across the room.
But there was nothing warm about them.
He looked at me the way someone might look at a problem they hadn’t decided how to solve.
His gaze dropped to the folder in my hands.
Then returned to my face.
“Amara Bell.”
It wasn’t a question.
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
He walked toward me.
Slowly.
Every step deliberate.
When he stopped, he was close enough for me to smell his cologne.
Something dark and expensive.
“You know who I am.”
“Everyone knows who you are.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I raised my chin.
“You’re Damien Vale.”
“And your father?”
My heart stopped.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
“Jonathan Bell.”
His expression didn’t change.
But something in his eyes hardened.
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“You’re not what I expected.”
I almost laughed.
“I wasn’t aware you had expectations.”
“I did.”
“And?”
He looked me over again.
“I expected someone more desperate.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“I need a job.
I don’t need your pity.”
“Good.”
He walked past me.
I turned to follow him.
He sat behind his desk.
“Sit.”
I sat.
He opened my résumé.
“You graduated with honors.”
“Yes.”
“Worked at Halston Financial for two years.”
“Yes.”
“Left after the company downsized.”
“Yes.”
He turned another page.
“You’ve been unemployed for three months.”
My jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Your mother has medical debt.”
I froze.
His eyes lifted.
“And your sister has outstanding university fees.”
My stomach dropped.
“How did you—”
“I asked a question.”
“You researched me.”
“I research everyone who works for me.”
“You don’t research everyone like this.”
“No.”
His answer was so casual that it took me a second to realize what he’d admitted.
I leaned forward.
“Why did you hire me?”
“I haven’t hired you.”
I blinked.
“You called me here for an interview.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we discussing my family?”
“Because I want to know what motivates you.”
I stared at him.
“And what did you decide?”
He leaned back.
“That you’re desperate.”
There it was again.
That word.
Desperate.
I stood.
“Then I think we’re wasting each other’s time.”
His eyes followed me.
“You haven’t heard the offer.”
“I don’t care.”
“Two hundred thousand.”
I stopped.
Silence.
He watched my reaction.
“Annual salary,” he added.
My pride screamed at me to leave.
My mother’s hospital bill screamed louder.
I slowly sat back down.
Damien’s mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I hate you already.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
It was quiet.
Low.
And devastatingly attractive.
I hated that too.
“You’re honest.”
“I don’t know how else to be.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because honesty gets people hurt.”
His smile disappeared.
For one strange second, something vulnerable crossed his face.
Then it vanished.
He pushed a contract across the desk.
“Personal assistant.
Six months probation.”
I looked down.
The salary was real.
The benefits were real.
Everything was real.
Except the final page.
I frowned.
“What is this?”
“Confidentiality agreement.”
“That’s normal.”
“Read it.”
I scanned the page.
Then stopped.
“You want access to my personal communications?”
“No.”
“Then why does it say—”
“You’ll be working directly with me.”
His voice had changed.
Colder.
“You’ll see things other employees don’t.”
I looked up.
“And if I refuse?”
“I’ll find someone else.”
I studied him.
There was something strange about this interview.
Too personal.
Too deliberate.
He hadn’t asked about my qualifications nearly enough.
He hadn’t asked why I wanted the job.
He hadn’t even asked when I could start.
He already knew I would take it.
I signed.
He took the contract from me.
Our fingers touched.
A tiny spark traveled through my hand.
I pulled away.
His eyes dropped briefly to my fingers.
Then returned to mine.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, he stood.
“Monday.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You start Monday.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I picked up my bag.
At the door, I stopped.
“Mr.
Vale?”
“Yes?”
“Why me?”
His expression became unreadable.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then:
“Because your father left something behind.”
My blood turned cold.
“What?”
Damien looked directly into my eyes.
“Something that belongs to my family.”
I couldn’t move.
“What are you talking about?”
He walked back toward his desk.
The conversation was over.
“Welcome to Vale Enterprises, Ms.
Bell.”
I stood there, staring at him.
“Damien.”
He stopped.
It was the first time I’d called him by his name.
“Where did you hear about my father?”
His jaw tightened.
“Your father didn’t tell you everything.”
Then he looked away.
“Neither did mine.”
I left the office with my heart pounding.
I didn’t notice Sebastian waiting near the elevator.
I didn’t notice the receptionist staring at me.
I barely noticed the doors closing.
Because one thought consumed me.
Something my father left behind.
The black ledger.
I had spent five years believing it was nothing more than the final words of a dying man.
But Damien Vale knew about it.
Which meant one thing.
My father had been telling the truth.
And if Damien knew about the ledger…
someone else knew too.
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor.
I stepped outside.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
There was no greeting.
No explanation.
Only one sentence.
STOP LOOKING FOR THE LEDGER.
My breath caught.
Another message appeared.
YOUR FATHER DIED BECAUSE HE WOULDN’T LISTEN.
Then a photograph loaded.
It was old.
Grainy.
Taken on the night Richard Vale died.
My father stood outside the Vale mansion.
But he wasn’t alone.
Standing beside him was a woman.
A woman I recognized immediately.
Damien Vale’s mother.
Victoria Vale.
And in her hand was a knife.
I stared at the photograph until the world around me disappeared.
Then my phone vibrated one final time.
NOW YOU KNOW WHY DAMIEN HIRED YOU.
I looked up at the towering Vale building.
Forty-two floors of glass and secrets.
And somewhere above me was the man who had just offered me two hundred thousand dollars to become his assistant.
The son of the man my father supposedly murdered.
The man whose family might have destroyed mine.
I should have walked away.
Instead, I looked back at the building.
And smiled.
Because for the first time in five years…
I finally had a reason to believe my father was innocent.
And I was going to find out who killed Richard Vale.
Even if it meant getting dangerously close to his son.
Especially if it meant falling in love with him.
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