Page 2

RAEKON

H er head tilts downward, the cascade of fiery hair shielding her face like a curtain.

Her breaths come quick and shallow, the sound of a small creature caught in the jaws of a predator and still deciding if it should play dead.

I can smell the fear on her, but there’s something else too—something sharp, like the crackle of static before a storm. She’s not just scared; she’s furious.

"Look at me, little flower." My voice is low, a command wrapped in velvet.

Her shoulders tense, but she doesn’t move.

Her fingers twist the edge of her blouse, knuckles whitening. I can see the battle waging inside her—the instinct to shrink, to disappear, warring with the need to face this head-on. She’s not used to being seen, much less noticed . But I’ve noticed her. I’ve noticed everything.

I step closer, the weight of my presence filling the space between us. She flinches but doesn’t back away. Brave, even if she doesn’t realize it. My hand reaches out, fingers brushing against her chin. Her skin is warm, softer than I expected. I tilt her face up, forcing her to meet my gaze.

Her eyes are wide, the green of them almost swallowed by dilated pupils. She’s trembling, but not from the cold. Her lips part, a faint gasp escaping as I hold her there, pinned by my stare.

"When I speak, you will obey." I let the words sink in, each one a weight she can’t ignore. "Do you understand?"

She swallows hard, her throat working against the fear. But there’s defiance there too, a spark she can’t quite smother. "Y-yes, Mr. Keong," she whispers, her voice so small it’s almost inaudible.

"Good." I release her chin but don’t step back. She’s still caught in the gravity of my presence, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. "You’ve earned my attention, Willow. Don’t waste it."

Her eyes flicker, confusion and something else—curiosity, maybe—dancing behind the fear. She’s not used to being the center of anyone’s focus, let alone mine. But she’s here now, and I don’t intend to let her slip back into the shadows.

I extend my hand, watching the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She hesitates just a second too long—testing me, perhaps, or testing herself. Finally, her fingers brush against mine. Soft. Delicate. But there’s strength there, hidden beneath the nervous tremor.

I pull her up in one smooth motion, and her balance gives—her body colliding with mine in a rush of warmth.

Her palms splay against my chest, fingers flexing against the fabric of my suit.

She makes a small noise, half gasp, half flustered curse, and I can feel her pulse hammering where her wrist presses against me.

"Ms. Christian." I keep my voice low, reprimanding, just loud enough for her to hear the amusement beneath it. "So forward." Her head snaps up, green eyes wide, and I let my smirk curl the corner of my mouth. "Do try to behave with some decorum in the office."

I lean down, just enough for my breath to ghost over her ear.

"I'll give you what you need later."

She jerks back, her whole body flushing crimson from the roots of her hair to the exposed skin at her collar. The stain of embarrassment spreads fast, painting her freckles into constellations against the sudden heat of her skin. My gaze trails across them—copper dust against pale pink.

The thought is immediate, intrusive. Do they go all the way down?

Her mouth parts, stammering. "I—I didn't?—"

"Didn't you?" I arch a brow, watching her scramble for words. She’s cute when she’s flustered. Cuter still when she’s trying—and failing—to hide that sharp little mind of hers.

She presses her lips together, swallowing whatever protest was forming. Smart girl.

I step back, letting the space between us return, though I don’t release her wrist just yet. "Come. We have things to discuss."

Her pulse jumps under my fingers.

"With clothes on, Ms. Christian. For now."

She chokes, and I chuckle, guiding her toward the office before she combusts on the spot.

I glance down at Jim, sprawled on the floor like a broken marionette, and chuckle. "I forgot about our friend the felon here," I say, my voice dripping with amusement. Stepping over his groaning form, I press a button on my desk.

"Security," I bark into the intercom. "My office.

Now. Escort this piece of garbage out of the building and call the police.

Make sure they understand the charges—embezzlement, conspiracy to commit murder, and general incompetence.

" I pause, then add, "Oh, and tell them he tried to steal my stapler. That always gets them riled up."

Jim whimpers something incoherent, but I’m already turning away, my focus shifting to Willow. Her eyes dart between me and Jim, wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. I extend a hand toward her. "Ms. Christian, with me."

She hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides, but finally takes my hand. Her touch is light, tentative, as if she’s afraid I might break her. I lead her to my office, the weight of her unease palpable in the air. I gesture to the chair opposite my desk. "Sit."

She does, perching on the edge of the seat like a bird ready to take flight.

I settle into my chair, folding my hands on the polished surface of the desk.

With a flick of my wrist, I deactivate the image inducer.

The holographic disguise dissolves, revealing the golden scales and sharp ridges of my true form.

Willow gasps, shrinking back in her chair.

Her knuckles whiten as she grips the armrests, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

I lean forward, letting the light catch the sharp angles of my teeth as I smile.

"Relax, Ms. Christian. I don’t bite… unless you would enjoy it if I did. "

Her face flushes crimson, and she presses her thighs together, a subtle movement that doesn’t escape my notice. My nostrils flare—the scent of her arousal is faint but unmistakable. Her body betrays her, even if her mind is still reeling.

"How good are you with math?" I ask abruptly, shifting the tone.

She blinks, caught off guard. "I’m… proficient," she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Proficient," I repeat, my tone dry. "Let’s see.

" I rattle off a series of equations, each more complex than the last. Her answers come without hesitation, quick and precise. I nod, satisfied. "Impressive. You have great potential, Ms. Christian. But you don’t believe in yourself. Not yet. You will, though. I’m going to mold you into the perfect assistant—my right-hand woman. "

Her lips part, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "Do I get a say in this?"

"No," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Her brow furrows, and she tilts her chin up ever so slightly. "Do I get a raise?"

I laugh, the sound sharp and unexpected. "Indeed. A substantial one—but let me be clear." I rise from my seat, my towering frame casting a shadow over her as I loom above. She shrinks into the chair, her eyes darting to the door as if calculating her chances of escape.

"I will demand nothing but your best efforts—body, mind, and soul. You will be at my beck and call at all hours. You will work when I work, which means you won’t be seeing your home very much.

Embrace the grind, and the rewards will be greater than you can possibly imagine.

" I gesture to my face. "You can see that there is more to this company than meets the eye. If you prove your loyalty, you’ll step into something truly monumental. "

Her lips press together, and for a moment, she looks like she might cry. Her voice is barely a whisper when she speaks. "I don’t want to help you destroy the world."

"Destroy the world?" I laugh, the sound rich and deep. "My mission isn’t to destroy Earth. It’s to protect it."