Chapter 7: Her Name is Emily

Damian Walker didn't look up right away when she entered the room. He couldn't.

If he looked too soon, he'd give himself away.

She didn't know him. Not really. Not yet.

But he knew her.

He'd known her for two years now — long before she'd stepped into his building, long before she'd become just another résumé in a stack on his assistant's desk.

And now here she was.

In his office.

So close he could hear her steady breathing as she sat down, could smell the subtle hint of vanilla from her perfume. She smelled the same as she had the first time he passed her in the corner bakery off 7th Street. She'd been wiping down a table with her hair tied in a lazy bun and a smudge of flour on her cheek.

He'd been lost ever since.

He waited a few seconds longer before lifting his eyes.

Then there she was. Emily Johnson.

The curve of her cheekbones, the slope of her lips, the eyes — hazel, deep, uncertain. She wore a pale blue blouse tucked into simple black slacks, but it wasn't the outfit that made her look stunning.

It was her presence.

Natural. Unpolished. Real.

Not like the plastic candidates that came before her — all résumé polish and designer perfumes.

Emily was... genuine.

Damian watched her for a second too long, then snapped his focus back to the interview.

He needed to stay sharp. Detached.

So he asked the questions mechanically, his voice cold and clipped, though he hated how formal it sounded with her. He didn't want to scare her off. But he also couldn't tip his hand.

She had no idea he'd engineered this.

That the job posting had gone out only after he learned from one of his staff that she'd been fired from the diner.

That he'd seen her that morning, rushing through the street like she was holding herself together with sheer will. She hadn't seen him. She never did. But he saw everything.

She always walked fast when she was upset. She pressed her lips together when she was thinking. And when she was nervous — like now — she avoided eye contact.

But she answered every question with clarity. Honesty. Confidence hidden under humility.

She thought she wasn't good enough for this world. But he knew better.

She was better than most people he worked with.

And maybe that was what terrified him.

Because she wasn't just smart and capable — she was the one person he'd watched for so long without ever daring to get close to.

Until now.

When the interview was done, he didn't bother playing coy.

"Be here tomorrow. Eight sharp," he said. His voice was firm. Final. "Don't be late."

The look on her face — the flash of disbelief, the widening of her eyes — nearly undid him.

"Thank you so much, sir," she said, standing quickly.

"Dismissed," he muttered, forcing himself to look back at his folder.

She left.

But her presence lingered long after the door closed.

---

Hours later, Damian sat in his private suite above the executive floor, staring out the window at the glittering skyline. The sun had gone down, and the lights of the city blinked like tiny stars trapped in glass.

He still saw her.

Not literally, though he could — he'd ordered her address verified through his security contacts, just to make sure she lived in a safe area. He told himself it was a precaution.

That was the lie.

The truth? He needed to see her. Needed to know she was okay.

Because watching her from afar wasn't just a habit anymore. It had become a lifeline.

A way to feel something real in a life filled with power games and calculated silence.

And now he'd crossed a line. She was in his world. At his mercy. And she didn't even know it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, running a hand through his hair.

He had no right to bring her here.

No right to want her.

But he did. Desperately.

And worse — he had a secret. One he'd buried so deep, he thought he could live with it forever.

But if she found out… she would never forgive him.

Not just for watching.

But for the part he played in the tragedy she didn't even know she'd lived through.

He stood and poured himself a glass of whiskey, ignoring the trembling in his fingers.

"You can't protect her and keep her," he whispered to the empty room. "One day, you'll have to choose."

But for now… just one day.

One day with her in his office.

With her voice filling the space.

With her light cracking through his carefully built walls.

Tomorrow at 8 a.m., Emily Johnson would walk back into his world.

And Damian Walker would have to decide just how far he was willing to go to keep her there.