Unspoken Terms

Aria stared at her ceiling long after midnight, the distant hum of traffic bleeding through the thin walls of her apartment. Damian Voss’s offer replayed in her mind like a looping film, refusing to let her sleep. It wasn’t just the job—though even that had sent her thoughts spinning—it was the way he said it.

“This isn’t about a job, is it?”

“No. It’s not.”

He hadn’t pretended. Hadn’t cloaked his intent behind charm or manipulation. He laid it bare, calmly, as if daring her to turn away. And yet, he also gave her a choice.

A strange part of her respected him for that.

But Aria wasn’t stupid. Damian Voss didn’t just want her around—he needed something. What exactly, she didn’t know yet. And she wasn’t sure if it terrified or intrigued her more.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the single potted plant she kept alive on the windowsill. Her whole life had been a fight for autonomy. Scraping together dignity from half-paychecks and cold leftovers. Making herself small enough to survive, but sharp enough to keep going.

And now a man like Damian Voss—wealthy, elusive, powerful—wanted her in his world.

Why?

The question gnawed at her. But so did something else:

She wanted to know.

The following afternoon, Aria arrived at the address Damian had texted her—an unassuming building tucked between high-rises, with frosted glass doors and no signage.

Inside, the air smelled like expensive leather and eucalyptus. The receptionist greeted her with a polite nod and handed her a sleek visitor badge with her name already printed on it.

“Mr. Voss is expecting you.”

Of course he was.

She followed the woman through quiet corridors and up a private elevator. When the doors opened to the top floor, Aria was met with floor-to-ceiling glass walls, bookshelves lined with thick volumes, and minimalist decor that screamed wealth in the quietest way possible.

Damian stood by the window, hands in his pockets, staring out at the city like it belonged to him.

Maybe it did.

“You came,” he said, not turning.

“I haven’t said yes yet,” Aria replied.

That made him turn, lips curling faintly. “But you’re here.”

He gestured toward a pair of leather chairs. She hesitated, then sat.

He didn’t launch into a pitch. No corporate jargon. No threats. Just silence, until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why me, Damian?”

“You really want to know?”

“I don’t play games.”

“Neither do I.” His voice was low. “I’ve watched you work. You think fast, move quiet. You pay attention to things most people miss. You don’t scare easy.”

“That’s not a résumé.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s instinct.”

She studied him. “You run a company built on secrecy. You have enough money to hire experts from any corner of the globe. And yet… you want a broke girl from Flatbush who serves coffee and takes night classes?”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

She blinked, thrown off by his simplicity.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You don’t trust easily. That’s good. But I’m not offering this because I need another employee. I’m offering it because I want someone around me who sees past the polish. Someone unfiltered. Someone… real.”

“You mean someone disposable,” she said, biting the words.

His gaze sharpened. “No. I mean someone I can’t buy.”

The air between them stilled. Aria’s throat tightened unexpectedly.

She wasn’t used to being wanted for anything beyond convenience. This felt different. Too different.

“And what do I get out of this?” she asked quietly.

“Experience. Exposure. Money. A seat at a table most people never glimpse.”

“And you?” she whispered. “What do you get?”

Damian looked at her, and something flickered in his eyes—raw, unguarded. For a moment, he seemed younger. Tired. Human.

“Company,” he said finally. “Someone who doesn’t flinch when I tell the truth.”

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t seductive.

But it was honest.

Aria sat back, absorbing the moment. Her heart thudded once, hard.

Then she nodded once, slowly. “I’ll try it. On my terms.”

His eyes crinkled slightly, almost a smile. “Of course.”

The next few days passed in a blur. Damian introduced her to a shadow role that straddled the line between executive assistant and undercover observer. She attended meetings without speaking, took notes, paid attention to names that held weight in rooms most people never entered.

It wasn’t just business. It was empire-building.

She learned that Damian Voss didn’t just own companies—he controlled narratives. Discreet power moves, financial resurrections, silencing scandals before they reached headlines. He was sharp, ruthless, and deeply private. But he wasn’t cruel.

And he never treated her like she didn’t belong.

Still, Aria kept her guard up. She smiled politely when needed, kept her questions soft but strategic, and never forgot she was a guest in his world.

But something was shifting.

Late one night, after a long board meeting, she found herself in his office alone, organizing files. Damian returned to find her curled in one of the chairs, rubbing her temple.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.

“I’ve handled worse,” she muttered.

He walked over and, without asking, reached down and took her hand. His thumb brushed over a faded scar on her knuckle.

“How’d this happen?” he asked quietly.

“Kitchen knife,” she replied. “Fourth job I ever worked. Owner said I wasn’t fast enough and tossed the blade at the counter. I caught it.”

Damian’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t let go of her hand. Didn’t say anything.

But his silence said more than any words could.

And in that quiet moment, with the city glowing behind them, Aria realized something she hadn’t wanted to admit:

She was starting to care.

Not just about the job, or the mo

ney.

But about him.

And that was dangerous.

Very, very dangerous.