Chapter 2 Tension in the Shadows

I found out he was forty-nine years old, and I couldn't help but wonder-how the hell could a man that age look that fit and ridiculously handsome? Honestly, it was unsettling. Broad shoulders, that maddening jawline, and the kind of confidence that made you forget how to form sentences.

It happened on a random Thursday afternoon.

I was walking home after a miserable day, earbuds in, half-sipping coffee that had already gone cold, when I saw him. Stepping out of a sleek black Aston Martin that gleamed like it had never known a scratch, Damian Wolfe moved with a kind of purpose that made the world shift around him. He adjusted the cuff of his shirt, sunglasses shielding those sharp eyes, and headed straight into the massive glass building on the corner of the avenue.

The Wolfe Crude Oil Company.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

That was his company? The biggest crude oil firm in the country? And he wasn't just an executive- he was the CEO.

My jaw tightened as I stared at the building swallowing him whole. I should've walked away. I should've shaken it off. But no. My pride had other plans.

Fueled by a mix of petty revenge and leftover anger from our first encounter at the mall, I did something impulsive. Okay, reckless. I marched over to the car and, with a quick glance around, pulled a pin from my hair and jabbed it into the tire.A sharp hiss answered me. Then another. One by one, each tire met the same fate.

Petty satisfaction bubbled in my chest as I walked away.

It lasted about three blocks-until I realized the obvious.

CCTV cameras.

Everywhere.

My stomach dropped. The company's entrance was covered in security. High-end cameras. Facial recognition. l'd basically vandalized a billionaire's car while smiling for a dozen recording devices.

Smart, Arielle. Real smart.

I didn't have to wonder long if he found out. That evening, I was in my kitchen struggling with a stubborn pasta jar when a loud knock rattled my front door.

Two sharply dressed security men stood on the other side.

"Mr. Wolfe would like to speak with you," one of them said.

Oh, he would, would he?

I went with them, mostly out of curiosity... and maybe to defend my dignity before it could be buried under arrest warrants or lawsuits.

His office was something out of a movie-high ceilings, sleek black and gold decor, and a city skyline stretching behind him like his personal kingdom. He was seated behind a massive desk, looking at me like he was still trying to figure out what the hell I was.

I didn't flinch.

"You again," he said slowly, eyes narrowing. "The mall girl."

"And you're the arrogant man with a bruised ego," I replied.

His jaw flexed, but he stayed calm. "You slashed the tires on my car."

I shrugged. "You nearly ran me over and didn't even say sorry."

"You're aware there are security cameras?"

"Oh, I'm aware now. Thanks."

His lips twitched like he was fighting off a smirk. "What were you hoping to achieve?"

"A little justice. A little peace. Maybe even a smile from your stone-cold face".

That earned a pause. He studied me with the same intensity that had thrown me off the first time. Like he was cataloging my every word, every breath, and filing it away for later.

"Are you a spy?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"You're bold. Reckless. Too calm for someone in a CEO's office after slashing his tires. People like that usually work for someone."

I scoffed. "I'm not a spy. I'm just someone who got pissed off."

Another silence stretched between us.

Then he asked, "What do you want?"

The question caught me off guard.

An apology. That's what I wanted from the start. No drama, no courtroom threats. Just... acknowledgment. That I wasn't invisible. That what happened mattered.

"An apology," I said simply.

He blinked once, then leaned back in his chair.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Just like that.

His voice was low, deliberate. The words didn't come easily, but they came. And that shook me more than I expected. I saw it-the flicker in his eyes, the weight in his tone. Like apologizing wasn't something he did often. Or maybe ever.

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

But I couldn't. Something about sitting would feel like surrender. Like I was giving in. Instead, I folded my arms.

"I'm not here to be tamed," I said.

He tilted his head, studying me again with that unreadable gaze. "That's not what l'm trying to do."

Maybe that was true. Maybe not. But my heart was racing, and everything inside me was screaming to run before I did something even more reckless- like kiss him. Or slap him. Or both.

So, I turned and walked out.

That evening, I was back in my apartment, apron tied around my waist, trying to salvage an overcooked dinner, when another knock came at the door. My stomach tightened. Not again.

This time, the same two security men stood there.

"Mr. Wolfe would like to speak with you," the taller one said, a little more hesitant than earlier.

I didn't blink.

"Tell your boss," I said coolly, "if he wants to talk, he should come himself."

And then I shut the door.

Later that night, miles away in a penthouse bathed in silence, Damian Wolfe couldn't sleep.

He sat on the edge of his bed, unblinking, staring out into the darkness.

Her rejection echoed louder than he wanted to admit.

No one turned him down. No one dared. People bowed to him, feared him, catered to his demands without hesitation. But not her.

Arielle Stone.

She hadn't just defied him. She'd rattled something he couldn't name. And he hated how that intrigued him.

She was blunt. Fiery. Reckless. Everything he shouldn't entertain. Yet couldn't stop thinking about her voice. The way her eyes had sparked when she stood her ground. The defiance in her stance. The soft edge of her lips when she almost smiled.

Sleep eventually came, but even then-she followed him into the quiet.

Her face. Her fire.

It haunted him.