The message from Ivy was vague at best and suspicious at worst.

  Lily, darling, I need your help. No questions, no excuses. I know you can do it. ????

  That was all she had sent. No explanation, no details—just an address in the wealthiest part of the city.

  Against my better judgment, I had gone.

  Now, standing in front of a towering skyscraper, I was seriously reconsidering my life choices.

  This was not a place I belonged. Dressed in an oversized hoodie, jeans, and my most comfortable sneakers, I looked less like someone attending an important meeting and more like a lost college student. To make matters worse, my hair was thrown into a messy bun with a pencil still stuck inside it—a relic from this morning's inventory at the flower shop.

  Ivy had some serious explaining to do.

  Glancing around, I noticed the intimidating line of men stationed outside the other room. All in black suits. All built like they wrestled bears for fun.

  Wait. Was someone filming an action movie?

  Because the way these guys were positioned, they looked more like bodyguards for a secret mafia meeting than corporate security.

  My gut told me to turn around and walk away. But Ivy wouldn’t message me unless it was important. So, ignoring the warning bells screaming in my head, I stepped forward, past the line of silent men, and into the sleek, glass-encased lobby.

  That was my second mistake.

  The first was coming here at all.

  "Run."

  The word echoed in my mind like a warning bell, but my feet remained rooted to the cold marble floor. My pulse thundered in my ears as my palms dampened with sweat. I should have never come here.

  Yet, here I was—standing in the middle of a high-rise office, wrapped in silence so thick it felt suffocating. The air carried a scent of rich leather and something darker, something intangible but present. Behind the grand mahogany desk stretched a floor-to-ceiling glass wall, displaying the city's glittering skyline like a living masterpiece. It felt like standing in a kingdom ruled by one man—the very man watching me with a predator's patience.

  Damien Reid.

  The name carried weight—at least, that’s what I gathered from the way the atmosphere seemed to shift around him. The air in the room felt heavier, like people instinctively held their breath in his presence. He had the kind of aura that made people straighten their backs, choosing their words carefully. Whoever he was, one thing was clear—this was a man who was used to power. And he knew it.

  And now, for reasons I had yet to understand, I stood before him, caught in his crosshairs.

  His fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk, the sound slow and deliberate. Each beat felt calculated, like he was measuring time before making his next move. Then, finally, he spoke.

  "You don't seem like the type to accept a job without knowing the details." His voice was smooth, refined—deceptively calm, like a blade gliding across silk. But his expression? Pure disbelief. His gaze flickered to my oversized hoodie, the basket of flowers sitting beside me, and then back to my face—completely unreadable but unmistakably unimpressed. Like he couldn’t decide if I was some kind of joke or if I had simply walked into the wrong building.

  I could practically hear his thoughts. Did she get lost on her way to a farmers' market? Did someone dare her to come here? Does she even know where she is?

  He exhaled, his patience visibly thinning. "So tell me, why are you here?"

  His gaze flickered over me again—slow, assessing, and completely unamused. It wasn’t just disbelief; it was outright confusion. Like I was some glitch in his perfectly ordered world. The hoodie, the sneakers, the flower basket at my side—it all seemed to throw him off more than the situation itself.

  And for some reason, that only made me stand straighter.

  As if I know, I thought, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I only came here to meet Ivy. Wait… did she even say that in her message?

  As if I knew. I only came here to meet Ivy. Wait... did she even mention that in her message??

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  That was the question, wasn’t it?

  I folded my arms, trying to keep my stance firm. "That's what I'd like to know, too."

  Damien smirked, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "So you're saying you signed a contract without reading it?"

  "I didn't sign anything."

  His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpened. Interest? Amusement? Or was he dissecting me, breaking me down piece by piece like a puzzle he had already solved?

  Leaning back in his chair, his tailored suit molding perfectly against him, he studied me with a patience that felt far too dangerous.

  "Did you realize this was supposed a briefing about what exactly you do for me?"

  My jaw tightened. That was the problem.

  Someone had placed my name in his company's system. Someone had fabricated documents linking me to him.

  And the worst part?

  I had no idea who did it.

  Or why.

  I kept my expression unreadable, my voice steady. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

  Damien exhaled slowly, tapping a single key on his laptop. The screen flashed, revealing an employment file—with my name. My signature. My contract.

  Except I had never signed it.

  My stomach twisted. This wasn’t a mistake. This was deliberate.

  And then Damien spoke a name that made my world tilt.

  "Ivy sure knows how to pick interesting friends."

  My heart slammed against my ribs.

  "Ivy?"

  His expression remained unreadable, but there was something pointed in his gaze. "Did she not tell you? She’s the reason you’re here."

  My stomach twisted.

  This was supposed to be a meeting with Ivy. I came here expecting an explanation, maybe wanting to know why she need my help?. But instead, I was standing here, facing a man I had never met, hearing words that made no sense.

  "Ivy sent me here?" I repeated, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it sound more logical.

  Damien leaned back slightly, observing me like I was an equation that didn’t quite add up.

  "Seems that way," he said. "Though you don’t seem to be taking the news well."

  Understatement of the century.

  "Ivy wouldn't just—" I cut myself off, exhaling sharply. She wouldn't just throw me into something without warning. Right?

  Except, if anyone could get me into a mess like this, it was Ivy.

  And now, I had to figure out what exactly that mess was.

  "Relax. She didn’t sell you out." His smile was slow, measured. "She gave you to me."

  I froze.

  She what?

  Damien stood, closing the distance between us with a few measured strides. He stopped just inches away, his presence overwhelming, his scent—something dark and intoxicating—curling into my senses like a warning.

  "I needed someone sharp," he murmured. "Quick. Capable of handling a mess." He tilted his head slightly. "Ivy recommended you."

  I stared at him, my mind racing.

  Ivy... recommended me?

  It didn’t make sense. She had an entire team of professionals. Why me?

  Unless—

  Cold realization crept in.

  Ivy wouldn’t throw me into the lion’s den without a reason.

  Which meant she was in trouble.

  And now, so was I.

  I exhaled slowly, crossing my arms. "And what exactly do you think a florist can do about that?" The words were sharp, meant to deflect. Because the truth was—I knew I could handle a mess. I just didn’t want to.

  Damien didn’t miss a beat. "I think we both know you're more than just a florist."

  Lily crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him with an expression of pure confusion. "And why is that?" she asked, her voice laced with both skepticism and curiosity. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but the way Damien spoke—calm, assured, as if everything had already been decided—set her on edge. Did Ivy really do this? And why did she feel like the last person to know?

  Damien let out a slow breath, his gaze unwavering. "It was supposed to be Ivy. I needed her to do a job, but she ran into some... circumstances. Ones she doesn’t want you to know about. Yet."

  His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

  "And somehow, that led to me?" Lily’s brows furrowed.

  Damien gave a slight nod. "She lent me your services instead."

  I stiffened. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean I had to like it?

  I took a slow step back, forcing distance between us. "And if I refuse?"

  Damien’s smile was slow, measured—like he already knew the answer.

  "You won’t."

  I raised a brow. "Oh? And why’s that?"

  His gaze locked onto mine.

  "Because," he said, his voice smooth as silk but carrying an edge of quiet persuasion, "if you walk away, If you refuse, Ivy will be the one left to deal with the consequences. And something tells me, you’re not the type to let that happen."

  Damn him.

  Because he wasn’t wrong.

  But one thing was clear—this wasn’t just about me anymore.

  Whatever Ivy had gotten herself into, I was now a part of it.

  And something told me Damien Reid was going to make sure I played along.

  The silence stretched between us, thick with tension. I searched his expression for any sign of deception, but Damien was unreadable. A man like him never showed his hand unless it was already too late.

  "You seem to be taking this rather well," he remarked, watching me closely.

  I scoffed. "Trust me, I’m not."

  He leaned against his desk, arms crossing over his chest. "Then why haven’t you walked out?"

  I swallowed. The answer was simple, yet impossible to admit. Because no matter how much I wanted to turn my back and leave, my instincts told me that walking away from Damien Reid wasn’t an option and I couldn't find what circumstances Ivy's in.

  "Maybe I want answers," I said instead.

  His expression remained unreadable. "Good. Because I have plenty."

  I hesitated. "And if I don’t like what I hear?"

  His eyes darkened. "Then you better be prepared for what happens next."

  A shiver crawled down my spine, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. What the hell did Ivy do? My mind scrambled for answers. Why am I even here? Why did she put me in this situation? Who the heck is this guy, really? I only knew his name—Damien—but everything about this felt too calculated, too deliberate.

  How did I go from arranging roses in my peaceful, quiet little shop to standing here, face-to-face with a man who looked like he could buy the whole city if he wanted to? My fingers curled instinctively, resisting the urge to pinch myself. Maybe I’d wake up back at the flower shop, surrounded by lilies and peonies, instead of being trapped in this absurd reality.

  I swallowed hard, pushing the confusion aside. Whatever game Damien was playing, I had no choice but to play along.

  For now.