Linda Vale stood outside the black iron gates, her suitcase in one hand, desperation in the other.
She was not here by choice. She was here because she had no other one left.
She looked up. The ranch was nothing like she imagined—it wasn't rustic or warm. It was steel and glass, towering over acres of sharp, tamed land. Everything looked like it had been built to control.
Including her.
The gates opened with a hiss. A man in black greeted her wordlessly, gesturing toward the house. No welcome. No smile. Just protocol.
She followed, her shoes crunching gravel, heart pounding louder than her steps.
Inside, everything was quiet and cold. Clean lines, dark furniture. Power in stillness.
Then he entered.
Damian Key.
Her new boss. Her mistake. Her danger.
He didn't look up right away. Just signed something at the desk.
Then his eyes met hers.
And Linda felt it—the burn.
Not in her skin. Not even in her heart.
In her soul.
He stood.
Tall, dressed in black, his presence filling the room like smoke.
"You're late," he said. His voice was low, almost amused.
She straightened her back. "Only by ten minutes."
His eyes scanned her body like a punishment. "Then you owe me ten minutes. In silence. In obedience."
Linda swallowed hard. This was already a mistake.
But her mother needed the money.
And she needed the job.
"Yes, sir."
He walked past her, the scent of cedar and danger trailing behind. "You'll be staying in the guest room next to mine. Don't lock the door."
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
He didn't turn. "I don't repeat myself."
And with that, Damian Key walked away—leaving behind the echo of a man who never asked permission. Only took what he wanted.
Linda's hands trembled as she clutched the strap of her suitcase tighter.
This wasn't a job.
This was the beginning of a fire she couldn't yet name.
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