"Why do you hate me so much?" Amara asked, her voice shaking. "I've never done anything to you." Where power, passion, and painful memories collide, Amara Denz never imagined the same man who made her life a living hell at Lyons College would be her ruthless, charismatic boss. Now CEO of a thriving tech empire, CEO Leo reigns with cool efficiency-but beneath his shining exterior blazes an undeniable, forbidden desire for the very woman he once tormented. Amara Denz is desperate. Desperate to find employment to pay for the mounting bills, desperate to bury the pain of her abused past, and desperate to preserve her shattered pride in a company where every glance from Leo sends unspoken tension her way. Torn between old wounds and an incendiary attraction that she cannot deny or manage, Amara must navigate a landscape of office politics and personal demons. "Work hard, be loyal, and maybe you'll earn my respect," Leo declares with a provocative smile during their first meeting. But as the day unfolds, every accidental brush, every lingering look, transforms the mundane into a battlefield of raw emotion and sensual challenge. Set against the high-stakes halls of Baze, this scorching dual-perspective story of redemption and revenge tracks two individuals whose entwined destinies compel them to confront a past defined by brutality-and a present filled with desire. Can Leo demonstrate that he's reformed, or will the wounds of their past continue to keep them apart? And will Amara's need to transcend her past enable her to gamble everything on a second chance at love?
Chapter 1 CHECK
Leo
I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension winding its way through my muscles as I stare unseeing at my computer screen. My personal assistant three days ago because her boyfriend had dumped her. Hell, she was so distraught she didn't even finish working out her notice period. It irritated me, but there's nothing you can do. Women. Can't live with them, can't live without them.
I am pulled out of my daydreaming by a tap on the door of my office.
"Come in," I call.
One of the general secretaries, Precious, enters with a thick stack of resumes in her hand.
I inwardly groan at the sight of them. What now?
I have the applications for the personal assistant position, Mr. Joe," she says, getting straight to the point. "I've already eliminated the absolute no-goes. These are the ones I think are worth considering. If you can review and approve, I'll send them on to HR to set up interviews.".
I consider saying let HR handle it period, but I hold back. I don't need another bad fit. And I have control issues. I built this company from the ground up, and while it is now a multi-million-dollar business, I still like to have my finger in every pie. Old habits die hard.
"Thank you, Precious." I gesture toward the corner of my desk. "Leave them there. I'll review and get back to you."
She puts down the papers, flashes a brief smile, and leaves the office.
If I get through these earlier than later, HR can schedule interviews by week's end. With a bit of luck, I'll have a new PA by Monday.
I pick up the first resume. Mary Jackson. Good qualifications, solid experience. No red flags. I placed it in a maybe stack as a possibility. The next three? No good. Two have young kids, and the third lacks the experience that I need. The next two are solid candidates. Puma Luka has had experience in fast-paced environments with success, and White Queens has over five years of experience in an industry like ours. White Queens is now the front-runner. A man did not fall to pieces because his girlfriend dumped him.
I am still sorting. White Queens are still ahead of the game. Then I stretched out for the last file and looked at the name.
Amara Denz.
My heart is racing. It cannot be. The probability is insane. I leaned back in my chair as the past rushed forward stark and uncensored.
Amara stood before me, her white face rebellious.
All that cash and you purchased those pants?" I scorned.
There was laughter surrounding me as I walked away, smug-faced on the outside, but inside? I was crap.
Amara Denz and I attended the same high school, but we didn't live in the same universe. Her family was old money, the type that her father greeted presidents with a handshake. My family? The exact opposite. Dirt poor. My father took off when I was two and never came back. My mother held down three jobs to keep us going. The only reason I was able to go to Lyons College, a college filled with Amaras, was due to a scholarship for talented students.
My mother made sure my clothes were clean and ironed but secondhand, donated by charities or kindly mothers of older pupils. I hated it. I was the poor child, the charity case. I knew that I would never be accepted, so I gave up trying. I became the rebel instead. That made me popular, and for some time I was completely blind to how different I was.
I embraced my image, ripping my clothes, stitching skulls and skeletons onto them. It was a success, and suddenly everyone was copying my style. I was on top of the world. That's when Amara's family moved into town, and she started at Lyons College.
The first time I saw her, I was done for. Green eyes, blonde hair that fell like liquid gold. She was stunning. But she was also unattainable. A girl like Amara Denz would never date a guy like me.
Date? Hell, she did not even notice me. My spiked hair, skull-covered shirts, and tattoos were nothing to impress her. She may not have even heard of my name. I tried to brush her off, but the more I struggled with the feelings, the worse it got. It was an obsession. If her mansion was not protected behind high gates, I would have been that moron that appeared at her window every single night.
I was obsessed. Bad.
Since I couldn't have her, I got her attention in another manner: I teased her. Anything to draw a reaction from her. And it worked. She definitely knew my name after the initial few jabs I threw in class. But instead of humor, her eyes flashed with anger. I made a mistake. It escalated from there. Next thing I knew, I was outright bullying her.
I despised myself for it, but I could not help it. I was suffocating in hormones, rejection, and ego. If I had any sense, I would have made her laugh. But no, I made her cry.
I was with my friends walking down the hallway one day when I spotted Amara up ahead, laughing with her friends. She had not seen me yet.
I began to mock her laughter, making a bigger deal of it. My friends chimed in, laughing.
She spun around, shock lighting up her eyes as I snorted like she did when she laughed really hard. I scrunched up my nose and threw in an oink for good measure. My friends joined in. To this day, I can vividly recall the look on her face. Her eyes were hurt, but her jaw was clenched. The recollection still makes my stomach twist.
"Why do you hate me so much?" she said, her voice trembling. "I've never done anything to you."
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