THE HIDDEN HEIRESS

nce it. A sharp chill clung to the air, and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl back under the warmth of her blankets. But there was no room for weakness not when she worked for Damian

the elevator, she pressed the button for the top floor. The ride up was smooth, but her pulse quickened as the numbers climbed. The executive floor was a world of its own quiet, luxurious, and far removed from the chaos below. As the doors slid open, she stepped out onto thick, plush carpeting. The walls were adorned with abstract paintings, and a faint scent of leather and oak filled the space. The reception area was sleek, with a single dark wood desk where Damian's executive secretary, a woman named Valerie, sat typing away. Valerie barely glanced up. "He's waiting for you," she said, her voice smooth but devoid of warmth. Lana nodded, straightened her posture, and walked toward Damian Wolfe's office. The heavy double doors were intimidating, made of dark mahogany with intricate carvings. She inhaled deeply before knocking once. "Come in." His voice was sharp, commanding. Steeling herself, she pushed open the door. Damian Wolfe stood by the window, his back to her. Morning light poured through the glass, casting him in sharp contrast. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his presence dominating the space without effort. "Close the door," he said without turning. Lana obeyed, standing stiffly as she waited for him to acknowledge her. After a moment, he finally turned. His gaze was piercing, assessing. "There's a meeting in ten minutes," he said, his voice cool and efficient. "Henry Calloway is trying to steal one of our biggest clients. You're coming with me." Lana's brows lifted slightly. "Me?" "You're my assistant, aren't you?" His tone was clipped, impatient. "You sit in, you take notes, and you don't embarrass me. Understood?" She swallowed down the retort on the tip of her tongue. "Understood." Without another word, he grabbed his tablet and strode toward the door. Lana followed, ignoring the curious glances of the employees outside as they made their way to the conference room. The room was designed for power floor to ceiling windows, a long glass table, and high backed leather chairs. Henry Calloway sat at the far end, his suit pristine, a smug look on his face. Across from him, Damian took his seat, his expression unreadable. Lana settled beside him, unfolding her notepad. "I'll make this quick," Calloway began, leaning back. "Your client, Everett Holdings, is considering a move to our firm. We're offering better rat