LOGINVERONICA The elevator sounded as it climbed toward the executive floor. For the first time since joining Vassal & Bane, I wasn't thinking about Christopher's temper or Collins's impossible standards. My thoughts were elsewhere. Twenty million dollars. I'd watched the firm's partners celebrate another victory, another client conquered, another headline waiting to happen. Everyone assumed I was simply enjoying the spoils of success. No one realized I had been counting doors, counting cameras and counting security rotations. Power wasn't found in boardrooms, it was buried in filing cabinets and right now I needed more power. I stepped out onto the executive floor just after nine in the evening. The lights were dim, most employees long gone. The silence echoed through the marble corridors like a cathedral dedicated to money. I slipped my access card against a restricted reader and the light changed to green. Christopher really should have been more careful about the pe
CHRISTOPHERThe ice in my tumbler rattled against the crystal as I poured a double shot of Macallan, my knuckles white against the glass. The elevator doors had barely finished sliding shut before the scent of her hit me—expensive vanilla, sharp corporate leather, and the heavy, unmistakable musk of a woman who had just been thoroughly unraveled.Veronica stepped into my private office, looking infuriatingly immaculate in the cream pantsuit I’d bought her to replace that ruined emerald dress from the night before. She was carrying a stack of morning briefs, her posture perfectly straight, her high heels clicking against the hardwood with a steady, arrogant rhythm. She was supposed to be my secretary, my assistant, the woman who handled my calendar and filtered my calls. But she didn't look like an employee. She looked like she owned the building."You're forty-five minutes late, Veronica," I said, my voice a low, dangerous rumble that cut through the quiet of the penthouse suite.She
VERONICA The heavy click of the examination room lock brought excitement into every part of my body. The sterile, white-walled room suddenly felt hot, the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol completely overridden by the musky, electric pull of raw, unadulterated desire.Chloe’s lips were soft, trembling beneath mine, but as I deepened the kiss, her initial shock melted into a desperate, frantic hunger. She let out a soft whimpering sound, her hands rising to grip the lapels of my cream blazer, burying her fingers into the fabric as if she were drowning and I was the only thing keeping her afloat. I slid my tongue into her mouth, hot and demanding, taking what I wanted while Mex let out a low, ragged groan right against my ear.His large hands weren't gentle anymore. He gripped my hips through the tailored trousers of my pantsuit, his fingers digging deep into my skin as he pulled my rear hard against his groin. I could feel him—thick, rigid, and completely ready, straining against his pro
VERONICA The next day, my thighs were still buzzing with a lingering, pleasant ache as I pulled the BMW into the sterile, concrete parking structure of the medical plaza. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. The emerald dress was a casualty of last night's roadside negotiation, but today I looked every bit the picture of put-together corporate perfection in a tailored cream pantsuit. I was here for a routine corporate physical and a travel booster shot—perks of the new gig—but luckily for me, the primary physician on the firm's approved list happened to be Mex. Mex and I went back years, all the way to our chaotic high school days. He was one of the few people who actually knew the girl behind the armour, the one who grew up fighting the system with nothing but her wits. I bypassed the reception desk with a familiar wave to the nurse and walked straight into Examination Room 3. Mex was standing by the counter, his back to me, filling a syringe. Even in a lab coat,
VERONICA The engine of the midnight-black BMW M4 roared like a caged beast as I tore down the highway, the city skyline blurring into a streak of darkness behind me. The car was a "welcome to the team" token from Christopher, delivered to the firm's parking garage right before I left. It smelled of rich, pristine leather, high-end engineering, and the unspoken promise that I belonged to them now. I didn't care about the speed limit. I didn't care about the rules of the road any more than I cared about the rules of corporate decorum. My emerald wrap dress was draped loosely over my shoulders, my thighs bare against the heated leather seat, and the silver penthouse key card rested securely in the cup holder. I was feeling extremely excited, a satisfied smile still playing on my lips. I wasn't always like this, but growing up in a system with no family will teach you fast that the only one you can rely on is yourself, and no one else. Then, the flashing red and blue lights shattere
VERONICA The heavy brass key ground into the lock from the outside, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the tense silence of the HR office. Arthur scrambled backwards, desperately trying to pull his trousers up over his trembling legs, his face a ghostly shade of white. Christopher merely laughed, adjusting his clothes with a lazy, unbothered smirk as he stepped away from the desk. Only I remained entirely at ease. I sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, my emerald wrap dress bunched around my waist, my bare legs swinging casually as if I were waiting for a bus rather than catching the wrath of the senior partner. The door swung open, and Collin Vassal stepped inside. He didn't look shocked. He looked furious, his dark eyes sweeping over the scattered pens, the dishevelled HR director, and finally settling on me, dripping with the evidence of his partner’s release. Without a word, Collin reached back, pulled the door shut, and turned the key, locking them all in once more. "Co
VERONICA By 8:45 AM, I was leaning back in my leather ergonomic chair, my bare legs crossed at the knee, swinging a crimson Louboutin from my toes. I was wearing an emerald green wrap dress that clung desperately to my curves, the neckline plunging low enough to make a monk swear a new vow. I was
VERONICA The line outside the executive suites of Vassal & Bane looked like a casting call for a corporate funeral. Dozens of women sat stiff-backed in tailored charcoal suits, anxiously clutching their resumes and practising their best "I’m a team player" smiles. Then there was I-Veronica. I







