All Chapters of Boardroom to Bedroom: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Elena's POV When I opened the door that morning and saw Damian standing there, everything in me went silent. Not the kind of silence that comes from peace - but the kind that follows an earthquake. His eyes had the same quiet storm they always did. Maybe a little darker now. And the moment the door clicked shut behind him, I leaned against it and exhaled hard, my heart drumming like it was trying to escape. He lived here. In this building. Of all the places in the city, he had to move right under me. I almost laughed. Almost. Lucas was still asleep then - sprawled across my couch, completely oblivious to the universe's idea of a joke. I walked to the window, staring down at the street. The air was still, like it hadn't realized how much had changed in a few seconds. Damian Vale - my ex, my almost, my wound that refused to close - was living one floor beneath me. And I couldn't decide whether it was fate or punishment. By evening, I'd almost convinced myself it didn't mat

I didn't see Elena again for two days. The office moved on like nothing had happened - meetings, deals, late emails filled with polite urgency. But something in me had finally gone still. For the first time in months, I wasn't chasing her shadow. I wasn't trying to understand her silences or decode her smiles. I was just... done. And that realization was its own kind of peace. We had a joint project due in a week - a multi-million contract that demanded both our signatures and our time. The board wanted us to handle it personally, which meant endless late nights, shared conference rooms, and the one thing I'd been avoiding most: proximity. By Thursday evening, the others had left. The city glowed through the windows - gold bleeding into deep blue, skyscrapers humming against the night. Elena sat across the table, sleeves rolled up, hair messy from hours of work. She'd kicked off her heels hours ago and was scrolling through documents on her laptop, muttering under her breath. "

Elena's POV If there was one thing Damian Cross hated more than losing, it was incompetence. So when his assistant managed to send a confidential proposal to the wrong client - during a board presentation, no less - it was a miracle the woman still had her job the next day. By "next day," I mean this morning. And by "still had her job," I mean she was currently packing her desk. "Just let her go," I said, leaning against the glass door to Damian's office. "You don't need to breathe fire about it." Damian didn't look up from his screen. "She attached the wrong document, Elena. To a potential investor." "She's human," I said. "She's careless," he corrected, voice low and calm in that terrifying way of his. "I can't afford careless." I folded my arms. "You're overreacting." He finally looked up, that cool gray stare pinning me in place. "You wouldn't say that if it was your department." I sighed, dropping the argument. He was right - and he knew it. "Fine," I said. "I'll hand

Damian's POVThree days.That's how long I'd been locked up in my apartment, half-dead from a fever I couldn't shake. The kind that made your head feel too heavy for your body.I'd ignored Rachael's calls at first - I wasn't in the mood for pity or fussing. But she was persistent. Sweetly, annoyingly persistent.I should've known she wouldn't listen.Rachael Meyer never did.When she set her mind on something - a project, a deadline, me - she followed through. That's how I found myself half-asleep on the couch, fever burning through my skull, listening to the soft click of my door."Mr. Cross?"Her voice floated through the haze - soft, warm, dangerously gentle.I groaned, pulling the blanket tighter. "You shouldn't be here.""Then you shouldn't be dying alone," she said simply, closing the door behind her.I opened my eyes. She stood there with a plastic bag in one hand and a thermos in the other, dressed down in jeans and a cream sweater. Hair tied up, eyes soft but determined.Beau

Damian's POVI didn't plan to take her out.At least, that's what I told myself.It was supposed to be dinner. Work talk. Numbers and contracts and "thank you for your effort" - the kind of polite thing a boss says to his assistant after she pulls three consecutive all-nighters.But the moment Rachael walked into the restaurant - black dress, loose curls, the kind of perfume that lingered without asking permission - I knew this wasn't going to stay professional."Hope I'm not late," she said, sliding into the booth across from me."No," I said, clearing my throat. "You're right on time."She smiled, a small, quiet thing that somehow felt louder than the room. The restaurant lights were dim, soft enough to make it easy to forget who we were - CEO and assistant, controlled and careful."Wine?" she asked, scanning the menu.I nodded. "Surprise me."She did.She ordered something expensive, bold, and somehow - exactly what I would've chosen myself. The first sip hit smooth, but it was the