Ep 4

The soft click of the door echoed like a gunshot in the cavernous silence.

Jade Dawson stepped into the study, every nerve in her body buzzing with unease. The air inside felt heavier, colder, as if it belonged to a world far removed from the chaos of her city life. She had expected… she wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The office was a fortress of power. Polished mahogany shelves climbed the walls, lined with leather-bound books and pieces of art that looked expensive enough to feed her and Lisa for years. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one side, flooding the room with pale daylight that caught on a desk of black marble so sleek it could have doubled as a mirror.

And behind that desk sat Adrian Blackthorne.

Jade had only heard the name whispered—her professor had mentioned it once, in awe, and Lisa had laughed nervously when she’d seen it on the job listing—but nothing had prepared her for the reality.

He was power in human form. The kind of man who made you believe the world bent itself around his will. A crisp charcoal suit clung to his broad shoulders, his tie knotted with effortless precision. His hair was dark, perfectly styled, though a single lock had slipped forward, softening nothing about the sharp, chiseled angles of his face.

But it was his eyes that undid her.

Storm-gray, unrelenting, they lifted from the file he’d been scanning and fixed on her. The moment his gaze landed, it pinned her in place.

And then—his expression shifted.

At first, it was subtle: a flicker of confusion, a narrowing of his eyes as though recalibrating. Then his nostrils flared, and the crease between his brows deepened. His jaw tightened, every line of his face hardening like stone.

Jade knew what he saw.

Her damp hair clinging to her face, still smelling faintly of the dirty water that had been dumped on her at the gates. The coat draped awkwardly over her shoulders—Cole’s coat, far too big but her only shield against humiliation. The mud stains that streaked the hem of her jeans and the faint sourness of mildew clinging to her tote.

Her cheeks burned. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the marble floor, but her body wouldn’t move.

The silence stretched so taut it felt like glass ready to shatter. Then, it did.

“Cole!”

His voice cracked through the air like a whip, deep and commanding.

The man beside her—his personal assistant—flinched slightly before stepping forward. He was younger than Adrian, maybe late twenties, with kind eyes that had softened when he’d seen her soaked at the gate.

“Yes, sir,” he said quickly, already bracing himself.

Adrian didn’t let him continue. He jabbed a finger toward Jade, his glare razor-sharp.

“What is this?” The words dripped with disdain, like venom. “Who let this in here?”

Jade’s breath caught. This. Not who. Not Miss Dawson. Just this.

“Sir—” Cole began, but Adrian’s voice thundered over his.

“I don’t care who she is. Take this dirt out of my office before it ruins the carpet.” His voice was ice, but his eyes burned as they flicked over her. “Do I have to spell out how to do your job, Cole? What the hell were you doing outside—taking a stroll?”

The humiliation hit Jade like a physical blow. Her stomach clenched, twisting in on itself as if trying to shrink her from existence.

Cole stiffened, his jaw clenching, but he said nothing. For a second—just a second—his eyes flicked toward her, full of apology. His hand twitched as if he wanted to step between her and the fury directed at her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, his movements deliberate, controlled, as though even anger had to obey him. He steepled his fingers under his chin, tilting his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Jade.

She could feel herself unraveling under that gaze. The smell of bleach and damp clung to her. Her skin prickled with shame, but her spine locked. She forced her chin up a fraction, forcing herself not to look away.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

Her heart thudded so violently she thought he might hear it. The warmth of Cole’s coat was the only thing anchoring her, keeping her from trembling outright.

But Adrian said nothing more. He just studied her, dissecting her in silence, as if weighing whether she was worth even the breath he’d wasted on her.

Jade swallowed hard, the sound loud in her own ears. Every instinct told her to apologize, to explain, to beg—but another voice inside her whispered: If you do that, you’ll never survive him.

So she stayed quiet.

The silence pressed heavier with every second. Cole shifted beside her, clearly uncomfortable, but Jade stood rooted, her jaw tight, her fingers gripping the lapels of the coat so hard her knuckles whitened.

The weight of Adrian’s gaze felt like punishment enough.

Cole didn’t touch her, but the way he angled his body was a quiet directive, a lifeline disguised as instruction.

“Miss Dawson,” he said softly, his voice pitched low enough that Adrian couldn’t hear through the half-closed door. “This way, please.”

For a moment Jade couldn’t move. Her heels felt nailed to the plush rug, her throat too tight to swallow. She wanted to argue—to say she hadn’t done anything wrong, that she didn’t deserve this—but her body betrayed her. Shame heated her cheeks, and her legs obeyed when Cole took the first step toward the hall.

She followed him out, the air outside the office feeling a fraction lighter, though her chest still throbbed from the weight of Adrian’s glare.

When the door clicked shut behind them, Cole slowed, his hand brushing the air as though he wanted to steady her but knew better. His expression was taut, concern softening the otherwise crisp professionalism of his features. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than her, yet he carried himself with the authority of someone used to managing impossible storms.

“Please don’t take it personally,” he said finally, though even he sounded unconvinced by his own words. “Mr. Blackthorne… he doesn’t tolerate distractions.”

Distractions. That word stung worse than dirt. Jade’s lips pressed together until they whitened.

Cole cleared his throat, trying again. “There’s a washroom down this hall. You can freshen up there. It might help.”

Jade blinked, startled. “I—” Her voice cracked, and she had to swallow hard before trying again. “I don’t… I don’t have other clothes.” The words slipped out harsher than intended, brittle from the humiliation still burning her skin.

For a second, she thought she saw sympathy flicker across Cole’s face, but it was gone just as fast. He nodded once, efficient, practical. “Even so. At least wash your hands, your face. It’ll make a difference.”

Her chest constricted. She hated that he was right. She hated even more that he was being kind. Kindness was harder to withstand than cruelty—it chipped at her defenses in ways anger never could.

Jade exhaled slowly, then gave a short nod. “Fine.”

He gestured toward a discreet door at the end of the corridor. “I’ll wait outside.”

The washroom was nothing like the dingy restrooms she’d known from cheap bars and campus cafés. This one gleamed. White marble counters stretched beneath an ornate mirror, gold fixtures gleamed against the porcelain sink, and soft lighting made even her mud-stained reflection look fragile rather than filthy.

Jade shut the door with more force than necessary and leaned against it, pressing her palms flat against the cool wood. Her reflection stared back at her across the room, pale and hollow-eyed, her damp hair clinging to her temples, Cole’s oversized coat swallowing her frame.

For one raw second, she let her chest cave, let the humiliation wash over her fully. God, what am I doing here?

Her fingers trembled as she peeled the coat off and draped it carefully over a chair tucked beside the counter. She tugged at the elastic on her wrist and pulled her hair back, though strands clung stubbornly to her skin.

The faucet hissed to life beneath her shaking hands.

She cupped cool water, splashing it against her face. Once. Twice. Again, until the sting of cold cut through the heat in her cheeks. Muddy water swirled down the drain, disappearing faster than the shame crawling beneath her skin.

Her throat tightened, but she kept going. She bent over the sink, letting the water run through her hairline, massaging out the last traces of the filth that bucket had left clinging to her scalp. It wasn’t perfect—without shampoo or a dryer, she’d still look disheveled—but it was something.

Her hands moved with determination now, rubbing at her forearms, scrubbing her fingers until her skin was raw. She wasn’t cleaning just dirt; she was scrubbing away the memory of Adrian’s voice calling her this, of the bucket pouring over her head, of the years of being told she wasn’t enough.

By the time she reached for the small towel folded beside the sink, her breaths had evened out. Her cheeks still burned, her eyes rimmed red, but she no longer looked like someone beaten. She looked like someone holding herself together by sheer force of will.

She pressed the towel gently to her face, whispering into the silence, “You need this job, Jade. Hold it together.”

The sound of her own voice, cracked but steady, gave her something to cling to.

She slipped back into Cole’s coat, fastening the buttons with careful fingers. She hated how the fabric dwarfed her, but it was better than walking back in dripping and vulnerable.

When she opened the door, Cole straightened immediately, as though he’d been standing at attention the whole time. His gaze flicked over her face, lingering on the damp ends of her hair, then dipped briefly to the tightened coat. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

“Better,” he said. Not as an order. Not as judgment. Just observation.

Jade lifted her chin, her voice cool, controlled. “I’m ready.”

For a beat, Cole studied her, as if trying to decipher what kind of woman could be humiliated, drenched, and dismissed, and still walk out of a washroom with her head unbowed. He didn’t find his answer, because Jade didn’t let him.

“Alright,” he said finally, gesturing back down the corridor. “Let’s move forward.”

Her stomach knotted, but her feet carried her anyway. She couldn’t undo the water. She couldn’t erase Adrian’s disgust. But she could walk back into that office, and she could prove—to him, to Cole, to herself—that she wasn’t going to break.

Not here. Not yet.

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