C3 The Devil Wears Grey Eyes

There’s a particular kind of silence in an office like Vale Enterprises. It isn’t peaceful. It’s dense. Pressurized. The type that soaks into your clothes and clings to your skin. It hums through the glass walls, the spotless marble, the low, calculated clicks of designer heels. Everything here screams control, precision, and money.

I didn’t belong. Not really.

But I was here. At my desk. Typing with just enough speed to seem efficient, just slow enough to buy myself moments to breathe. My heart was still playing catch-up from the night before—the elevator, the kiss, the weight of Dominic’s words.

“This changes nothing.”

Lies often wear the neatest suits.

He hadn’t looked at me all morning. Not once. I’d passed him coffee at precisely 8:04, as expected. He’d taken it with a sharp nod, no words, no flicker of recognition in his eyes. But I’d seen it—the way his fingers tightened briefly around the mug, the tension in his jaw. I wasn’t imagining things.

He remembered.

I wish I could say I was over it already. That I could brush it off like a bad hangover. But the truth is, something in that kiss had branded itself onto my bones. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just power dynamics and late nights and sexual tension simmering under professional clothes.

It was more. And that scared me.

Around noon, I slipped into the small staff lounge with my lunch—half a sandwich from the bodega downstairs and an energy bar. I perched on the edge of a chair and chewed mechanically, reading emails on my phone. Nothing urgent. Nothing that made sense of the chaos inside my chest.

“You eat like a rabbit.”

I looked up sharply.

Dominic stood in the doorway, gray eyes unreadable, arms crossed over a crisp white shirt that fit his frame far too well.

I swallowed. “It’s lunch.”

“That’s not lunch. That’s guilt with a side of granola.”

He stepped into the room, letting the door ease shut behind him with a soft click. My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Do you always monitor what your employees eat?” I asked, aiming for lightness. It came out shakier than I wanted.

“I monitor everything.”

That didn’t surprise me. Dominic Vale was the kind of man who made spreadsheets for emotions. I wouldn’t be shocked if he had a folder on me—Mira Dawsonl: Coffee Preferences, Nervous Tells, Weaknesses.

“I thought you said last night changed nothing,” I said, pushing my sandwich away. “So why are you in here, Dominic?”

His eyes narrowed, like he hadn’t expected the directness. “Because I don’t like being distracted. And you…” He took another step forward. “You’re a distraction.”

“You kissed me,” I reminded him.

“You kissed me back,” he countered. “And then you went home like nothing happened.”

“Because nothing was supposed to happen.” I stood now, defensive, tired of this confusing dance. “You’re my boss. You’ve made it clear you don't want me here. And I sure as hell I didn't sign up for whatever twisted game this is.”

The room pulsed with silence again but this time it wasn't cold. It was thick, Charged.

“You think this is a game?” he asked, voice lower.

“I don't know what this is, I admitted. But I'm not going to let you screw with my head just because you're having a bad day.”

He walked toward me, slow, deliberate. The tension between us sparked like static before a storm.

“I don't screw with women's heads, Mira,” he said. “Only their bodies.”

God.

I should've slapped him. Should've thrown my water in his smug, gorgeous face. But instead, my skin flushed heat, my stomach dipped, and I hate how much I wanted him.

“You're an ass,” I whispered.

“I know.”

And then - thank God - a knock broke the moment. His assistant voice called through the door.

“Mr Vale, the board meeting is in fifteen minutes.”

He didn't take his eyes off me. “Cancel it”

“Sir?”

“I said, cancel it.”

There was a pause. Then the sound of retreating footsteps.

“What are you doing?” I asked, throat dry.

He stared at me, jaw flexing, “Something I probably shouldn't.”

His hand reached out, but stopped short of touching me. Inches. That was all that separated us. Two inches, a job title and a whole damn world of consequences.

“You don't get to do this,” I said quietly. “You don't get to show up when it's convenient for you, say something reckless and, disappear like non of it matters.”

His expression shifted. For a moment, he looked human. Not the billionaire enigma. Just a man. Flawed. Haunted.

“I haven't felt like this in a long time,” he said, almost to himself.

I blinked, “Like what?”

“Out of control.”

Then he turned, opened the door, and walked out, leaving me with his chaos, his scent, and the sitting of too many unspoken things.

Later at evening, I found myself pacing Jenna apartment, glass of wine in my hand, heart still tangled in confusion.

She watched me from the couch, eyebrows raised.

“So let me get this straight,” she said. “ You slept with your boss before you knew it was your boss, tried to pretend like it never happened, then did it again in the elevator, and now he is emotionally constipated but keeps stalVale you in the break room?”

I paused. “That's…disturbingly accurate.”

Jenna smirked and sipped her drink. “Girl, your life is turning into one of those trashly novels I read on my Kindle when I can't sleep.”

“Don't mock me. I'm spiraling.”

“No, you're not you're navigating a complicated power dynamic with a hot billionaire who can't seem to decide if he wants to kiss you or fire you. Classic.”

I groaned, “You're not helping.”

“You don't need help. You need to be careful. Guys like Dominic don't play fair.”

I nodded, sinking onto the couch beside her. “I know.”

“But….”

“But?”

Jenna gave me a knowing look. “You like him.”

I said nothing.

Because I didn't have to.

My silence said it all.