In Bed with My Fiancé's Enemy

Damian Blackridge stared at the executive dossier on the glass surface of his desk. The list detailed the senior analysts and executives transferred from smaller, struggling firms under the cross-corporate debt-settlement agreements he enforced across the financial district.

He didn't strictly need these junior executives or mid-level managers. Holding the leverage kept rival boards terrified, obedient, and permanently under his thumb. The weaker firms sent their assets willingly now, terrified of outright hostile takeovers. Most transferred executives were eager to work at Blackridge Global Holdings. They knew his corporate acceleration track was unmatched in the global market. Every now and then, a transfer arrived kicking and screaming—usually someone given a brutal choice by their own board: take the transfer or face career blacklisting. If they caused friction inside his firm, their tenure was short. He demanded absolute compliance, total dedication, and zero corporate dead weight. A few ruined reputations usually kept the rest falling in line.

It was a ruthless strategy, and Damian cultivated it intentionally. It ensured that only the sharpest, most resilient minds ended up managing his capital, making Blackridge Global stronger with every acquisition.

Most partner firms trained their talent to aggressive standards, but Damian frowned as his eyes hit the final entry on the roster.

A transfer from Kingswell Corporate Group.

The name fit the failing firm well. Under Theodore Kingswell, it had become the weakest entity in the sector. Kingswell Group was notorious for sidelining female talent, keeping their top women restricted to support roles while male legacy hires took the credit. Why was Theodore sending him an executive from that tier?

Damian never turned down an asset with untapped leverage. With the right pressure and direction, a sidelined executive could outperform a seasoned director.

Unlike Theodore, who preferred docility, Damian demanded ruthlessness. He wanted his team operating at absolute peak efficiency, male or female.

His phone buzzed on the mahogany desk—a direct message from his Chief of Security, Alaric Vaughn.

Six transfers secured from the boundary line. One is going to be a severe operational liability. En route to the executive suite now.

Damian picked up the tablet, his dark eyes scanning the name. Brielle Sterling. He wondered what operational blunder she had committed for Theodore Kingswell to sign off on her immediate secondment.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon observing the floor through the glass observation bay overlooking the executive trading desk.

Every employee at Blackridge worked under intense pressure. From the fresh Ivy League recruits to the senior portfolio managers, performance metrics were tracked hourly.

The junior analysts pushed themselves to impress him whenever he walked the floor. A single word of approval from Chairman Blackridge opened doors to millions in seed capital. A reprimand for an error meant immediate termination.

Satisfied with the trading floor's momentum, Damian retired to his private gym on the top floor, pushing through an intense weight session. He insisted every executive on his core team maintain peak physical and mental discipline. It kept their focus sharp during eighteen-hour acquisition battles.

He was wiping his brow with a towel when Alaric’s voice came through his encrypted ear-piece. "We’re entering the subterranean parking garage now, Chairman. Up to the penthouse in five."

Damian acknowledged the prompt, showered quickly, and changed into a charcoal tailored suit, leaving the jacket unbuttoned.

He always vetted new senior transfers personally. He looked them in the eye to judge their resolve, their instincts, and their capacity to handle high-stakes corporate warfare.

Damian stood at the head of the glass boardroom as the private elevator doors opened. Alaric escorted the six individuals into the room.

"Present your credentials to the Chairman," Alaric instructed coldly.

They lined up along the length of the glass conference table—three men, three women.

Damian’s eyes immediately singled out the former Kingswell executive.

The others stood tall, maintaining composed, confident postures. Their suits were sharp, their expressions trained to hide anxiety.

Brielle Sterling, however, looked ready to collapse. She was twenty-four, but her hollow cheeks and fragile frame made her look entirely overwhelmed. Her shoulders slouched slightly, her eyes fixed on the polished floor. She was pale, carrying almost no energy, her dark blue suit hanging loosely on her thin frame. Blonde hair framed a face marked by sheer exhaustion. She looked thoroughly broken. This wasn't a corporate saboteur or a rebellious rogue. She didn't look like she had a single aggressive instinct left in her body. A fresh intern could out-negotiate her right now. Waves of visible stress rolled off her.

Damian’s dark eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to the head of the table. "Hand over your devices and sign the binding non-disclosure standard."

The first five transfers moved rapidly, sliding their corporate phones onto the tray and signing the digital documents on the glass interface without hesitation. They knew the drill.

Brielle stood completely frozen, her fingers trembling against her briefcase.

Damian sighed, glaring down at her, letting his silence heavy-press into the space between them. "I don't tolerate hesitation in this room, Miss Sterling."

When she finally lifted her head, her deep blue eyes locked onto his. The sheer intensity of the blue caught him off guard—like a sudden electrical spark hitting his chest. If she possessed an ounce of self-preservation, she would look away.

Instead, Brielle held his gaze, her lower lip trembling before her jaw set into a sudden, reckless line of defiance.

"I am not signing a broad non-disclosure that surrenders my personal equity rights to Kingswell Group," Brielle said, her voice shaking but raw with anger. "Theodore Kingswell had no legal authority to transfer my private shares."

Alaric stepped forward instantly, his hand moving toward his jacket. "Control your tone in front of the Chairman, Sterling."

Brielle didn't back down. She took a step toward Damian, her chest heaving as her pulse throbbed visibly against the delicate skin of her throat. "I'm not your property, Mr. Blackridge. And I won't be traded off to settle my family's debts!"

A direct challenge. In front of the entire incoming class.

Damian felt a dangerous, hot surge of interest slam into his gut. A week ago, this woman had been dumped by her fiancé and stripped of her executive standing, yet here she was, pale and starving, standing up to the most feared billionaire in the financial district.

"You think you have leverage here?" Damian asked, his voice dropping into a low, lethal murmur as he closed the distance between them.

He stepped directly into her personal space, towering over her. The scent of her—sweet lavender mixed with the sharp edge of adrenaline—hit him instantly, making his breath catch. His hand moved fast, his long fingers locking firmly around her chin, forcing her head up so she had no choice but to stare directly into his eyes.

Brielle gasped, her core tightening instantly at the searing heat of his skin against hers. A sudden, terrifying wave of arousal crashed through her belly, making her knees go weak right where she stood.

"Your contract was bought and paid for hours ago, Miss Sterling," Damian whispered, his thumb pressing possessively against her soft lower lip, feeling her rapid, frantic breath. "You belong to Blackridge Global now. You don't get to dictate terms."

"Release me," she whispered, though her body betrayed her, her chest pressing slightly against his suit jacket as her skin flushed hot.

Damian held her gaze for three agonizing seconds before releasing her chin, letting his hand drop slowly, his fingers brushing against her throat.

"Alaric," Damian ordered without turning around. "Escort the first five to their offices and clear their access levels."

"And Miss Sterling?" Alaric asked.

Damian stared down at the trembling woman whose eyes were burning with a mix of intense anger and undeniable, heavy attraction.

"Take her to the executive suite on the top floor," Damian commanded coldly. "Lock the door. I'll handle her file myself after market close."