The CEO's Asset: Sold To My Enemy

Daniella locked the third deadbolt on her apartment door. The click echoed in the small, stale space of her Bronx studio. She dropped her bag and went straight to the shower. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the smell of cedar and the memory of cold grey eyes. But the water just made the bruises on her hips ache. She stepped out and put on her armor: a high-necked blouse, a blazer, and her thick-rimmed glasses. She needed to be the former Senior Legal Counsel. Not the victim. The door banged open. "Holy shit, Dani!" Nina Flores burst in, carrying a first-aid kit and a bag of takeout. "You've been off the grid for twelve hours!" Daniella sat on her sagging couch. She told Nina about the drug. About the USB. She left out the penthouse. She left out the man. Nina plugged the USB into her laptop. A minute later, she screamed. "This is it! We can send him to jail. Or get a restraining order, at least." "It's not enough," Daniella said, staring at the wall. "Xander's uncle is the District Attorney. He'll bury the charges. I need money, Nina. I need to save the factory. That's the only way to fight him." Her phone rang. A Manhattan area code. She hesitated, then answered. "Miss Diaz?" A woman's voice. crisp and professional. "This is the office of the President at Blackburn Holdings. Regarding your application for a bridge loan for Diaz Manufacturing, Mr. Blackburn would like to see you." Daniella's phone slipped from her fingers and hit the couch cushion. She had applied eight times. Eight rejections. "When?" she choked out. "Tomorrow morning. Nine sharp. Bring your pitch deck." The line went dead. Nina grabbed her shoulder. "Did I hear that right? Blackburn? That's like... God calling." Daniella felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty window. She had used his name last night. And now he was calling. "I need to go document this," Daniella said abruptly, changing the subject. "For the restraining order." An hour later, she was back in her apartment, not a clinic. The TV in the corner was blaring financial news. She angled the lamp in her bathroom, her phone's camera held steady. She took meticulous photos of the bruises on her arms and the scrape on her shoulder where Xander had grabbed her before she escaped. Each click of the shutter was a cold, hard piece of evidence. Blackburn Group announces aggressive new acquisition strategy targeting domestic manufacturing. A photo of a man flashed on the screen. It was taken from behind as he entered a building. Broad shoulders. Dark suit. Daniella stared at the back of his head. It looked familiar. She uploaded the photos to a secure cloud server, then began documenting the events of the previous night in a password-protected file, detailing every threat from Xander. It was a formal injury report, drafted by herself, for herself. She was her own best advocate. Back at her laptop, she spent the night tearing apart her pitch deck. It had to be perfect. At 2:00 AM, an email pinged. From: Xander Yates. Subject: Payment Overdue. Attached was a scan of her father's hospice bill. Past Due. Daniella stared at the red numbers. Tears welled up, hot and stinging. She wiped them away aggressively. "Just wait, Xander," she whispered. She opened a new tab and typed: Crockett Blackburn preferences. The results were discouraging. Cold. Machine. Ruthless. The Ice King of Wall Street. She looked at her reflection in the dark computer screen. "I don't care if he's the devil. I need that money." Across the city, in the penthouse of Blackburn Tower. Crockett sat in his leather chair. Arthur stood before him. "Miss Diaz is confirmed," Arthur said. Crockett was holding a diamond earring. It was small, tasteful. He had found it on his pillow. "Good," Crockett said. He dropped the earring into a drawer and locked it. "Tell security to raise the clearance level for tomorrow morning." "Why, sir?" "Because we are welcoming a thief," Crockett said. A small, cold smile touched his lips. "And I want to see what she steals next."