Chapter 17 Mrs. Scott
“You have five seconds to consider whether you want to stay here,” he continued, his gaze sweeping slowly across the room. Every man and woman felt it as though he was staring into their very soul. “If your mind is elsewhere, if your intention is anything less than full attention, I suggest you leave. I will not tolerate disrespect, nor will I tolerate distraction in this company.”
Jasmine’s heart pounded. The room had gone silent. The faint hum of the air conditioner was the only sound. She watched as Damien’s eyes finally lingered on Jace.
“And you,” he said, voice low but deadly, “I suggest you learn the meaning of discretion before you test patience. You will find I am not a man easily provoked. But I am relentless. Mistake me at your peril.”
Even Jace, the one who had seemed untouchable, visibly stiffened.
His smirk faded into a tense line.
Jasmine’s fingers tightened around her notepad. She’d never seen Damien like this before—not this contained, not this lethal.
Every motion was precise, every word deliberate, and yet the room was acutely aware of the power simmering just beneath the surface.
Damien returned to his seat, slowly, gracefully, as though nothing had happened. The air in the room still felt charged, almost dangerous.
No one breathed too loudly, no one dared even shift in their seats.
Jasmine could barely look away from him. There was something intoxicating about the way he commanded a room without raising his voice, without exploding.
It was authority wrapped in dominance, wrapped in power, wrapped in something utterly mesmerizing.
Jace, meanwhile, still seemed to bristle, but he dared not say a word.
The rest of the meeting went on, painfully, meticulously. Everyone leaned forward, careful to obey Damien’s silent warnings. Every exchange, every question, every response was cautious, deliberate, careful.
Jasmine kept her notes at the ready, but her eyes frequently flicked to Damien. She could feel his presence behind her, the weight of his dominance keeping everyone in check.
It was unnerving, exhilarating, and even slightly terrifying.
When the meeting concluded, Damien didn’t rush out. He didn’t slam his chair back or storm away. He simply rose, precise, controlled, letting the room feel the quiet finality of his authority.
“Jasmine,” he said, his voice low, smooth, commanding. “Stay with me for a moment.”
Her stomach twisted. His gaze was like a physical force, anchoring her in place.
She followed silently as he led her out of the conference room, heels clicking against the floor in tandem with his steady stride.
The eyes in the room lingered, but none dared approach. None dared even breathe too loudly.
They reached Damien’s office, and he released her. She didn’t move away immediately. She lingered in the doorway, heart racing, feeling the heat of his control still wrapping around her like a shadow.
He returned to his desk with the same measured steps, sat down with precision, and leaned back, fingers steepled, gaze sharp. No theatrics, no display of emotion.
Just controlled, lethal dominance.
Jasmine finally dared to speak.
“Who was that?”
“Jace,” Damien replied evenly, almost detached, yet there was an undercurrent in his tone that left no doubt about the danger he carried. “A man testing boundaries he should not. He won’t return. And if he does…” He let the threat linger, unspoken, lethal, like a silent blade.
“He’s already left, boss,” Raymond said as he walked in, his expression serious. “But he promised to drop by.”
Damien’s jaw tightened.
Raymond’s gaze softened when it landed on Jasmine, and he offered her a reassuring smile. He stepped closer, standing beside her, and she returned the smile politely.
Damien noticed.
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
“Jasmine,” Damien said calmly, though there was an edge beneath the surface, “you can retire to your office.”
She nodded immediately.
“I’ll call if I need you.”
“Yes, sir.”
She turned and walked out, unaware of the two pairs of eyes following her every step.
And as the door closed behind her, Damien’s expression darkened.
This was only the beginning.
~
Jasmine adjusted the papers on her desk, tapping lightly on her laptop as she prepared for another round of incoming calls.
The soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant clatter of the canteen staff made the office feel alive, yet still calm—a stark contrast to the chaos of Damien’s world just beyond these walls.
She picked up the sleek black phone, her fingers grazing the polished surface as she straightened her back and put on the practiced, professional tone she had perfected in the past week.
“Hello, you have reached the personal assistant to the Black Empire. Jasmine Scott speaking. How may I be of service to you?”
The words rolled off her tongue easily, her voice polite, firm, and efficient. Being Damien’s personal assistant wasn’t just a job—it was a battlefield, and she had to maintain composure at all times.
Calls came in endlessly, each one demanding her attention and precision. Meetings, dinner reservations, cancellations, corporate inquiries—it was a lot, but Jasmine found a little thrill in the challenge.
She liked proving she could handle it.
“Hello, Mrs. Jasmine. I am Charles from CB Limited. I am calling to book an appointment with Mr. Black.”
Jasmine’s fingers danced over the touchpad of her laptop, bringing up Damien’s meticulously organized schedule. Her eyes scanned the calendar, calculating the spaces between his meetings.
Already, the week looked impossible—he barely had a free hour to breathe. She sighed softly, aware this was only the beginning.
“Okay… how does Thursday at 3:00 p.m. sound?”
she asked, trying to keep her tone calm and pleasant despite the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders.
“Definitely. I’ll tell my boss. Thank you, Mrs. Scott.”
She set the phone down gently, leaning back in her chair as she let her eyes roam across her spacious office.
High ceilings, white walls accented with touches of gold, a polished mahogany desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city—it was all impressive, but the pièce de résistance was Damien’s giant, black six-foot television screen mounted elegantly on the wall.
Something about it unsettled her, though she couldn’t say why. It wasn’t just the size, it was the way it dominated the room, silent and imposing.
Jasmine barely had time to reflect when her office door swung open suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She turned sharply, slightly flustered.
“I see you’re getting used to this,” Raymond said, strolling in with that infuriatingly confident smile he always wore. His presence immediately filled the room. Even standing silently, he had an aura that was impossible to ignore.