Chapter 10

Kayna’s POV

The jet glided down with a soft landing , wheels kissing the tarmac at LAX. My stomach tightened—not from the landing, but from the reminder that everything here was real. I wasn’t just preparing slides in a cubicle anymore; I was stepping into Damian Marshall’s world, one that gleamed and glittered and threatened to swallow me whole if I wasn’t careful.

From the window, I could see the sprawl of Los Angeles stretching endlessly beneath the haze. Sunlight shining over glass towers, traffic clustered like veins through the city. This wasn’t my city. This wasn’t my life. But for now, it was the role I had to play.

“Ready?” Damian’s voice pulled me back.

I turned. He was already standing, buttoning his jacket, his face set in that expressionless mask that kept everyone guessing. I nodded quickly, clutching my bag like a lifeline.

The flight attendant opened the cabin door, and warm air swept inside. Damian descended the steps with his usual precision, every movement deliberate, every gesture controlled. I followed, trying not to trip in my heels, feeling painfully aware of the cameras flashing from beyond the security barricade.

Of course there were photographers. Damian Marshall stepping off a private jet wasn’t something that went unnoticed.

I ducked my head, hoping my face wouldn’t end up plastered on some gossip site with a headline like “Mystery Woman with Billionaire CEO.”

Two sleek black SUVs waited at the edge of the runway. Damian’s security team moved with practiced ease, scanning the perimeter, ushering us inside. The tinted glass shut out the chaos of the city, cocooning us in quiet.

I exhaled slowly, watching Damian type rapidly on his phone beside me. His brow furrowed, jaw tight.

He hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since we boarded. Part of me wanted to fill the silence with nervous chatter, to prove I wasn’t just dead weight. But another part knew better.

Damian thrived in silence. Silence was his armor, his weapon.

So I sat back, hands folded in my lap, and watched Los Angeles blur past the window.

….

The car pulled up to a glass-fronted tower that looked more like a monument than a hotel. The name alone—The Grand Soria—was whispered in magazines, synonymous with luxury and power.

My throat tightened as I stepped into the lobby. Crystal chandeliers spilled light across marble floors, and towering arrangements of orchids perfumed the air. Wealth clung to every surface, effortless and overwhelming.

Damian moved through it like he belonged…which, of course, he did.

I trailed behind, clutching my laptop bag, trying not to gape like a tourist. At the reception desk, staff rushed forward, greeting Damian by name, offering practiced smiles that seemed more like seduction than courtesy.

“Your suite is ready, Mr. Marshall,” the manager said, bowing slightly. “And your associate’s room has been prepared as well.”

I stiffened at the word associate. That was me. Associate. Not assistant. Not employee. Something in between.

The manager handed me a keycard with both hands, like he was presenting a gift.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice almost lost in the grandeur of the space.

The elevator ride to the top floors was silent, save for the soft hum of classical music. My reflection stared back at me in the mirrored walls: hair slightly disheveled from travel, makeup smudged, eyes tired.

Damian stood beside me, immaculate as ever, scrolling through his phone as if he hadn’t just crossed the country.

I wondered, not for the first time, if he ever felt exhaustion. Or if perfection was simply the air he breathed.

My room was on the thirty-second floor. When I swiped the card and stepped inside, the sight stole my breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, the city stretching into the horizon like a painting. The king-sized bed was dressed in crisp white linen, a vase of fresh roses sat on the table, and the bathroom gleamed with marble.

I set my bag down carefully, afraid to disturb the perfection. For a moment, I simply stood there, staring out at Los Angeles, wondering how I had ended up here.

A girl from a modest background, sharing walls thin enough to hear her neighbors fight—and now I was in a suite that cost more per night than I earned in a month.

I should have felt victorious. Instead, I felt like an imposter.

……

The hours slipped by in a blur of preparation. I reviewed notes, organized Damian’s schedule, triple-checked the files for the Cosmo presentation. Anything to keep myself from replaying the image of that woman in his office.

Even here, in this glass palace, her presence lingered like a shadow.

Was she part of this? Was she the reason his mood had darkened since morning?

My phone buzzed, jolting me. Damian’s name lit the screen.

I fumbled to answer. “Yes sir ?”

“There’s been a change of plans.” His voice was low, precise. “One of Cosmo’s board members is unavailable. The meeting is postponed until tomorrow evening.”

Relief and panic tangled inside me. Relief, because it meant more time to prepare. Panic, because it meant another twenty-four hours of waiting, of being suspended in this strange limbo between worlds.

“Understood,” I said, trying to sound professional.

“You’ll receive updates from my office. Get some rest.”

Rest. As if my brain would let me.

Before I could respond, the line went dead.

……

Evening settled over the city in a blaze of orange and gold. Lights blinked on one by one, turning Los Angeles into a constellation of glass and neon.

I sat by the window, knees pulled to my chest, watching cars thread along the highways like veins of light.

It should have been beautiful. But all I felt was the weight of tomorrow pressing down.

And something else too—the sharp ache of being on the outside.

Damian Marshall was just two floors above me, in a penthouse suite that probably had its own pool. He was preparing in ways I would never see, making decisions that I would never be privy to.

And me? I was waiting. Always waiting.

Around nine, there was a knock at my door. My heart jumped.

I opened it to find a staff member holding a silver tray. “Compliments of Mr. Marshall,” he said smoothly, bowing before setting it on the table.

On the tray was dinner—spicy salmon, roasted vegetables, assorted fruits and a glass of wine.

For a moment, I just stared. He hadn’t spoken much to me all day, but he had thought to send this.

It was such a small gesture. And yet, it made my chest tighten in ways I couldn’t explain.

I sat down slowly, taking a sip of the wine, letting the warmth spread through me. Maybe he wasn’t as cold as he wanted me to believe.

Maybe beneath all that armor, there was something human.

Something dangerous.

I ate in silence, then showered, the hot water loosening the knots in my shoulders. But when I crawled into the impossibly soft bed, sleep wouldn’t come. My mind circled endlessly to Damian’s clipped tone, the shadow of the woman in his office, the way his eyes had met mine on the jet.

At midnight, I gave up. I padded back to the window, pulling the curtains aside.

The city glittered below, alive and relentless. Somewhere out there, Cosmo’s executives were preparing too. Somewhere out there, forces were moving that I didn’t understand.

And in the reflection of the glass, I saw myself. I felt small, uncertain, caught between awe and fear.

A knock startled me. Soft, almost hesitant.

My heart lurched.

It was past midnight.

Who would be at my door?