####Chapter Three: The Battle of Wits

The hum of the fluorescent lights above her desk was like an unwelcome companion as Ava sat hunched over her laptop, the endless stream of emails pouring in. Her eyes stung from staring at the screen for hours, and the never-ending work had started to feel suffocating. The clock read 7:30 PM, but no part of her was ready to go home. Damien had given her yet another set of tasks that were practically impossible to complete in a normal workday. She should have expected it. She always did. But the weight of it all was starting to wear her thin.

  She rubbed her temples, fighting back the frustration that always seemed to build up around Damien. Everything was always urgent, always important, and always done with the authority of someone who believed that nothing, absolutely nothing, was beyond his control.

  Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. Another call from her sister, probably. Ava had barely spoken to her all week. It was a constant struggle to balance her personal life with the pressure Damien put on her. The problem was, there was no balance. He demanded more and more, and she kept saying yes, hoping she could prove herself. But every time she thought she was getting ahead, she found herself drowning in more work.

“Damien Cross, you absolute tyrant,” Ava muttered under her breath, dragging a hand through her hair in exasperation.

She had just finished organizing a pile of data he had casually dropped on her desk that morning, a data dump that made her question if he understood the word priorities. As if on cue, the door to her office creaked open, and in walked the very man she had been cursing under her breath. The one and only Damien Cross, CEO, overbearing boss, and every other title she could give him that implied control freak. His icy demeanor hadn’t softened one bit, and the sheer presence he carried made the space feel smaller than it was.

“Still here, I see,” he said, his voice smooth and unwavering, almost like he was surprised, yet not at all. The man had an ego that could rival the moon.

Ava couldn’t stop the sarcasm that slipped out before she could think better of it. “Yes, I’m just here, living my best life.”

His eyebrow arched, and he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he simply walked past her desk, scanning the reports she had been working on. His movements were so deliberate that she could almost feel his eyes tracing every line, every word. The tension in the room was immediate—thick, almost palpable. His gaze flicked from one paper to the next, the lines of his jaw tightening slightly with each page he turned. She knew where this was going.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been working all this time just to produce this mess?” His voice had that trademark coldness, but today it was tinged with something else—disappointment, maybe? Or was it contempt?

Ava’s fingers clenched into fists under the desk. She had been waiting for this moment. She should have expected it, should have prepared herself for it, but the sting still hit her hard. His words were like daggers, aimed precisely at her.

“This isn’t a mess,” she shot back, standing up a little straighter. “It’s exactly what you asked for. You wanted it by the end of the day, right? Well, here it is.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Is this your ‘best’?”

Her teeth ground together. She could feel the familiar anger boiling up in her chest, but she fought it down. She couldn’t let him win—couldn’t let him make her feel like she was worthless. Not again.

“I didn’t say it was perfect, but it’s done, Damien,” she said, her voice a little sharper than she intended.

He tilted his head slightly, as if pondering her words, before his lips curled into that infuriating smirk. The one that made her feel like a child being scolded for a mistake she didn’t make.

“It’s far from done,” he said, flipping through the papers with disdain. “You’ve missed key figures. There’s a gap in the data. If I were a client, I’d be asking for a refund.”

Ava blinked, her mind racing to make sense of his words. Her stomach dropped. She knew this report wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad either. She had put in the work—burned the midnight oil to make sure it was complete.

“No one else is complaining about it,” she said, though her voice wavered despite her best efforts to sound confident.

Damien’s smile dropped immediately. “That’s because they don’t care. I do.” He dropped the papers onto her desk with a little too much force, the edges crinkling in protest. “I care about results, not excuses, Ava. You know that.”

Ava clenched her jaw. “And I’m giving you results. I’m doing everything you ask. But I’m human, Damien. I can’t work miracles in twenty-four hours every day. I need you to be clear with what you want.”

For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, as though trying to figure out if she meant what she said. Maybe he was finally beginning to see how much she was struggling. Or maybe not.

“You think I don’t make things clear?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm, though she could hear the edge of anger in his tone. He leaned closer, his presence suffocating. “Every time I ask for something, I’m clear. I expect the best, Ava. No exceptions.”

“Maybe your best isn’t the same as mine,” she snapped, her frustration breaking through. “You want perfection on a deadline. You want me to read your mind and anticipate your every need. And frankly, I can’t keep up.”

His eyes flashed with something—anger, challenge, or maybe even something else she couldn’t quite place. “What’s your problem, Ava?” he asked softly. “You think I’m asking too much?”

“Yes,” she said, not missing a beat. “I do think you’re asking too much. It’s not just the workload, it’s the constant pressure. The way you—”

“—Push you?” Damien interrupted, his voice cutting through her words like a knife. “I push everyone around me. It’s how you get things done. If I don’t push, if I don’t expect more, then we all fall into mediocrity. And I refuse to fall into mediocrity.”

Ava stared at him, momentarily lost for words. This wasn’t a man who simply led. This was a man who dominated. He ruled his world with an iron fist and didn’t care who got hurt in the process.

“Maybe you don’t have to break people to get results,” she muttered under her breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear her. But of course, he did. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her feel like he was searching for her soul.

“What did you just say?” His voice was a low growl.

Ava’s heart hammered in her chest, but she refused to back down. “You don’t need to break people to get what you want. You’re not some goddamn king, Damien. You’re just a guy in a suit, telling people to burn themselves out.”

The words were out before she could stop them, and the moment they left her mouth, she knew she had crossed a line. His face, usually so calm and collected, twisted with barely contained rage. He took a step forward, and for a moment, Ava thought he might yell at her, might fire her right then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, his voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I don’t need you to tell me how to run my company. You’re here to do a job. You either do it, or you don’t.” He turned away, his back to her as he paced toward the door. “I expect results. Don’t disappoint me again.”

Ava watched him leave, her heart pounding in her chest. She was furious, but more than that, she was scared. Scared of what Damien would do to her next.

But more than anything, she was scared that maybe, just maybe, she cared a little too much about what he thought of her.

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To be continued

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