Stella's POV

I should have learned how to whisper.

Or better yet, how to shut up entirely. But sometimes frustration slipped out before I could swallow it back down.

"Did you call me a robot?"

Everything in me froze. My muscles, throat, and breathing.

My stomach twisted into a knot. Every cell in my body screamed at me to run, but all I managed to do was turn slowly, as if I could delay the inevitable.

"I-I… no, sir. Of course not." I tried to smile. The attempt died halfway. "I was talking about… something else. A printer. An old one. In the records room. It jams all the time, makes horrible noises… like an old robot. That's all."

Silence followed.

Damian Winter was a master of silence. A master at staring without expression, without visible anger, and still making me feel like I was being judged by an entire courtroom.

He didn't respond. He just stared at me with those glassy eyes that were cold, clear, and impossible to read. As if he were stripping my soul bare, waiting for the slightest tremor so he could destroy me.

I hated that look. I hated how it made me feel… small.

"I see," he said at last. He walked back to his desk as if nothing had happened. "I had just come in, so I misunderstood. Good to know you're concerned about equipment maintenance. Notify IT and have them arrange a replacement."

The way he said it made me tremble more than if he'd yelled. The absence of emotion made me fear some future retaliation.

Damian was a man impossible to decipher. Maybe because he'd erased every trace of humanity in the name of efficiency.

I smoothed my skirt and stood, ready to leave the room and forget that humiliating moment ever happened.

My hand was already on the doorknob when I heard his voice again.

"Stella."

I stopped and closed my eyes for a brief second, taking a breath.

"Yes, sir?"

"Prepare yourself to travel. Tomorrow. I'm going to Switzerland, and I want you with me."

I turned slowly, my brows knitting in surprise.

"I… I'm sorry, I thought only you were going. There wasn't any inclusion like that in the HR system—"

"It was a last-minute decision," his voice left no room for argument. "And I prefer someone who knows how to read between the lines of a contract instead of flatterers who can't tell a budget from an annual report."

I stayed quiet for a few seconds before nodding.

"Understood, Mr. Winter."

He didn't reply. He simply turned his attention back to his computer screen, as if I no longer existed.

-

The flight to Zurich was long, and his silence never wavered. Because of that, I didn't feel comfortable speaking or bothering him, so I stayed quiet.

I sat beside him with a tablet in hand, trying to focus on the contracts. It was already the third time I'd reviewed the same documents, but I couldn't stop. Partly out of responsibility. Partly because, honestly, I didn't know what to do with my hands with my boss sitting so close.

"You know, Stella…" he began, pulling me from my thoughts. "You should learn to relax a little. Spending hours glued to those contracts isn't exactly the best cure for stress."

I lifted my eyes briefly, just enough to look at him. Did I hear that right? Was this some kind of trap? He was the last person I expected to tell me to relax. My gaze dropped to his hand, and I noticed the glass of whiskey. I didn't know how many he'd had, but he seemed to be in that slightly buzzed phase. I almost smiled at the thought.

I looked back at the tablet before my expression could give away more than it should.

"Work is work, Mr. Winter," I replied.

"Then tell me, Stella," he continued, his tone almost bored. "How do you relax? A good book? A glass of wine? Or maybe a hot night?"

My fingers moved faster across the screen, even though my eyes weren't absorbing anything anymore. This had to be provocation. I tried to think of something else to calm my burning cheeks.

"I prefer to stay focused on what matters, sir."

"Interesting…" From the corner of my eye, I saw him take a sip of his drink. "In my case, sex always relaxes me."

God. What got into him?

"Is that so?"

'Is that so, Stella? Get it together, woman!'

"I wonder…" he said, brows furrowed, "if a good night of sex would make you less rigid with me."

I swallowed hard. Sex with whom? With him? Stay calm. Any sign of nervousness would be a gift to him.

"This conversation is making me uncomfortable, Mr. Winter."

"But I'm not. And you'll talk about whatever I want, since I'm the one who pays your salary." What an absolute psychopath.

"All right, sir. What else would you like to talk about?"

"Forget it. You've bored me even more." Seriously?

The plane landed hours later. Of course, a car was already waiting for us on the runway. No one would dare make Damian Winter wait.

During the drive to his house in Zurich, I stayed silent. Snow fell outside, tires whispering against the wet pavement. I stared out the window, trying to keep my thoughts far away. I failed. Because I could feel him watching me.

When we stepped inside the house, the heat from the heater wrapped around me immediately. I slipped off my coat slowly, my fingers still adjusting to the sudden change in temperature.

"I'm going to take a shower before dinner," he announced, already heading up the stairs.

Of course, he didn't wait for an answer. The surprising part was that he'd warned me at all.

I stood there for a few moments, frozen in the middle of the elegant, minimalist living room. No excess. No soul. I doubted he bothered decorating each house he owned in different countries. Suddenly, I found myself curious about what his place in California looked like.

I went upstairs to drop my things in the guest room and try to pull myself together.

I didn't even get five minutes.

"Stella!" My boss's voice echoed from the upper floor. I stood and headed toward his room. I stopped in the hallway. My feet hesitated before moving forward. He was in the bathroom.

"Do you need something, sir?"

"Bring me a towel." His voice came muffled through the door.

I went to the closet and grabbed the first one I found. When I returned, I extended the towel through the crack in the door, keeping my eyes firmly turned in the opposite direction.

"Here you go, sir." He took the towel and, for some reason, didn't close the door.

"Stella," he called again.

I turned slowly. And ran straight into him. Or rather, into his bare chest, water droplets still sliding down his skin, a towel secured low around his waist.

I had to force myself to look up. At his face. Even that was hard.

My face burned, my blood rushing through my veins.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked quickly, wishing I could disappear.

"I'm not sure yet," he replied, taking a step toward me. "Do you think I need something?"

Backing away was instinctive. Before I realized it, my back hit the wall. His hands followed, one on each side of my face. My entire body went on high alert.

"You're blushing, Miss Harper," he murmured, as if noting a simple fact. "Why?"

"I'm not," I whispered, turning my face away.

"That pretty little mouth tells a lot of lies…" His thumb brushed my lower lip, and my breath caught. "But I admire your courage in denying what's right in front of my eyes."

"I would never dare—"

"Shhh." His index finger touched his own lips. "You're much more attractive when you're quiet. Honestly, that applies to all women." His hand pressed back against the wall, blocking my escape. He leaned in. Too close. "Tell me, Miss Harper…" he whispered, his voice low and deliberately provocative. "Do you have inappropriate thoughts about me?"

I swallowed air. My lungs felt like they'd shrunk.

Panic hit me. I could lie, but I didn't know how far he would take this. So I ducked, slipping under his arm and escaping. I almost tripped, but I didn't stop. I rushed into the guest room and slammed the door shut.

I pressed my back against the wood, struggling to catch my breath.

Damian was becoming far too dangerous.