Monday – 7:45 AM
Ava stood beside the office door, her planner clutched to her chest, lips glossed, hair curled. She hadn't slept—not really. Her mind replayed the kiss Selene gave her on Friday. Every flick of her tongue, every breath stolen, every command whispered in the dark.
She'd thought the next week would begin with more. A touch. A word. A glance.
Instead—
"Miss Black is unavailable," Selene's assistant told her flatly. "She'll be working remotely today. You're to deliver reports to her apartment. Leave them. No interaction."
No interaction?
Ava's heart sank.
Still, she went. She stood outside Selene's penthouse apartment, hoping—praying—Selene would open the door herself.
But no. A housekeeper received the envelope.
Not a word. Not a note. Not a glance.
Just silence.
Tuesday – 10:00 AM
The office buzzed with energy. Selene had returned, dressed in a blood-red pantsuit that screamed wealth and control. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun. Her heels clicked like gunshots across tile.
She didn't speak to Ava.
She didn't look at Ava.
Meetings were scheduled back-to-back. Conference calls. Strategy sessions. Selene gave orders through her assistant. Not once did she acknowledge Ava's presence.
Even when Ava lingered in the hallway, holding a steaming coffee mug meant exactly the way Selene liked it—half soy, one shot of espresso, no sugar—Selene walked past without so much as a nod.
The mug trembled in Ava's hand.
Wednesday – 3:17 PM
Selene laughed.
A deep, throaty, real laugh.
And it wasn't for Ava.
It was for the woman in heels and a navy wrap dress seated beside her in the conference room—a venture capitalist from Milan, fluent in Italian and flirtation.
They laughed over shared jokes. Leaned close. Whispered between presentations.
Ava sat in the back, documenting notes, unable to focus.
Selene's smile was deadly. Her charm effortless.
Ava's nails dug into her notepad.
When the meeting ended, Selene walked out without sparing her a glance.
The other woman, though, gave Ava a once-over. A smirk. A subtle, victorious smile.
Ava tore the page from her notebook and crumpled it.
Thursday – 8:30 PM
Selene worked late.
Ava stayed behind, despite not being asked.
She'd spent the day buried in spreadsheets and client briefs, hoping to prove her worth. Hoping Selene would call her in. Even just to snap. To scold.
Nothing.
She finally cracked. Walked to Selene's office.
The door was closed.
She knocked. No answer.
She turned the knob and opened it slowly.
Selene was on the phone. Her tone was warm, foreign. Relaxed.
"No, cara mia, it's just business. I'll see you next week."
The click of the phone ending felt like a bullet in Ava's heart.
Selene finally looked up.
"Yes?" Her voice was ice.
Ava straightened. "I—do you need anything before I leave?"
Selene's eyes swept her over once, devoid of emotion.
"No."
That was it.
No reward. No dismissal. Just a void.
Ava walked out with her stomach twisting.
Friday – 6:01 PM
Ava didn't leave.
She waited.
She sat on the edge of her desk, ankles crossed, watching the hallway like prey waiting for her predator.
At 6:15, Selene exited her office, purse slung over her shoulder, coat draped over her arm.
Ava stood.
Selene passed her.
Paused.
Ava's heart leapt.
But Selene only turned to her assistant and said, "Book the fitting for my gala gown. Chanel. Black and gold. Midnight slot."
Then she walked away.
Not a glance. Not a whisper. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
Ava stood frozen long after Selene was gone.
Saturday – 10:00 PM
The gala was in one week.
Selene's name was on every RSVP list.
The buzz in the office was deafening. Dresses. Tuxes. Invitations.
Ava had nothing.
No ticket. No dress. No clue if she was even allowed to attend.
But she'd overheard Selene mention it again.
"Get me a suite at The Ritz after the gala," Selene had said into her phone. "I won't be going home."
Ava's stomach flipped.
Who was she going with?
And worse—was that who she was smiling about on the phone?
She'd waited for days for Selene's touch. Her attention. Her voice.
She'd gotten silence.
Now Selene was planning nights away. Dinners. Meetings with women who spoke fluent Italian and wore diamonds on their wrists.
Ava had reached her breaking point.
Sunday – 11:58 PM
Ava stared at her reflection.
Eyes swollen from unshed tears.
Lip bitten raw.
The marks on her skin from their last kiss had faded. Her chest was cold. Her thighs ached with want that had turned into rage.
She picked up her phone.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
"I miss you."
She didn't send it.
She set the phone down.
She wouldn't beg.
If Selene was done with her…
Then Ava would burn everything.
Monday – 9:03 AM
The entire office was electrified. The annual Vanguard Gala was just days away—an exclusive, star-studded event hosted by the corporate elite.
Selene Black wasn't just attending.
She was co-chair.
Her name was in every magazine.
Her photo—flawless, commanding—was plastered across digital boards on Madison Avenue.
Ava stared at them while riding the subway to work.
Selene's jawline. Her mouth. That icy glint in her eye.
The woman hadn't spoken a full sentence to her in ten days.
Ava was unraveling.
She didn't know if she wanted to scream or drop to her knees.
She knew one thing: this silence was calculated.
And Selene Black was winning.
Tuesday – 2:12 PM
"Are you going to the gala?" the new intern, Chloe, asked Ava in the breakroom.
Ava forced a smile. "No. Not invited."
"Oh. I thought, since you work so closely with Miss Black—"
"I don't," Ava snapped.
Chloe blinked.
Ava turned, coffee spilling slightly in her grip, and stalked out.
She was done being the ghost. Done being the forgotten secret.
If Selene wasn't going to notice her—she'd make her.
Wednesday – 11:00 PM
Ava pulled up the boutique's website.
Not Zara.
Not Macy's.
She needed power. She needed to wear something that said: You left a fire burning behind you, and now it's coming for you.
She picked a dress that barely qualified as legal: black velvet slit up to the hip, with a backless design that dipped to the curve of her ass. The neckline plunged, deep and sinful.
She chose the heels Selene once said she liked.
Then she booked a ticket to the gala—as a guest of Marco Laurent, one of Selene's competitors who'd been low-key flirting with Ava over emails for months.
He was dangerous.
Rich.
And best of all—Selene despised him.
Thursday – 5:47 PM
Selene stood in front of the full-length mirror in her private suite.
Her gown was custom-made: gold thread laced through black silk. A cape flowed from her shoulders, and her neck shimmered with a diamond choker worth more than most apartments in Manhattan.
Her assistant hovered beside her. "The car is waiting."
Selene nodded.
Her face gave nothing away.
But when she opened her clutch, her eyes landed on a photograph inside.
Ava—laughing. That secret picture Selene had taken two months ago in the elevator when Ava didn't know she was watching.
She closed the bag.
"Let's go."
Friday – Gala Night – 8:33 PM
The ballroom of The Blackridge Hotel was carved from money and legacy.
Gold chandeliers. Crystal glasses. Billion-dollar conversations happening over foie gras.
Selene made her entrance last—as always.
Heads turned. Applause whispered like a wave through the crowd.
She looked divine.
She was divine.
Unreachable. Unshakable.
Until her eyes landed on—
Her.
Ava.
Across the room.
Wearing sin on her body like perfume.
Her lips red. Her eyes smoky. Her skin glowing under the lights.
And on her arm?
Marco Laurent.
Selene's jaw ticked.
She turned away without a word.
9:15 PM
Ava watched from behind a champagne flute as Selene danced—with an ambassador's wife.
Laughed with CEOs.
Twirled, posed, and sparkled.
But not once did she look back.
Ava was going insane.
She excused herself, stepped onto the balcony, and leaned against the railing.
Her chest burned. Her lungs ached.
What was she even doing?
Playing games with a woman who invented the battlefield.
"Beautiful night," Marco said behind her.
"Yeah," Ava replied distantly.
"You're distracted."
She turned to him, smiled. "So make me not be."
He leaned in. Bold. Smirking. Ready to kiss her.
But before his lips could land—
A cold, cutting voice sliced through the air.
"Marco."
Ava froze.
Selene stood in the doorway. Alone. No smile. No assistant.
Her eyes were knives.
"I need to speak to my employee. Privately."
Marco looked between them.
"Of course." He walked off without protest.
Selene didn't look at Ava.
She turned and walked down the hallway.
Ava followed.
Of course she did.
10:01 PM – Private Hallway, The Blackridge Hotel
Selene didn't speak for several seconds.
The silence screamed.
Finally, she turned.
"That dress is desperate," Selene said quietly.
Ava blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You wore that to provoke me."
"You've been ignoring me for weeks. What did you expect me to do—crawl?"
"I expected you to do your job."
Ava's fists clenched. "I have."
"Then why are you here with him?"
"Because you left me with nothing! No words. No touch. Not even eye contact. I thought you were done."
Selene stepped closer, her perfume wrapping around Ava like a noose.
"You don't decide when I'm done," Selene whispered.
Ava's breathing hitched. "Then what am I to you?"
Selene didn't answer.
She turned, heels clicking away.
"Say it!" Ava cried. "Say something! Say anything!"
Selene paused.
Then, without turning around:
"You're not to be touched. Not to be spoiled. Not to be seen."
Ava's heart shattered.
"And when will that change?" she asked, voice cracking.
"When I feel you've suffered enough."
And with that—
She was gone.
The days that followed were a blur of meetings, numbers, and polished smiles. Selene's world spun faster, her schedule overflowing with back-to-back calls, high-profile negotiations, and preparations for the upcoming corporate gala that would host the city's most elite. And through it all, she didn't so much as glance at Ava.
Ava noticed everything.
The way Selene avoided her gaze in the elevator. How she issued instructions through her secretary instead of speaking to Ava directly. The coffee Ava used to deliver every morning now sat untouched on Selene's desk until it went cold. The silence stung more than any punishment Selene had ever dealt.
It wasn't just withdrawal. It was exile.
Selene had warned her.
"I will not be touching you for the rest of the month," she'd said that morning weeks ago, her tone final and cold. "You will focus on work. Nothing more."
Ava had nodded, but the emptiness that followed was harsher than expected. She went home every night restless, her body aching with remembered pleasure and current denial. Her mind replayed every stolen moment, but now there were no more. Just distance.
Week three passed in silent torment.
Week four began with the announcement of the gala date.
Ava stood at the edge of Selene's office, clipboard in hand. She'd been called in for a briefing, not conversation.
"The gala is Friday," Selene said without looking up from her computer. "Your job is to ensure every guest is confirmed and all staff are properly briefed. No errors."
"Yes, Ms. Black."
Selene's fingers paused on the keyboard. "And wear something professional. You are not there to be seen—you are there to work."
Ava's jaw clenched. "Understood."
As she turned to leave, Selene's voice stopped her. "Ava."
She turned.
For a second, something flickered in Selene's expression. But it was gone before Ava could name it.
"That will be all."
Click. Dismissed.
The week was relentless. Ava threw herself into tasks with laser focus. If she couldn't have Selene's attention, she'd earn her respect.
On Thursday evening, Ava stayed late to ensure every single vendor for the gala was confirmed, down to the last valet. The ballroom had been booked, the catering menu finalized, the wine list curated to Selene's absurdly high standards.
But the void remained.
Even when Ava passed Selene in the corridor, their eyes barely met. Selene was surrounded by executives, clients, and admirers—but Ava felt invisible.
And maybe that was the point.
Friday arrived.
Ava dressed in a sleek black dress that ended just below the knees—professional, understated, perfect. Her hair was in a clean updo, her makeup simple. She looked exactly like what Selene demanded.
Efficient. Neutral. Invisible.
The gala venue sparkled with elegance. Crystal chandeliers shimmered above tables dressed in gold. The elite arrived in waves, champagne flowing, string quartet playing.
Ava moved through the crowd, earpiece in, clipboard ready, coordinating with staff.
Selene arrived just after eight.
Dressed in a midnight blue gown that clung to every curve, she was magnetic. Powerful. Every eye turned. Her smile was sharp, her stride purposeful.
And she didn't look at Ava once.
Ava's chest tightened. She moved to the service area to catch her breath.
"You good?" one of the assistants asked.
Ava nodded. "Just managing logistics."
But her heart wasn't in logistics. It was on the woman who owned her and pretended she didn't exist.
Hours passed.
Ava worked through it all. Checking security. Whispering into headsets. Avoiding wine, ignoring flirtations from lonely investors, and staying professional.
Just as Selene ordered.
But the ache never faded.
At midnight, the gala began to wind down. Guests filtered out. Selene was still at the bar, speaking to a tech mogul and a fashion designer. Laughing. Graceful.
Ava lingered near the exit, directing the last few limos, holding the final checklists.
She didn't expect Selene to approach.
But she did.
Just before one a.m., Selene crossed the marble floor and stopped in front of Ava.
Her eyes locked on Ava's. Cold, unreadable.
"You handled tonight well," Selene said. "No errors."
"Thank you, Ms. Black."
Selene paused, then leaned in slightly.
"Tomorrow, be at my penthouse. 8 a.m. sharp."
Ava's breath hitched. "Yes, Ms. Black."
Selene's lips curled—half a smirk, half a promise. "Wear nothing."
And just like that, she was gone again.
But Ava's world had shifted.
The silence was over.
The game was about to begin again.
The fourth week bled into the beginning of a new month, and with it came the full cold force of Selene's deliberate detachment.
Ava was back in the office early that morning, dressed impeccably in the navy suit Selene had once praised. She waited quietly in the corner of the executive suite, her laptop open, notes ready. Selene entered five minutes later, her usual commanding presence filling the space without a word. She walked past Ava without a glance, her heels sharp against the marble.
Meetings began. Phone calls followed. Ava took minutes, answered calls, forwarded documents, and stayed professional. Still, every second Selene's voice rang through the space, a chill ran down her spine. Not because Selene was angry—but because she was indifferent.
The woman who had once claimed Ava's mouth with feverish hunger now wouldn't even meet her gaze.
Ava watched Selene smile politely at a foreign investor, laugh lightly with the new finance head, and stay late at the office almost every night. The gala had taken up more of her energy, and Ava was left to handle the endless stream of designers, floral decorators, and luxury catering teams. Selene spoke only when needed, and only about work.
No more whispered commands. No more silk scarves. No more late-night phone calls or texts.
And Ava was unraveling.
Every morning she woke hoping today would be the day Selene would touch her again. But Selene didn't.
She wore high-neck blouses. She came and went with security. She delegated more work to the junior assistants. And when Ava looked at her, it was like she had become invisible.
Until Friday.
The office buzzed with anticipation for the weekend, but Ava sat stiffly behind her desk outside the CEO's office. A courier dropped off a package wrapped in dark ribbon with her name on it.
Inside: a single black dress.
Ava stared at it for a long time, unsure whether it was a gift or a cruel reminder.
There was a note: "Wear this for the gala. 8 PM sharp. Selene."
Ava pressed the fabric to her cheek. It was smooth and cool, like the silk Selene used to tie her wrists with.
That night, she dressed carefully. The gown clung to her like it was painted on—backless, high-slit, elegant and dangerous. The car arrived exactly on time.
The gala venue was nothing short of a palace. Chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls from the ceiling. Waiters in black moved like ghosts with silver trays. Flashbulbs from the press lit up the red carpet.
Ava stepped out of the car and entered alone.
She searched the crowd for Selene and found her standing near the center of the ballroom in a silver tuxedo. Her hair was slicked back. Her lips dark red. Her posture regal.
She was stunning.
She didn't look at Ava.
Not when she greeted senators and billionaires. Not when she posed for photos.
Ava took her place in the shadows and tried to breathe.
Three hours passed before Selene approached.
"You handled the coordination well," she said flatly.
Ava straightened. "Thank you."
Selene's eyes flicked over her body, brief and impersonal. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
And just like that, she was gone again.
Ava stood there, heart pounding. It wasn't the words—it was the void behind them. Selene hadn't ignored her out of anger. She'd ignored her because she could.
Because she wanted Ava to remember that all power came at a cost.
And Ava had paid with her submission.
She stepped outside into the cool night air, chest tight.
She didn't cry.
She wouldn't give Selene the satisfaction.
But deep down, Ava knew one thing:
She was still hers.
And Selene knew it.
The gala was only three days away, and the office buzzed with nonstop activity. Staff moved briskly through the halls, phones rang incessantly, and Ava found herself consumed by tasks ranging from vendor coordination to media list approvals. Yet amid the chaos, one absence hollowed the center of her world—Selene.
Selene was present, physically. Her tall figure swept through the corridors, issuing commands with her usual cold precision. But she hadn't spoken a single personal word to Ava in over a week. Not since that morning, when she had told Ava she wouldn't be touching her for the rest of the month.
And she'd meant it.
There were no more stolen glances. No whispered instructions. No secret touches in shadowed corners.
Just silence.
Selene was a fortress. Sealed. Distant. Focused.
It left Ava feeling like a ghost.
She tried to bury herself in work. She submitted documents early, triple-checked every logistical update, even stayed two extra hours one evening to resolve a supplier issue personally. But no matter how hard she worked, Selene's eyes never softened when they met hers. If they met hers at all.
During a private meeting in Selene's office about the gala's guest list, Ava handed over a neatly bound report. Their fingers brushed, and her breath caught. Selene didn't react.
"Everything's in here," Ava said, voice quiet.
"Good," Selene replied without looking up. "You're dismissed."
Dismissed.
Ava left with her heart thudding against her ribs like a warning bell. Something had shifted between them—something Ava didn't understand. She hadn't realized how much she craved Selene's attention until it was gone.
Three days before the gala, Selene's personal assistant stopped by Ava's desk with a list of errands and a sealed envelope.
"Miss Hayes, she wants you to personally retrieve her final gown from the atelier. She also wants you to drop this letter at the foundation office."
Ava opened the envelope after the assistant left. Inside was a handwritten letter from Selene to the chair of the Artemis Foundation.
She recognized the elegant, looping script. Even Selene's penmanship was powerful.
For a moment, she held the letter against her chest and closed her eyes. Then she folded it again, slid it into her bag, and stood.
That evening, Ava watched Selene from across the office as she entered a video conference with international investors. Her hair was swept into a tight chignon, her tailored dress clinging to her body like a secret. Her voice through the glass was clipped and controlled.
Ava waited until the meeting ended. She knocked once.
"Come in."
She stepped inside.
"The dress has been picked up and steamed. It'll be waiting in the town car on the night of the gala. The letter was delivered. And your speech draft is on your desk."
Selene simply nodded. "Thank you."
Ava lingered. "Selene, may I ask—"
Selene looked up slowly.
Ava's breath caught. The tension between them, once volatile and thick with longing, now felt like a frozen lake she dared not step onto.
"Ask what?" Selene said flatly.
Ava's voice faltered. "Did I do something wrong?"
Selene's gaze was unreadable. "You did everything I asked."
"Then why won't you talk to me? Touch me? Look at me like before?"
There was a beat of silence. Then another. Then Selene stood and crossed to the window.
"Because I told you the terms. And I don't bend once I set a rule."
Ava's heart stung. "So this is punishment?"
"No. It's discipline."
"I miss you."
Selene turned her back. "That is not relevant right now."
Ava flinched.
"I need you sharp for the gala," Selene added, her voice cool. "Not emotional."
Ava swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am."
The night before the gala, Ava couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her chest heavy with longing. The ache wasn't just physical—it was emotional. She needed Selene. Not her dominance. Not just her touch.
Her.
She thought of sending a message. A short note. Something small to remind Selene that she still belonged to her.
But she remembered Selene's words: "That is not relevant right now."
So she rolled over and let the loneliness consume her.
By week five, the cold war in Selene's office had reached its bitter peak.
Ava sat dutifully at her desk each morning, typing, organizing schedules, running reports, and trying not to crumble under the weight of Selene's deliberate silence. Not a single word of intimacy. Not a single look. Not a single touch.
Selene was everywhere and nowhere at once. She held meetings, signed deals, and took calls in French, Italian, and Mandarin like a CEO born to rule. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floors with brutal precision. Her posture never slumped, her lipstick never smudged, her presence never wavered.
But Ava felt her absence like a hole punched through her chest.
The gala planning consumed everyone's energy, including Ava's. There were fittings, caterers, guest lists, venue layouts, security briefings, press invites. It was a sea of chaos, and yet the storm at the center was Selene—still and sharp, unmoved by emotion.
Every now and then, Ava would catch a flicker—a glance too long, a hand clenched too tight around a pen—but Selene never faltered.
Ava had thought the hardest part would be the sex.
It wasn't.
It was the void where Selene's dominance used to be. The silence where her name once fell like thunder. The absence of command, of heat, of attention.
Ava had never begged. But she wanted to.
She wanted to kneel. To crawl. To scream.
But instead, she worked.
By day, Ava was the perfect assistant. By night, she cried into her pillow, replaying every night they shared, every order Selene had given, every moment she was held down and worshipped and broken apart.
She checked the calendar. One more week.
Just one more week.
On Thursday, Ava accompanied Selene to a gala preview event—a low-key evening for the board and inner circle of donors.
Selene wore navy silk and diamonds. Her hair was slicked back, her expression polished to glass. Ava wore the emerald gown Selene had chosen for her months ago. It still fit like a second skin.
They didn't speak during the car ride. Selene read the notes for her speech. Ava sat quietly, her heart thundering.
At the venue, cameras flashed. Guests whispered.
"The infamous CEO and her mysterious assistant," someone murmured behind a champagne flute.
But Selene's hand never once reached for Ava's.
Inside, Ava mingled with the other assistants while Selene gave interviews and posed beside art installations.
"You must have the world's most demanding boss," one woman whispered.
Ava smiled, tightly. "You have no idea."
The night dragged. Ava watched Selene all evening—from across the room, from over her shoulder, from behind columns. She looked untouchable. Distant.
But once—just once—Selene's eyes found hers.
And Ava saw it. The crack. The hunger.
It was gone the next second.
Back at the penthouse, Selene poured herself a glass of whiskey and walked onto the terrace without inviting Ava in.
Ava waited.
And waited.
Finally, Selene spoke, not turning around.
"Two more days. Then we talk. Until then—keep doing your job."
Ava's heart cracked.
"Yes, Miss Blackwood."
The words tasted like submission.
But not the sweet kind.
Week four blurred into the fifth, and Ava had learned to exist in the silence Selene had imposed like a steel cage. The days were long, filled with boardroom agendas and luxury client briefs. The nights were longer, colder, as Ava lay in the bed that once burned with Selene's presence.
Since that morning in the penthouse, when Selene coldly declared that she wouldn't touch Ava for the rest of the month, everything shifted. No more late-night summons. No stolen glances across the glass-tinted office. No commanding whispers against her skin. Only work. Only orders.
Selene moved like a ghost through her days—polished, sharp, and untouchable. She buried herself in meetings, gala preparation, shareholder negotiations, and investment strategies. Her presence echoed power and precision, but her distance carved a hollow space in Ava's chest.
Ava was drowning in silence.
She still showed up to work early. Still handed Selene her double espresso before 8 a.m. Still compiled quarterly reports and took notes during heated mergers. She did it all flawlessly, but she could feel herself fraying at the seams.
She needed her.
Not just the touch—though her body ached for it—but her attention, her dominance, her control.
The ache grew unbearable.
That Friday afternoon, Selene was in her office, heels propped against the edge of her desk, reading through a contract draft. Ava stood by the door, report in hand, silently waiting for Selene to look up. To acknowledge her. To say anything.
Selene didn't.
Ava swallowed. "Your 2 p.m. call with Zurich is confirmed. The design team wants your input on the Paris launch."
"Leave it on the desk," Selene said without looking.
Ava's fingers tightened around the folder.
She placed it down and lingered. "Selene."
That name hung in the air like smoke.
Selene finally looked up, eyes unreadable. "Is there a problem, Miss Hayes?"
Ava's lips parted. Her heart beat a little faster. "No. Just… are we okay?"
Selene leaned forward, fingers steepled. "You work for me, Ava. Not with me. Don't mistake pleasure for position."
Ava blinked, stunned.
Selene's gaze didn't waver. "Now go. And wear the navy gown to the gala. I want you looking like someone who belongs beside me—at least in public."
With that, Ava left. Her throat tight. Her heart heavier.
Three weeks into the silence, Ava had perfected the art of keeping her emotions hidden beneath layers of professionalism. Her routine was mechanical now—arrive, report, work, and leave. She hadn't stepped foot into Selene's office without invitation. And those had stopped completely.
The memory of Selene's body, her voice, her dominance—it all haunted Ava at night. But during the day, she wore her mask like armor.
Selene had thrown herself into preparations for the company's annual gala, a massive affair expected to draw media, investors, and the most elite names in the industry. She stayed late into the nights, barking orders, holding intense strategy meetings, and reviewing every detail. Ava was still by her side, but now as an assistant only, not a possession.
Not a woman touched.
That morning, Ava stood by the elevator, reviewing the final RSVP list. Her fingers trembled slightly as she checked off names. She was tired. From the silence. From the distance.
The doors opened. Selene stepped out in a crisp navy-blue suit, her hair pinned into a sharp chignon, eyes covered with sunglasses. Her heels clicked authoritatively across the polished floor.
"Miss Hayes," she said flatly, without looking.
"Yes, ma'am. The new vendor designs for the gala stage setup just came in."
"In my office. Five minutes."
And just like that, she walked away.
No glance. No hint of the nights they had shared.
In the office, Ava laid out the blueprints and plans across the glass table. Selene studied them silently. Occasionally, she pointed to a section for change or offered clipped approval. Every movement was efficient, distant, cold.
Ava couldn't help herself. "Is there anything you'd like me to revise personally?"
Selene's gaze finally met hers. The impact was immediate, like a surge of cold electricity.
"Just focus on your job."
Ava swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
For a moment, Selene's expression flickered—but it passed too quickly to read.
That evening, Ava sat in the conference room, stuffing VIP gift boxes with luxury items for the gala. She worked in silence, methodically folding ribbons, checking off each guest's name. The room was dim and quiet, but her thoughts were anything but.
She missed Selene.
Missed the woman who had claimed her with fire and fury.
But more than that, she hated how easily Selene had turned it off.
Was it really all control? All power?
She didn't realize Selene had entered the room until she heard the door click.
Ava stiffened. "Ms. Black."
Selene stepped closer, her gaze sweeping the room. "Are you doing all of this alone?"
"I volunteered."
Selene's brow furrowed, but she said nothing.
Ava couldn't help it anymore. "You haven't touched me. Looked at me. Spoke to me beyond business in weeks."
Selene's lips thinned. "That was the arrangement."
"No. That was your decision."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Selene's voice came low and sharp. "You surrendered too quickly."
Ava blinked. "What?"
"I thought control would scare you. That you'd run. But you didn't. You craved it. And now... I'm the one losing control."
Ava stood up, chest tight. "Is that why you've been avoiding me? Punishing me for liking what you did to me?"
Selene looked away.
And Ava saw it. The fear.
She stepped closer. "Touch me or don't. But don't pretend none of it happened."
Selene's jaw flexed. "The gala is in three days. After that, we'll talk."
Ava nodded, heart pounding.
And with that, Selene walked away again.
But this time, she looked back.
The days blurred together.
Ava kept her head down and her posture perfect, every breath calculated, every glance measured. Selene hadn't touched her in weeks—not since the night she declared she wouldn't lay a hand on her for the rest of the month. Not a kiss, not a graze, not a whisper of seduction. It was like Ava had been reset back to the beginning—nothing more than an assistant.
Except everything inside her remembered.
Selene had become colder, more distant. Meetings bled into meetings. The upcoming gala consumed her schedule. Ava stood beside her in every one of them, dutiful and poised, wearing power like perfume and shame like silk. She took notes, scheduled flights, answered phone calls, and wore the dresses Selene sent home—but the silence was louder than ever.
Each day ended without a touch. Without a glance.
But Ava could feel her everywhere.
When Selene passed behind her at the office, Ava's skin prickled. When Selene gave crisp orders without looking up, Ava felt the tremble under her skin. She waited. Waited for a crack. For something. Anything. But the CEO was steel.
One evening, Selene returned from a week-long trip, face taut with exhaustion and heels clicking like thunder on marble. Ava had prepared everything: her reports, her dinner, even a private corner in the office to rest.
Selene didn't touch the food. Didn't speak a word more than necessary.
Ava stood by the doorway. "Is there anything else you need, Ms. Blackwood?"
Selene looked up, her gaze unreadable. "You're dismissed."
Ava nodded, swallowing the sting. "Yes, Ms. Blackwood."
She turned away, each step out of the office heavier than the last.
The gala was in two days.
The company was buzzing with press, deadlines, and designers. Ava stood perfectly still as a tailor pinned her dress—black velvet with a dangerously high slit and an open back. The gown had been sent with no note, but she knew it was from Selene. Of course it was. Only Selene would dress her in something that felt like being watched.
"It fits like a second skin," the tailor murmured.
Ava didn't respond. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked powerful.
But her eyes searched for approval that wouldn't come.
That night, Selene called a late meeting. Her voice was crisp as ever as she addressed the directors. She wore a silver suit, and her hair was slicked back into a low knot. Regal. Dangerous. Unreachable.
Ava stood at her usual place, silent and efficient, jotting down notes as Selene spoke about projections and partnerships. But beneath her calm exterior, she was crumbling.
Finally, after the boardroom emptied, Ava lingered.
Selene didn't look up. "Why are you still here?"
"I just… I thought maybe—"
"I said no distractions until the gala. That includes you."
Her tone was cold. Final.
"But I—"
Selene stood suddenly, walking to her, eyes narrowing. "Ava, do you understand what restraint looks like? What control feels like?"
"Yes."
"Then show me you're capable of it."
Ava looked down. "Yes, Ms. Blackwood."
Selene's voice softened just barely. "You're doing well."
Then she left the room, heels echoing like a gavel striking judgment.
The night before the gala, Ava couldn't sleep. She paced her apartment, ran her fingers through her hair, reread Selene's old texts like they were gospel.
She was breaking.
Not from lack of attention, but from the ache of purpose. What did she mean to Selene now?
She wanted to scream. She wanted to beg. She wanted to be touched.
But more than that—she wanted Selene to want her again.
As she lay in bed, she whispered to herself: "Just one more day."
She had no idea what the gala would bring. But she knew this silence wouldn't last forever.
Selene Blackwood never stayed quiet for long.