She frowned.
Before she could scream, a hand shot out from inside and yanked her in.
She gasped, falling into the seat, the door slamming shut behind her with a loud thud.
“Ah!” she screamed, flailing, fighting wildly. Her hands flew everywhere, her scream blood-curdling as she tried to hit her kidnapper. “Let me go!”
“Emily! What the fuck—it’s me!” the man shouted, shielding his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Her breath caught. That voice... and her name.
Her movements froze mid-air, heart pounding, eyes wild.
It didn’t sound like a stranger. It didn’t sound like a kidnapper.
She hesitated, then slowly lowered her arms, her gaze locked on the man sitting across from her.
He looked nothing like the polished professionals she was used to seeing in boardrooms. This man had a dangerous kind of elegance—rugged, but effortlessly refined. His long, slightly messy dark hair brushed the collar of his shirt, like he hadn't bothered to tame it but somehow made the disarray look intentional. His skin was golden-tan, sun-kissed, with a sharpjawline dusted in stubble that gave him a touch of roguish charm.
His eyes were the most arresting—dark, piercing, and intense—like they could strip away every lie and secret she tried to hide. They stared back at her with something between confusion and disbelief.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. His deep voice cut through the silence. “What is that look? Why are you staring at me like you’ve never seen me before?”
Emily flinched, startled by the intensity in his tone.
That look on her face—the blank confusion she hadn’t meant to show—she covered it quickly, forcing herself to straighten. Her spine stiffened. Her expression iced over. The walls around her snapped back into place like reflex.
“No… no, I know you,” she stammered, waving a hand awkwardly as if brushing the tension away. “I know who you are.”
But her voice faltered, the words slipping out shaky and uncertain. She didn’t even sound convincing to herself.
The man’s expression didn’t change. He gave a curt nod, his eyes scanning her face, unreadable. Then, in a clipped tone, he muttered, “I came to talk to you about your new designs. What’s going on, Emily? Did you give them away to Lucas again?”
Her lips parted, but no answer came.
Her voice, when it finally emerged, was forced—strained like she was trying to speak through fog. “I… I think I did. I mean, I must have.”
Emily sat perfectly still, her spine straight, hands clenching slightly on her lap. Her mind was blank. She had no idea who he was or what the hell he was talking about.
“You’re from… that office, right? The one called…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes darting away.
The man jerked back like she’d slapped him. “Holy hell,” he muttered under his breath, stunned. “Have you lost your memory?”
Her body tensed again.
“No,” she said quickly, giving him a sidelong glance, her voice a shade too fast. “I remember you.”
His eyes locked onto hers—sharp, probing, unconvinced.
“What’s my name?”
She froze. Her mouth opened.
“Ehh… Tony?”
His glare turned cold. Dead cold.
He leaned in slightly, voice low and steely. “How do you and I know each other? What’s going on between us?”
