Assistant or Pet

The sound of her own footsteps echoing against the hallway marble was unbearable. Click, clack, click, clack. Each strike was an audible reminder of the red-soled shoes Dante had insisted she wear.

Valeria walked with her gaze fixed straight ahead, trying to ignore the passing stares. She wasn't naive; she knew the kind of judgments being passed in the corridors of Volkov Industries. They saw the leather skirt hugging her hips, the wine-red silk blouse with the carefully measured neckline he had adjusted the previous night, and the flawless makeup Greta had instructed her to apply before leaving the penthouse.

To the staff, she wasn't the new executive assistant. To them, she was the chairman's latest flashy acquisition.

She sat at her desk, positioned outside Dante's main office behind a massive wall of smoked glass. She had barely finished organizing the surface when the intercom emitted a sharp chime.

"In my office. Now," Dante's voice came through, cool and devoid of nuance. "Prepare the coffee service. And don't forget the sugar. My guests like things sweet."

Valeria held her breath, feeling a knot of tension tighten in her stomach. Guests.

She stood up stiffly and arranged the silver tray with steady hands. She took a couple of deep breaths to settle her pulse before activating the sensor on the glass door.

The office smelled of fine wood, designer cologne, and the heavy atmosphere of high-stakes business. Dante occupied the head of the conference table in that imposing posture that dominated the entire space. But he wasn't alone.

Three men occupied the leather chairs opposite him.

Valeria felt a wave of cold rush down her spine. They were not strangers.

To the right sat Marcelo Ruiz, heir to the country's leading banking group, whom she had met at numerous charity galas. To the left was Esteban Torres, a real estate developer who used to frequent the De la Vega residence for business dinners.

And in the center... in the center sat Julián Castillo. Her ex-fiancé. The man who had broken off their engagement two weeks ago—as soon as the first rumors of her father's insolvency began to circulate—excusing himself with a need to "take some distance."

"Come in," Dante instructed without looking up from the report he was reviewing. "We don't have all day."

Valeria froze a step past the threshold. The urge to turn back was immediate. Serving coffee to anonymous executives was manageable; doing so before the very men who, until a few days ago, had treated her as an equal in high-society drawing rooms was a calculated humiliation.

"Valeria?" Julián's voice cut through the silence. He stood up abruptly, staring at her in sheer bewilderment. "What is the meaning of this?"

Marcelo and Esteban turned their heads, their expressions shifting from surprise to sly curiosity in a matter of seconds.

"Well, well," Esteban remarked, leaning back in his chair with a mocking smirk. "I knew things were rough for the De la Vegas, but I didn't realize to what extent."

Dante raised his head slowly. His grey eyes maintained a glacial calm.

"Take a seat, Castillo," he ordered in a low but sharp tone. "You didn't come here to socialize with the staff."

Julián sat back down, though his attention remained locked on Valeria. He took in her figure without hesitation, lingering on the cut of her blouse and skirt. There was no longer any of the old respect in his gaze—only a raw interest devoid of courtesy.

"Serve the coffee," Dante directed.

Valeria advanced toward the main table, holding the tray. She approached Esteban first. As she leaned slightly to place the cup on the coaster, she caught his blatant stare.

"Thank you, Miss De la Vega," Esteban whispered loud enough for the table to hear. "We always knew you had presence, though the career change is... striking."

Valeria clenched her jaw, barely holding her temper in check. Her pulse trembled slightly, causing a couple of drops to spill over the rim of the porcelain.

"Careful," Dante warned from the head of the table. "I demand neatness in this room."

She reached Julián's position. Valeria set the saucer down in front of him without making eye contact.

"How much is he paying you?" Julián muttered as she turned to leave.

Valeria stopped dead in her tracks.

"What did you say?"

"Dante," Julián clarified with a bitter edge. "How much does it cost to have you here for... your private services? If you needed liquidity, you could have reached out to me, Val. I would have offered you better terms."

The sharp sound of the slap echoed through the room before Valeria even had time to measure the consequences. She had struck him across the face with her free hand after setting the tray down on the table with a dull thud.

The silence that followed was absolute. Julián brought his fingers to his cheek, where the red mark was beginning to bloom. Esteban and Marcelo gasped in shock.

But Valeria wasn't looking at her ex-fiancé. Her eyes were locked on the head of the table.

Dante hadn't moved from his seat, but the corporate calm on his face had completely vanished. His grey eyes burned with a dark, threatening hostility.

"Get out," Dante declared.

Julián stood up, agitated.

"She hit me! Your employee just—!"

Dante stood up. The movement was as fluid as it was dangerous. In two quick strides, he crossed the distance between them, grabbed Julián by the lapels of his designer jacket, and slammed him against the glass panel of the wall.

"Repeat what you were about to say," Dante growled, inches from his face. "Disrespect her in my presence again, and I will personally see to it that you never sign another contract in this city."

Julián went pale, his bravado evaporating instantly.

"I... it was just a comment, Volkov..."

"She is under my contract," Dante stated in an unyielding, territorial voice. "She is not a topic of conversation for you or your associates. Nobody disrespects someone who works for me. Is that clear?"

He shoved Julián back, sending him stumbling two steps.

"Leave," Dante ordered, looking at the three visitors with open coldness. "This meeting is canceled. And Castillo... if I ever hear of you crossing her path again, I will dismantle your father's real estate group before the market closes."

The three men scrambled to gather their folders and left the office in silence, hurrying toward the elevator.

When the automatic door slid shut, a heavy, suffocating quiet settled over the room.

Valeria remained standing by the table, arms crossed, trying to steady her breathing. She felt a confusing mix of relief and humiliation. Dante had defended her from Julián's insult, but the way he had asserted his authority placed her right back in the position of a possession under his control.

She turned toward him. Dante had his back to her, looking out over the city skyline, his breathing controlled and his back rigid.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Dante turned around slowly. The tension in his face had not dissipated. He walked over until he stood right at the edge of the conference table. He picked up the silver tray and set it aside with a sharp motion.

"Don't thank me," he replied roughly. "I didn't do it out of politeness. I did it because I don't tolerate anyone thinking they can step on my domain or disrespect what belongs to me."

He cupped her chin firmly, forcing her to maintain eye contact. His fingers were warm, holding her face with commanding precision.

"And as for you..." he murmured, his eyes dropping for a fraction of a second to her lips. "Don't ever take physical liberties in my presence again. Your discipline, your focus, and your responses belong to me from this day forward."

Valeria caught the conflict in his gaze: a clear struggle between the deep-seated resentment he held for her name and a raw possessiveness that threatened to consume him.

"Clear the table," he ordered abruptly, releasing her face and walking back to his desk. "And bring me a fresh coffee. This one has gone cold."

Valeria gathered the porcelain from the table, trying to regain her composure. As she bent down to arrange the tray, she could feel Dante's eyes fixed on her back from across the room.

He had protected her from external attacks, yes—but only to make it undeniably clear that inside this office, the only will that mattered was his.