Chapter 1: The Lure of Silk

Alex Thompson stepped off the elevator into the sleek, glass-walled lobby of Kane Enterprises, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The air was crisp with the scent of polished marble and faint traces of expensive perfume, a far cry from the dingy internships he’d scraped through in college. At twenty-four, fresh out of business school, he was desperate for this trainee position—anything to escape the soul-crushing cycle of ramen noodles and student loans. But as he adjusted his tie, smoothing down the cheap fabric of his suit, he couldn’t shake the nerves twisting in his gut. This wasn’t just any company; it was helmed by Victoria Kane, the infamous CEO whose reputation preceded her like a storm cloud—ruthless, brilliant, and unapologetically dominant in a world that still whispered about women in power.

The receptionist, a prim woman with a clipboard, eyed him up and down before nodding toward the double doors at the end of the hall. “Ms. Kane is expecting you. Don’t keep her waiting.” Her tone was clipped, almost warning. Alex swallowed hard and walked forward, his polished shoes echoing softly on the floor. He pushed open the doors to her office, and there she was.

Victoria Kane sat behind a massive oak desk, her posture impeccable, like a queen on her throne. She was in her early forties, but time had only sharpened her beauty—high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep crimson, and eyes the color of stormy seas that pierced right through him. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun, accentuating the elegant line of her neck. She wore a tailored black blouse that hugged her ample curves, a pencil skirt that rode just high enough to hint at what lay beneath, and—God help him—those black nylon stockings. They sheathed her long, toned legs like a second skin, shimmering faintly under the office lights as she crossed them with deliberate slowness. Her feet, arched perfectly in stiletto heels, dangled one shoe off the tip of her toe, revealing the sheer fabric clinging to her pedicured soles.

“Mr. Thompson,” she said, her voice a low, velvety purr that sent a shiver down his spine. “Sit.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command. Alex obeyed, sinking into the leather chair opposite her desk, trying not to stare at the way her stocking-clad foot swayed hypnotically.

The interview began innocuously enough. She flipped through his resume, her manicured nails tapping rhythmically against the paper. “Tell me about your experience,” she demanded, leaning back slightly. As he stammered through his internships and coursework, her foot slipped free of the heel entirely, the black nylon whispering against the air. She extended her leg under the desk, her toes brushing lightly against his shin. Alex froze, his words catching in his throat. Was it an accident? He shifted, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her foot inched higher, the smooth, silky material grazing his knee, then his thigh.