"Please, come in," Madam Rosie welcomed the owner of DAMIENSKIN into the room. She gestured for him to wait, offering a cup of hot coffee already set on the table. The man thanked her, flashing a courteous smile at the elderly woman. Without delay, he placed the bag containing the desired products from his company at his side. Madam Rosie disappeared toward Maya's office, leaving him momentarily alone.
The man took in his surroundings — the office of the formidable owner of DE PHILIPS CORP. A long desk, cluttered with thick folders and documents, stood at the center. A sleek computer, an LCD monitor, and several desk lamps marked her working space. Though similar to most corporate offices, everything here exuded a heavier air of luxury. Along the wall, towering bookshelves brimmed with aged tomes. In the corner, on a small round table, rested a vase of lilies beneath the vast window that stretched from floor to ceiling. He approached it, standing before the cold glass, towering just beneath its height. Through the window, he could see a pool glistening outside. Its waters were pristine, so pure they seemed to shimmer. He imagined how, under the silver kiss of moonlight, it would gleam like liquid diamonds.
The door creaked open.
The man, standing at 190cm tall, clad in a long, dark leather coat over a suit of deep charcoal, striped tie, black leather gloves, and polished shoes, turned toward the sound. His tan skin glowed beneath the soft lighting, a small mole resting beneath his sharp chin, his hair neatly styled in an ivy league cut. The gloves felt cold against his skin, failing to shield him from the chill crawling under his flesh. Perhaps it wasn't the temperature, but the thought of meeting the infamous Maya for the first time. He wasn't sure how to begin — should he greet her with a handshake? Bow? His mind twisted in confusion.
Odd. A man who looked like he could conquer empires now stood visibly nervous in the presence of this one woman. His hands, which had been anxiously rubbing together, stilled as his gaze locked onto her.
Entranced.
Maya approached, her expression carved from stone. Her lips, blood red. Glamorous makeup accentuating sharp features. She wore a black mesh top embroidered with red roses, a tight black draped skirt hugging her curves, and seven-inch heels that crowned her predatory elegance. Waves of black hair cascaded from a center part, sleek and immaculate. And that scent — it coiled through the air like an enchantment. A dangerous perfume. Her walk was sin itself. Every step, every sway of her hips, ignited something dark in him. He felt it, raw and uncontrollable. Just from watching her, he hardened beneath his layers of silk and leather.
Maya stopped directly in front of him.
"Apologies for keeping you waiting. Have you had your coffee?" Her voice, smoky and poised, seemed to pull at something buried deep inside him.
He could only nod, as if he had lost the ability to speak. His body, usually commanding, felt stiff and clumsy under her gaze. Maya tilted her head slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing her otherwise stoic face. He removed his gloves and extended his hand for a greeting.
"It's fine. Only five minutes late," he managed to say, his voice lower than usual. "I'm Matthews Damien Chalamett."
Maya's lips barely curved into a smile as she accepted his hand. Her palm, so small compared to his, felt like silk over fire. Wasting no time, she motioned for him to sit so they could get straight to business. She seated herself gracefully on a royal blue sofa adorned with diamond-like studs and carved wooden legs from Russia — a choice from her mother, still as pristine as the day it was made. Luxurious, unyielding, just like its owner.
Facing him, she invited him to enjoy the still-steaming coffee.
"You're the owner of DAMIENSKIN," she began, her eyes sharp, "I've never heard of your company, but I trust your confidence in your product. It's likely why you dared to walk through my doors."
She sipped her coffee as if her throat had grown parched just speaking.
"I'm deeply grateful, Miss Maya, for taking interest in our company," he replied, his tone tight, too tight, almost grating on her nerves. Or perhaps it wasn't his words, but the way he said them. Still, he wasn't wrong. She did need DAMIENSKIN. Badly.
Setting her cup down, Maya reached for the remote control, pressed a few buttons, and soon a humanoid robot — crafted by Mr. Bills but layered with DAMIENSKIN's prototype skins — approached carrying a sleek laptop. Maya opened it, her eyes never leaving Matthews, and displayed the confidential data on Project Arden.
Matthews leaned in, his elbows meeting his knees, hands clasped beneath his chin as he studied the information, brows furrowed in fascination. He glanced at Maya with raised eyebrows, a silent question lingering in his expression. Maya, too, leaned forward and shook her head slightly. Without hesitation, she stood and moved to sit beside him.
The space between them could scarcely fit a book. Matthews stiffened, caught off guard by her proximity. Maya, focused, lowered her gaze to the screen and began pressing keys, explaining her vision for DAMIENSKIN to collaborate with DE PHILIPS CORP. Her voice, smooth as velvet, described a future where they would create robots for private, personal desires — far beyond the legal bounds of DE PHILIPS CORP's existing regulations.
Arden would be the first of its kind: a fully skinned, flawless humanoid, destined for intimate, forbidden purposes.
Matthews, captivated not only by her words but also by the intoxicating closeness of her body, swallowed hard. His fists clenched on the sofa, white-knuckled, as he fought the primal urge to reach out and touch her. His eyes roamed over the curve of her spine, partially revealed beneath her raised blouse, her perfect waist within reach. Every inch of her seemed designed to torment him.
Maya, calm yet knowing, merely nodded. Their thoughts aligned. She would commercialize Arden, and wealthy clients — those desperate for illicit perfection — would pay fortunes for their own customizable robots.
For three hours, their meeting unfolded like a dark ballet, Maya even unveiling Arden itself to give Matthews a closer look. At the end, they sealed their unholy alliance with a firm handshake. Madam Rosie escorted Matthews out, though he wished he could remain in this den of temptation forever.
As soon as he reached his car, his control fractured.
The four tires screeched against the pavement as he drove. His left hand gripped the steering wheel, while his right yanked loose his suffocating tie. At a deserted intersection facing the ocean, he slammed on the brakes and struck the steering wheel with his fist. Frenzied, he tore open his blazer, popped the buttons of his trousers, and dragged down the zipper.
God, how long had he been holding this in?
Breath ragged, head thrown back against the seat, he began to move — feverishly, helpless against the storm she had awakened within him. His chuckle, dark and breathless, filled the car's cabin.
This was just the beginning of their partnership. How far would he and this dangerous woman go?