YOUR NAME IS NOT MY GRAVE Mr CEO

Chapter One

The Man Behind the Glass

The rain began before dawn.

By eight in the morning, the city had disappeared beneath a curtain of silver, its skyscrapers

blurred behind sheets of water and its streets glittering beneath the headlights of passing cars.

Elena Hart stood beneath the awning of Blackwood International and stared up.

Forty-seven floors.

Forty-seven floors of black glass, steel, money, and power.

At the very top was the office of the man whose name had followed her through the darkest

three years of her life.

Damian Blackwood.

She tightened her fingers around the leather folder containing her résumé.

She needed this job.

Not wanted.

Needed.

There was a difference.

Her rent was overdue.

Her mother's hospital bills had arrived again that morning.

The small savings Elena had protected with almost desperate care were disappearing faster

than she could replace them.

She had applied to twenty-three companies.

Twenty-three rejections.

Then Blackwood International had called.

The largest corporation in the city. A company people spent years trying to enter.

A company Elena had never imagined stepping into.

And perhaps the strangest part was that she had never applied for the position they offered her.

She had applied for a junior marketing role.

Instead, she had received an interview invitation from the CEO's office.

Personally.

Elena looked at the tower again.

"Just an interview," she whispered.

She took a breath.

"Nothing more."

Then she walked through the revolving doors.

The lobby immediately swallowed her.

White marble stretched beneath her feet. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled the far wall. Enormous

chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light reflected in every polished surface.

Employees moved through the lobby with the hurried precision of people who knew exactly

where they were going.

Everyone looked as though they belonged.

Everyone except her.

Elena adjusted her blazer and approached the reception desk.

"Good morning."

The receptionist looked up with a practiced smile.

"Good morning. How may I help you?"

"I'm here for an interview." "Name?"

"Elena Hart."

The woman's fingers froze above the keyboard.

Only for a second.

Then she continued typing.

"Yes. Ms. Hart."

Elena noticed the receptionist's expression change.

Not much.

Just enough.

"Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."

Elena's stomach tightened.

"Mr. Blackwood?"

"The CEO."

"I thought the interview was with Human Resources."

"So did I."

The receptionist glanced toward the elevators.

"Mr. Blackwood requested to meet you personally."

That wasn't normal.

Elena knew it.

"Why?"

The woman smiled again, but this time the smile looked forced.

"I'm afraid I don't know." She handed Elena a visitor badge.

"Forty-seventh floor."

Elena took it.

The elevator doors opened.

She stepped inside.

As the doors closed, she stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall.

Dark hair pulled into a neat knot.

Simple black dress beneath a gray blazer.

Small earrings.

No expensive jewelry.

No designer handbag.

Nothing that suggested she belonged in a building like this.

She looked ordinary.

And perhaps ordinary was exactly what she needed to be.

Three years ago, being noticed had destroyed her life.

She didn't intend to make the same mistake twice.

The elevator began climbing.

Ten floors.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Elena's pulse quickened with every number.

At thirty-seven, she almost pressed the button to return to the lobby. At forty-three, she almost laughed at herself.

At forty-seven, she stopped breathing.

The doors opened.

A man stood waiting.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit.

No tie.

The top button of his white shirt was undone.

His dark hair was neatly styled, but his expression was anything but welcoming.

He was tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Impossibly composed.

His eyes were the first thing Elena noticed.

Dark.

Cold.

Sharp enough to make her feel as though he had already opened every locked door in her

mind.

He looked at her as though he had been waiting for years.

Elena stopped.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then he said her name.

"Elena Hart."

Her pulse jumped. "Yes."

"I'm Damian Blackwood."

Of course he was.

She had seen photographs of him in magazines and newspapers.

None of them had prepared her for the real thing.

Photographs had captured a handsome billionaire.

They hadn't captured the weight of his presence.

Or the quiet threat in his eyes.

He turned.

"Come with me."

No greeting.

No handshake.

No smile.

Elena followed.

His office was enormous.

One entire wall was made of glass, offering an uninterrupted view of the city below.

A dark wooden desk stood in the center of the room.

There were shelves filled with books, several awards, a bar cabinet, and a few carefully

selected pieces of art.

Everything was expensive.

Everything was controlled.

Everything looked exactly like the man who owned it.

But Elena barely noticed any of it. Her attention had been caught by a photograph.

Two young men stood beside an older couple.

Damian was on one side.

And beside him—

Her breath caught.

Adrian.

She hadn't seen his face in years.

But she'd never forgotten it.

The smile.

The warm eyes.

The small scar above his left eyebrow.

The man she had loved.

The man whose death had destroyed everything.

Elena looked away.

Too late.

Damian had noticed.

"You remember him."

She slowly turned.

"Yes."

"Of course you do."

There was something dangerous in his voice.

Elena swallowed. "Mr. Blackwood—"

"Sit."

She sat.

Damian remained standing.

He walked behind his desk and picked up the résumé she had submitted.

"You graduated with honors."

"Yes."

"You worked for Harrington Media."

"Yes."

"You left three years ago."

Elena's hands tightened in her lap.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I needed a fresh start."

His eyes lifted.

"That's an interesting way to describe disappearing."

Her heart stopped.

"I didn't disappear."

"You left the city."

"I had reasons."

"Your boyfriend died."

Elena stared at him. "You investigated me."

"I investigate everyone who enters my company."

"Not like this."

"No."

His voice became colder.

"Not like this."

He placed the résumé on his desk.

"You were the last person seen with Adrian that night."

Elena stood.

"If this interview is about Adrian, I'd rather leave."

Damian's eyes followed her.

"You loved my brother."

It wasn't a question.

Elena's throat tightened.

"I did."

"How much?"

She stared at him.

"What kind of question is that?"

"An important one."

"I don't think my relationship with your brother has anything to do with a job interview."

"Everything about you has something to do with this interview."

Elena's anger rose. "Then why invite me here?"

"Because I want answers."

"About what?"

"About my brother."

She looked toward the photograph.

"He is dead."

"I know."

"And you think I know why."

"I think you know more than you told the police."

"I told them everything."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you disappear?"

Elena's eyes burned.

"Because I was twenty-three years old and the entire city had decided I was responsible for the

death of the man I loved!"

Her voice echoed through the office.

Silence followed.

Damian's expression changed.

Only slightly.

But she saw it.

Pain. Then anger swallowed it.

Elena forced herself to breathe.

"You think I don't remember?"

She laughed bitterly.

"I remember everything."

Her eyes dropped.

"The phone call."

Her voice became quieter.

"The hospital."

She swallowed.

"Your family looking at me as if I had killed him."

Damian said nothing.

"And then the newspapers."

Her fingers trembled.

"Everyone decided I was guilty before anyone asked what actually happened."

"I asked."

Elena looked up.

"You never asked me."

His jaw tightened.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then Damian said quietly:

"You're right." The admission shocked her.

She had expected anger.

Not that.

Damian looked away.

Then he opened a drawer.

He removed a contract and placed it on the desk.

"You've been offered the position of executive assistant to the CEO."

Elena blinked.

"I applied for marketing."

"I know."

"Then why am I being offered this position?"

"Because I want you working for me."

She stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust you."

Elena almost laughed.

"Then why hire me?"

"Because I don't trust you enough to let you work somewhere I can't see you."

Her anger finally broke through.

"You can't be serious."

"I am always serious."

"This is absurd." "Probably."

He pushed the contract toward her.

"Read it."

She didn't move.

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch."

"I don't believe you."

"Good."

Their eyes met.

Something changed.

The hostility between them remained, but beneath it was something Elena didn't want to

acknowledge.

Awareness.

She became suddenly conscious of everything about him.

The rolled sleeves of his shirt.

The expensive watch around his wrist.

The faint scar near his eyebrow.

The controlled way he stood.

The fact that he hadn't looked away from her once.

Elena hated the way her heartbeat reacted to his attention.

She looked down at the contract.

The salary made her eyes widen.

It was more than double what she had been earning before. Enough to clear the immediate hospital bills.

Enough to keep her mother in treatment.

Enough to breathe.

Damian noticed her hesitation.

"You need the money."

Her hand stopped.

She looked at him.

"Don't use that against me."

"I'm not."

"It sounds like you are."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"Why?"

"Because I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

Elena stared at him.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No."

He leaned back against the desk.

"I expect you to decide for yourself."

For some reason, that answer unsettled her more than a threat would have.

She picked up the pen.

Damian watched silently.

"You really want me here?" "Yes."

"Why?"

His expression hardened.

"Because I want to know what happened three years ago."

She looked down at the contract again.

"And if I don't know anything?"

"Then we'll both find out."

Elena signed.

Her name appeared beneath the agreement.

Elena Hart.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Damian picked up the contract.

"You start tomorrow."

"Eight o'clock?"

"Seven-thirty."

She frowned.

"You said eight."

"I changed my mind."

"You're impossible."

Something almost resembling amusement appeared in his eyes.

Almost.

"You're learning quickly." Elena shook her head.

She gathered her bag.

"Anything else?"

His gaze remained on her.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Don't lie to me."

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

"I don't."

"Good."

She turned toward the door.

"Elena."

She stopped.

She hated the way her name sounded when he said it.

Too familiar.

Too intimate.

She turned.

"What?"

His expression had become unreadable again.

"If you discover anything about Adrian's death while working here, you tell me."

Her brows drew together.

"What am I supposed to discover?" Damian looked toward the city.

"I don't know."

He paused.

"That's the problem."

Elena felt a chill move down her spine.

"Do you think someone killed him?"

"I think someone wanted us to believe we knew the truth."

"And you think I know something?"

"I think you might."

"I don't."

He studied her.

Then he said quietly:

"Maybe you don't."

Elena opened the door.

She stepped into the hallway.

But before the doors closed behind her, she heard him speak.

"I'm sorry."

She froze.

Slowly, she turned.

Damian was standing beside the window.

His back was toward her.

Three years. Three years of silence.

Three years of suspicion.

Three years of being blamed.

And now Damian Blackwood had apologized.

She didn't know what to do with that.

"Sorry for what?" she asked.

He didn't turn around.

"For believing the wrong person."

Elena's heart began pounding.

"What does that mean?"

But Damian said nothing.

The doors closed.

She stood alone in the hallway.

For several seconds, she couldn't move.

Then she walked toward the elevator.

Her mind was racing.

Who had Damian believed?

Why had he suddenly changed his attitude?

And what exactly had happened to Adrian that night?

The elevator arrived.

Elena stepped inside.

As the doors closed, she caught her reflection again. But this time she barely recognized herself.

She had come here looking for a job.

Instead, she'd been handed a contract that could change everything.

She should have felt relieved.

Instead, she felt afraid.

Because one sentence kept repeating inside her head.

Someone wanted us to believe we knew the truth.

The elevator descended.

Meanwhile, on the forty-seventh floor, Damian remained standing by the window.

He stared at the elevator numbers until they disappeared.

Then he returned to his desk.

He opened the bottom drawer.

Inside was a photograph.

Not the family photograph hanging on his wall.

A different one.

An old photograph of Adrian and Elena.

They were laughing.

Adrian had one arm around Elena's shoulders.

On the back, written in Adrian's handwriting, were five words:

She doesn't know. Protect her.

Damian stared at the message.

His jaw tightened. For three years, he'd believed Elena Hart had been responsible for his brother's death.

For three years, he'd hated her.

For three years, he'd told himself that bringing her into his company was about revenge.

But now she was standing inside the walls of Blackwood International.

And Damian knew something he had never told anyone.

Adrian had sent him that photograph two days before he died.

Along with a message Damian had never understood.

If anything happens to me, don't trust Marcus.

Damian closed his eyes.

Marcus.

His father's oldest business partner.

The man who had stood beside the Blackwood family at Adrian's funeral.

The man who had publicly defended Elena's guilt.

The man Damian had trusted for twenty years.

Until last night.

Last night, Damian had discovered a hidden financial account bearing Marcus's signature.

An account that had been active the night Adrian died.

And there was one payment in particular that terrified him.

A payment made to the person who had supposedly been responsible for watching Adrian that

night.

The payment had been made three hours before Adrian died.

Damian opened his eyes. His gaze moved toward the closed elevator doors.

Elena had walked into his life again.

And this time, he wouldn't let her disappear.

Not until he knew the truth.

Even if the truth destroyed his family.

Even if it destroyed him.

His phone rang.

Damian answered.

"Yes?"

A man's voice came through the line.

"She's inside."

Damian's expression hardened.

"I know."

"Then you should know something else."

"What?"

A pause.

"Someone saw her enter the building."

Damian stood.

"Who?"

"We don't know."

"Find out."

"We're trying." Damian's fingers tightened around the phone.

"And Damian?"

"What?"

"She isn't the only person looking for answers."

The call ended.

Damian stared at the screen.

Then slowly looked toward the photograph of his brother.

"Adrian," he whispered.

His voice broke for the first time.

"What did you drag us into?"

Far below, Elena stepped out into the rain.

She had no idea someone was watching her from across the street.

She had no idea that her first day at Blackwood International had already changed the rules.

And she certainly didn't know that the man who had once loved her was not the only Blackwood

carrying a secret.

Somewhere in the darkness, a camera lens followed her.

A photograph was taken.

Then another.

And the message that followed contained only six words:

She's back. Should we finish it?