Chapter 1Feeding On My Ruthless Boss

I used to be a ghost in the neon haze of the city—a pureblood succubus masquerading as the most expensive escort in the most exclusive high-rise clubs. In my last life, I flew too close to the sun. I played too hard with the heir to a political dynasty, a mistake that ended in his accidental death and my own brutal murder.

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in hell. I was in the sprawling, gilded estate of the Emerson family, reincarnated as Janice, the pampered daughter of a high-ranking political strategist—a man they call the Kingmaker.

I had planned to spend this second life in quiet luxury, hiding my true nature within the thick walls of the manor. But a succubus is a creature of hunger. Lately, my skin has been humming with a restless, agonizing heat. My instincts are screaming.

As fate would have it, the city’s most powerful figure—a man whose influence rivals that of the President—has issued a summons. It’s an "Elite Selection," a strategic social vetting for the daughters of the nation’s power players. The prize is a position in the inner circle of the "Blackwood Empire."

Rumor has it that Killian Blackwood, the head of the empire, is a man possessed by a primal, volcanic energy. They call him the "Executioner" in boardrooms and a "Demon" in private. The whispers are scandalous: he’s obsessed with dominance, with the bite of leather, and he possesses an endurance that borders on the supernatural.

The women who have been "selected" before? They say they were carried out of his penthouse on stretchers, broken by the sheer intensity of his appetites.

The debutantes of the city are terrified. I’ve heard of girls trying to shave their heads or eloping with gardeners just to escape the "honor" of his bed. My father, the Kingmaker, has aged ten years in a single night, even whispering about sabotaging his own career just to keep me off Killian’s radar.

But me? I listened to the rumors and felt a familiar, wicked smile tug at my lips.

"A man who brings his own toys and never runs out of steam? A high-octane tyrant with energy to burn? Honey, that’s not a nightmare. That’s an all-you-can-eat buffet."

* * *

The selection took place at the Blackwood Plaza, in a ballroom that felt more like a throne room.

Outside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and desperate fear. The other girls stood with slumped shoulders, looking like they were waiting for the guillotine. My father’s hand was a vice around my arm, his palm slick with sweat.

“Janice, listen to me,” he hissed. “When it’s time for the draw, stay in the back. Do not catch his eye. The man is a monster. Entering that inner circle is a death sentence.”

I nodded obediently, but my heart was hammering a different rhythm.

The succubus within me was clawing at my ribs. I licked my lips, my eyes fixed on the velvet-lined box on the dais. A man with a relentless drive and a penchant for the whip?

He wasn't a monster. He was my cure.

“Mr. Blackwood has arrived.”

The room went dead silent. Everyone bowed their heads as if a god had walked in.

Killian Blackwood was a silhouette of sharp lines and dark shadows. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that looked like armor. He moved with a predatory grace up the marble stairs, the embodiment of cold, masculine power.

I swallowed hard. The contrast was intoxicating. In public, he was the picture of ascetic restraint. In private? A man who lived for the burn. My legs pressed together instinctively.

The selection began.

One by one, the debutantes stepped forward, pulling white cards from the box—the signal that they were safe. They would exhale, offer a shaky thank-you, and practically run out of the room.

Then it was my turn.

My father tried to hold me back. “Janice, just grab any card and get out!”

I shook him off and stepped forward with a confidence that turned heads. As I passed Killian, I executed a calculated stumble.

I’m a pureblood; I know how to fall. I did it with a precision that ensured I collapsed directly toward him. It was a move designed to let him catch my scent—the unique, pheromonal musk of my kind—and feel the curve of my body against his.

Except, he didn't catch me.

Killian stepped a half-inch to the side with surgical indifference.

I hit the polished floor with a dull thud. It hurt like hell, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from swearing.

A wave of muffled giggles rippled through the room. Tiffany, a socialite known for her razor-sharp tongue and fake "innocence," leaned over with a smirk.

“Oh, Janice. Are you that desperate for a man? Even a common gold-digger knows not to trip over the King himself.”

I ignored her, pushing myself up and smoothing my dress. Fine, Killian. Play it cool.

I walked to the box and reached inside. There was only one card with a raised embossed seal—the one I’d paid a staffer a small fortune to place there. I gripped it and held it high above my head.

“I’ve been selected.”

The room gasped. My father’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted right there on the carpet. Tiffany’s face contorted into a mask of pure jealousy. “That’s impossible! How could she get it?”

I turned to Killian, a daring smile playing on my lips.

“Mr. Blackwood, when do I move into the penthouse?”

I was already imagining the leather and the long nights.

Killian turned to look at me. His gaze was heavy, lingering on my face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.

“Who said anything about the penthouse?”

I blinked. “Isn't this a selection for your… personal circle?”

Killian let out a cold, dry chuckle and turned to his Chief of Staff. The man stepped forward, adjusting his glasses, and announced in a booming voice:

“By order of Mr. Blackwood: The selection for a domestic partner is indefinitely suspended.”

He paused, looking directly at me.

“However, the Emerson daughter, having drawn the seal, is hereby appointed as the Executive Assistant to the Chairman. A three-month probationary period begins tomorrow.”

The silence lasted two seconds before the whispers exploded.

I stood there, stunned. I’m ready to strip, and you’re giving me a desk job?

Killian stopped in front of me, looking down from his towering height.

“Janice Emerson, right?”

“Yes,” I managed.

“Six a.m. sharp in my office. Be late by thirty seconds, and you’re fired.”

He swept past me without another word.

I watched his broad shoulders disappear into the inner sanctum, my temper beginning to simmer. Oh, I see. You want to play the boss-assistant game? You want the thrill of the forbidden office tryst?

Fine, Killian. You have no idea what you’ve just invited into your office.