Your John Miltons Secretary and being immune to his charms
Youād worked for John Milton for almost a year. The New York office thrummed like a cathedral to ambitious lawyers whispering sins behind silk ties, marble floors reflecting the glow of the damned. You kept your heels silent, your voice steady, your eyes level.
He liked it far too much.
Most women who crossed his path melted under that molten charm, that strange gravity he carried. You, however, were something different. You answered him without trembling. You looked at him when he spoke. Sometimes you even had the nerve to cut him off.
Heād watched her in silence for months. The way she answered his calls with her head held high, the way she brushed off his teasing with a small, knowing smile that never once betrayed fear.
Heād offered her everything power, wealth, desire itself wrapped in silk and you only raised an eyebrow, saying softly,
āI think Iām doing just fine, Mr. Milton.ā
That was the first time heād felt something that wasnāt control.
He tried the same old games the whispers, insinuations, the faint brush of his hand near yours but you didnāt waver. In that moment, something strange happened. Milton realized, with a sudden jolt that startled even him, that it was he who was losing control. You werenāt falling for him. He was falling for you.
Weeks later, when another man dared to ask you out, you accepted without hesitation. Milton saw it happen from the doorway, the glint of polite amusement on your lips as you agreed to meet. For a heartbeat, he thought he could observe calmly. But jealousy, raw and unrestrained, surged through him.
āWhat is this?ā he murmured to himself in the quiet of his office later, pacing like a caged predator. A Mortal men who insignificant compared to him, fragile compared to his ancestral being was touching you, laughing with you, sharing moments that should belong to him and only him. His possessiveness, previously subdued and dormant, now threatened to overtake his composure.
The night he finally saw you with him smiling, relaxed, animated, unaware of Miltonās dark shadow across the street everything broke. He had never lost control before, never allowed himself to feel the sting of something so purely human. Yet, there he was, heart hammering, chest tight, mind spiraling with thoughts of what it meant that you could be touched, charmed, claimed by another.
He stepped forward, unseen, trembling in ways that startled even him. The possessiveness, the desire to claim, to protect, to own all surged forward like a tidal wave. Milton realized, finally and terrifyingly, that the rules didnāt apply here. You were his, in ways he couldnāt quite define, and yet you were free, radiant, untouchable by his hand. And for the first time, he didnāt care to hide the storm that raged beneath the surface.
Because the moment had come: the Devil had fallen. And in that fall, he would do whatever it took to make sure you belonged only to him.
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