Chapter 4 Daisy
With a steaming cup of tea in hand, I made my way upstairs to the library. The house was especially quiet that Friday morning, the stillness giving me the perfect chance to dive into the book Damian Miller had just purchased at auction.
I set my tea on the table and carefully pulled the aged tome from the shelf. The scent of ancient paper rose around me—rich, brittle, and intoxicating. Inside, the words were Latin: elegant, forgotten, mysterious.
I lost myself in its pages, carried along by the rhythm of a language that didn’t belong to my time. Hours slipped by unnoticed until I glanced at the window and saw the sun high in the sky.
It had been a week since my visit to Damian’s office, but the memory clung to me. It followed like a shadow—in every quiet moment, in every long night.
The intensity of that encounter had branded itself into my mind: his piercing eyes, the weight of his voice, the way he’d held me as if he could see straight through my skin to the deepest part of me.
Again and again, I heard his words—From the first moment I saw you, I wondered what it would be like to have you. Entirely.
My pulse quickened just remembering. Guilt pressed down hard. He was my boss. I shouldn’t think of him like this.
The shrill ring of my phone jolted me back. I hurried downstairs to answer.
“Hi, Jenn. You on your way?”
“I’ll be there soon. Any chance you can finish up early?”
“I can. Nothing important scheduled today.”
“Perfect. I’ll be there in two hours.”
“Great. How about we grab a bite first, then head to my place to relax? Later, we can take New York by storm.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
“You still have the address?”
“Of course. See you soon.”
“See you.”
I hung up smiling, determined to push thoughts of Damian aside and return to the book.
Jenn stabbed her fork into a tangled mess of spaghetti and lifted a long strand into the air like some dramatic prop.
“I think I’ve found the world’s longest spaghetti,” she said, swinging it like a pendulum before slurping it down.
“Impressive,” I muttered around a bite of pizza.
She grinned and pointed at my slice. “I’m about to dig into that.”
“I know. The pizza here is amazing.” I cut another piece. “But tell me, what’s up with Mike lately?”
Jenn’s face went dark. “He’s been getting calls from some woman at work. Rings him constantly. Says it’s about a project, but he’s hiding something.”
I set my pizza down. “Have you talked to him?”
“Of course. He tells me I’m paranoid and to stop worrying.”
“He’s not making it easy to trust him,” I said evenly. “Still, I hope you’re wrong.”
She fixed me with a hard look. “And you? What’s going on with Damian Miller?”
“First, he’s not my Damian Miller—he’s my boss. Second, nothing’s going on.”
Jenn raised an eyebrow. “You’re terrible at lying.”
I hesitated. “I was in his office last week. High-rise, luxury everything. Even the lobby felt like a palace.”
“And?” she pressed.
“He’s… interesting,” I admitted. “Kind of attractive.”
Jenn smirked. “Kind of? The man’s a Greek god in those photos.”
“He told me he’s been thinking about me since he first saw me in the store.” My neck warmed with a faint heat.
Jenn slapped my thigh. “Daisy Elfhorn, you’ve got it bad. But honestly, I can’t blame you.”
I snatched the pizza back. “I don’t have it bad. He’s my boss, and I’m staying professional.” I said it because I had to. I said it because I wanted to believe it.
“Well, good luck with that.” She grinned. “But you seem to like it here. The work and the change of scenery suit you.”
“They do.” I tilted my head, steering the topic. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s better. Home a week, getting physio.”
“And the trial—the guy who hit her and ran?”
“He won’t get away with it. Trial’s next year.”
“Next year?”
“Yeah. These things take time.”
I didn’t know much about the legal side.
“Has your dad called?” she asked, twisting open a water bottle. “Told you another one of his stories?”
“Of course. He never calls without half a legend.”
“What was it this time? Lupo, the snake, and the raven?”
“No details. But it sounded like a dark fairy tale—some deal gone wrong, a gun, one of his men shot.”
Jenn went dreamy for a second. “That’s so cool.”
I raised an eyebrow. She blinked, shaking it off. “I meant—shit, that’s really bad.”
Grinning, I pulled a blanket over us and settled back. “I’d love to meet those guys someday.”
“You don’t get the glamour,” she said. “Your father sounds like the Don in a movie. And you, the daughter who fought her way out.”
“The daughter who watched men come to dinner in bloodstained shirts,” I said quietly.
She went silent, then lifted her glass. “Okay, maybe uncool. But I’d still take the money he always offers.”
Jenn raised her glass. “To us.”
“To us,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Later, the club pulsed around us. Neon, bodies, a roar of music that swallowed the rest of the world. We danced until our legs felt like jelly, laughed until our throats ached. For once, I was only Daisy—no Miller, no vaults, no stretching weight of history on my shoulders.
“This is exactly what we needed!” Jenn shouted, grabbing my hand. “Let’s hit the Blue-Villian next.”
“Did you plan this, or just know every club name?” I asked.
“Googled it on the train,” she winked. “Gotta find the best places.”
“Then let’s go. But first—another round of tequila.”
She disappeared into the crowd with a grin.
I swayed to the beat, the lights and noise pulling me loose. For a few hours, I wasn’t the woman standing under his gaze. I was just another body moving with the music, and it felt dangerously, deliciously easy.
We wandered deeper into the night. Neon blinked from every corner. Across the street, Jenn pointed. “That’s the NYX. Only the elite get in. I’d kill to see inside.”
Two bodyguards stood like statues at the entrance, arms crossed, scanning the crowd with unblinking intensity.
No line. No rowdy mass waiting outside. Only a few carefully chosen people lingered near the door.
A man leaned against the wall, phone pressed to his ear, while two women in elegant dresses whispered to each other, eyes darting toward the entrance.
A familiar face.
“Ference?”
“Who are you talking about?” Jenn asked, frowning.
“The bodyguard. He works for Mr. Miller,” I said, pulling her closer.
As we approached, Ference’s eyes locked on us. He gave a small nod, recognition flickering across his face.
“Miss Elfhorn. Good evening. A surprise to see you here.”
I smiled, uncertain. “Hello, Ference. What are you doing here?”
“Working.”
“You have a second job?”
“On weekends, I help out here.”
“I see.”
Jenn waved. “Hi, Ference.” She wiggled her fingers, flashing him an almost innocent smile before pulling me aside.
“Ask him if he’ll let us in.”
“I’m not asking him that.”
“Please, Daisy. We’ll never get another chance.”
I hesitated, then turned back.
“Ference, would you let us into the club?”
He paused. “I don’t know if Mr. Miller would be okay with that.”
I frowned. “What does Mr. Miller have to do with it? I can do whatever I want. He’s just my boss.”
“He’s not just your boss. He’s mine too.”
“So what? Why shouldn’t I be allowed in?”
“Because it’s Mr. Miller’s club.”
“What?” Jenn stared at me. “That can’t be. The NYX belongs to Braolo Offenbach.”
I shrugged. “Mr. Miller took it over from his long-time friend Offenbach four months ago.”
“I see. Is Mr. Miller here tonight?”
“No. Haven’t seen him.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Another bodyguard stepped forward, sharp eyes cutting across us.
“Everything alright, Ference?”
“Everything’s fine. These two are with Mr. Miller.” Ference motioned calmly for us to enter.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Yeah, thanks,” Jenn added.
Ference stepped aside. We passed through a corridor lined with velvet carpets. Crystal chandeliers glowed against dark wood panels and gold trim. Paintings filled the walls—each one a quiet display of wealth and power.
“Just through that door,” he said, pointing to a heavy wooden door at the back. “Miss Elfhorn.”
I turned.
“Be careful. In there, the rules are different. I don’t want trouble because of you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell them Jenn knew someone who got us in.”
He nodded, relief flickering in his eyes before closing the barrier again.
We moved into the main lounge. Private booths hid behind red velvet curtains.
The hall itself was vast, ceiling high, the bar curved along one wall, lit in soft blue.
The dance floor spread wide at the center, surrounded by seating.
Everywhere, bodies moved—men in tailored suits, women in gowns.
The air carried perfume, money, and the faintest trace of cigar smoke.
The DJ booth loomed on a raised platform. Music pounded, loud but not deafening. The atmosphere gripped me. Exclusive. Intoxicating. A nervous edge tightened anyway. Luxury dripped from every corner. In this place, anything felt possible. For a moment, I let the glamour drag me under.
“You really have an interesting job, Daisy,” Jenn said. “Who would’ve thought you’d meet Damian Miller and end up here?”
“Does your boss maybe have another opening at his company?”
“You’re studying veterinary medicine. What would you do in an office?”
“I’m only in my first semester. I can always switch,” she joked.
I laughed, raising my glass before taking a sip of my cocktail.
“I think if we order more than three drinks here, we’ll be broke by the end of the month.”
“One has to treat herself now and then,” Jenn grinned, knocking back the rest of her drink in one go.
“Hey, ladies. Enjoying the evening?” A man leaned against the counter beside Jenn—good-looking, confident.
She laughed. “What gave us away?”
“Maybe the fact that you’re having more fun than the rest of the room combined. That kind of thing stands out.”
Jenn winked. “Then we’ve done everything right.”