The next day, while the office buzzed with activity, the atmosphere shifted the moment Simon entered the room with Henry. The low hum of conversation died instantly as all the employees stood, greeting him with polite nods and uneasy glances.
Simon's lips curled into a smirk as he surveyed the room. "How's everyone doing?" His voice was smooth, but the sharp glint in his eyes kept everyone on edge. "Today, I have an exciting opportunity to offer," he continued, his tone deceptively light. Yet, no one dared to relax.
Stella exchanged a glance with Earlene, who merely shrugged. Something about this felt off.
Simon casually adjusted the cuffs of his suit. "My secretary, Henry, is being transferred to another branch of Blackstone." A murmur rippled through the employees, tension thickening in the air. "Which means," he continued, his smirk deepening, "I need a new secretary."
A few gasps echoed across the room. Eyes darted around, some filled with barely contained excitement, others with dread.
"Since I have such a talented team, I thought I'd make things fair," Simon said, holding up a sleek black box. "Inside this box are chits with all of your names. Henry will pick one at random."
The room went dead silent. Some employees clasped their hands together in silent prayers, while others held their breath, hoping to remain invisible.
Henry reached inside, his fingers sifting through the slips of paper before finally selecting one. Slowly, he unfolded it.
His expression remained unreadable as he read the name. Then, in a clear voice, he announced, "Mrs. Stella."
All heads turned toward her. Some eyes burned with jealousy, others with curiosity. Stella felt her pulse quicken. She didn't like attention, especially not this kind. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she forced a small, nervous smile.
Simon's gaze locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. "Mrs. Stella," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Pack your things. You're coming with me to your new office."
Stella swallowed hard and gave a stiff nod, her unease deepening.
Something told her this wasn't just about work.
Stella packed her belongings and stepped into the elevator with Simon. As she reached out to press the button for the 29th floor—the floor designated for the secretary's office—Simon's hand shot out, stopping her.
Her brows knitted together. "Isn't that where the secretary's office is?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion.
"No," Simon replied smoothly, pressing the button for the 30th floor instead.
Stella's frown deepened as the elevator doors slid open. She hesitated for a brief moment before following him out. The last time she had been on this floor, there were only two rooms—both belonging to Simon. But now, it seemed, one of them had been designated for her.
"To be honest, none of this makes sense," she murmured under her breath, trailing behind him.
Simon, overhearing her, smirked. "Are you doubting your own skills, Mrs. Winchester?" he asked, pushing open the door to her new office.
Stella sighed, placing the box of her belongings onto the desk. "No, but—"
"No buts," Simon cut in, handing her two sheets of paper. "This is my schedule, and this is yours."
Stella took the papers and gave a small nod.
"These are your tasks," he added, his tone firm, before turning on his heel and leaving the office.
Now alone, Stella took a deep breath and looked around. The office was nothing short of grand—dark wood accents gave it a sleek, minimalistic appeal. A large desk dominated the center, a high-end PC sitting atop it. Two chairs faced her from the opposite side, meant for visitors, and a massive, eerie painting loomed on the wall ahead, its presence almost unsettling.
She slid into the plush chair, running her fingers over the polished surface of the desk. It was comfortable—too comfortable.
Shaking off the lingering unease, Stella focused on her work. Hours passed as she meticulously organized schedules, managed tasks, and reported everything to Simon as required.
Despite everything, an unsettling feeling gnawed at the back of her mind.
Meanwhile, Simon sat in his office, his fingers drumming against the polished mahogany desk, his mind already several steps ahead of the day's events. His sharp eyes flickered to the glass partition separating him from the outside world, but his thoughts remained locked on one thing—Stella.
She was good. Too good.
Her efficiency was almost unnatural, the way she had already adapted to her role as his secretary with precise execution. Every document he needed was neatly arranged, his schedule meticulously updated, and not once had she faltered in her responsibilities. It was as if she had spent years preparing for this position, though he knew better.
But skill alone wasn't enough.
No, he needed to push her—mentally, emotionally, physically. He needed to see how much she could take before she cracked.
Because this wasn't just about work.
This was a carefully laid trap. A web of intricately woven strings designed to ensnare her, to keep her bound to him. The more she worked under him, the deeper she would sink into his world, and soon, she wouldn't be able to claw her way out.
She had no husband, yet she remained shackled to the memory of a dead man, a ghost whose presence lingered in her every action. It sickened Simon to see her devotion wasted on someone who no longer existed, and he had every intention of erasing that devotion—whether by drowning her in his madness or forcing her into submission.
Tomorrow would be the first step. The first test.
Simon's lips curled into a smirk as he imagined the frustration, the helplessness that would flicker across her face when she realized what he had done. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.
The next morning, as Simon stepped into his office, his gaze immediately fell upon his desk.
Neat. Organized.
She had already been here.
His schedule for the day was placed in its usual spot, each appointment written in crisp, meticulous handwriting. Everything was in perfect order, just as he liked it.
Good girl.
He picked up the papers, his fingers gliding over the smooth surface as he skimmed through the list of meetings and engagements for the day. His eyes halted on one particular entry.
Meeting with the French delegates.
A slow, dangerous smirk crept across his face.
This was going to be fun.
Reaching for the phone, he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He dialed the number with unhurried precision, waiting as the line connected.
"Mr. Gareth, you have the day off," Simon said smoothly.
A brief pause. Then, a hesitant voice responded.
"But, boss, I'm the translator for today's meeting with the French delegates," Gareth said, confusion evident in his tone.
Simon's smirk never wavered.
"I know," he replied simply. "And when I give an order, you follow it. Take the day off."
There was silence on the other end, as if Gareth wanted to protest, but he knew better than to argue with Simon Winchester.
"Understood, sir," Gareth finally said.
Simon didn't bother responding. He simply ended the call, his fingers lingering over the receiver for a moment before he set it down.
This meeting wasn't about business.
This was about Stella.
Watching her struggle. Watching her squirm as she faced something she wasn't prepared for.
She was smart, but intelligence wasn't enough. He wanted to see how she would handle this. Would she crumble? Would she lash out? Or would she rise to the occasion, proving to him once more that she was worthy of his attention?
Either way, Simon would win.
And soon, Stella would realize she was already caught in his game.