Anya stood in front of the giant glass tower of the Volkov Group, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. The building felt like a symbol of his power, a cold, unfeeling monument to everything he was. She clutched her handbag, her knuckles white. Today was the day. She was going to walk into the lion's den, and she hoped she wouldn't get eaten alive.
She walked through the front doors, the cold air conditioning a shock against her skin. The lobby was a world of white marble, shiny steel, and quiet, well-dressed people. Everyone moved with a purpose. They all belonged here. Anya felt like a small, lost bird that had flown into a cage.
A security guard checked her name on a list and gave her an access card. She clipped it to her new, professional suit and took a deep breath. She was Anya Petrova, the new finance intern. Nothing more, nothing less. She stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the thirtieth floor. The doors closed, and the silence was heavy and thick. She was alone with her fear, but also with her new resolve.
The doors opened on a wide, open-plan office. Desks were arranged in neat rows, and the air was filled with the soft hum of computers and the quiet clicking of keyboards. A woman with short, sharp hair and a no-nonsense look met her at the elevator.
"You must be Anya. I'm Elena, the finance department manager. Welcome to Volkov Group." Elena's voice was all business. She led Anya to a small desk in the corner. "This will be your space. You'll be helping with data entry and report checking. Simple stuff to start. We expect our interns to be hardworking and smart. Don't disappoint."
Anya nodded, her voice a little shaky. "I won't."
Elena gave her a quick rundown of the office rules, and then she was left alone. Her desk was small, with an old computer and a stack of papers. She sat down and started to work. It was boring, simple work, but she did it with a fierce concentration. She wanted to be the best intern they had. She wanted to prove she was smart, that she deserved to be here. She wanted to make a name for herself, a name that wasn't tied to that one terrible night.
The first few days were hard. The work was endless, and the hours were long. She would leave the office late, her mind tired, her body aching. But every time she felt like giving up, she would remember his face. She would remember the money, the check he had sent to buy her silence. And she would push herself harder.
She quickly learned her way around the office. She made friends with a few of the other interns, but she kept them at arm's length. She couldn't let anyone get too close. She was here for a reason, and she couldn't risk her secret getting out.
She also learned about the unspoken rules of the Volkov Group. The top floors were off-limits. Mr. Volkov was a ghost. He was rarely seen, and when he was, it was always with a cloud of bodyguards around him. He came and went in his private elevator, a silent, powerful presence. She heard stories about him, about his coldness, his ruthless business decisions, his dark past. The rumors were just stories, but they felt very real to Anya.
One day, she was asked to deliver a report to a higher-level manager on the fifty-fifth floor. It was a simple task, but her heart started to pound in her chest. The fifty-fifth floor was close to the top floors, the ones where Lex Volkov worked. This was the first time she would be so close to him.
The elevator ride up felt like forever. When the doors opened, she was in a different world. The floor was quiet, luxurious, and the air smelled of rich leather and expensive perfume. The people here were senior managers, all dressed in designer clothes, their faces serious and focused. Anya felt small again, a little girl playing a dangerous game.
She found the manager's office and delivered the report. As she turned to leave, she saw a door at the end of the hall. A large, dark wooden door, guarded by two big men in suits. This was the door to the top floors. The door to his world. She stared at it, her mind a blank. He was just on the other side of that door. Her hands began to shake.
A deep, powerful voice came from behind her. "Lost, miss?"
Anya froze. The voice was smooth, low, and filled with a cold authority. She knew that voice. It was him. She turned slowly, her heart in her throat.
He was standing there, in a perfect dark suit, looking like he had stepped out of a magazine. His face was a mask of cold beauty, his stormy eyes clear and sharp. But as she met his gaze, she saw a flicker of something, a shadow of recognition in his eyes. It was gone as soon as it appeared. He just looked at her, a beautiful, powerful stranger. He didn't see her. He didn't know her. She was just a face in a crowd, a girl he had never met.
"N-no," she stammered, her voice a small whisper. "I'm the new intern. I was just delivering a report."
His eyes went over her, a quick, assessing look. He saw her simple suit, her nervous hands, her young face. He saw a nobody.
"The intern floor is thirty floors down," he said, his voice as cold as ice. "Don't wander."
He then walked away, a silent, powerful force, and went to the dark wooden door. The bodyguards opened it, and he disappeared inside, leaving her alone in the quiet, empty hall.
Anya stood there for a long time, her body trembling. He hadn't known her. He had looked at her, and he hadn't known her. The scar above his eyebrow was a small, perfect line, a memory she would never forget. But to him, she was a stranger.
A terrible, cold anger rose in her. She wasn't just a face he could forget. She wasn't just an intern he could dismiss. She was Anya Petrova, and she was here for a reason. She would make him remember her. She would make him see her, not just as a body, but as a person. She would make him understand what he had done. She wouldn't just be a ghost in his machine; she would be a part of it, a part he couldn't ignore.