Rain drizzled steadily over the cracked pavement as Amina adjusted her worn headscarf and checked her phone again—6:42 AM. She was early, as always. The city was still quiet, but the towering glass building in front of her hummed with distant activity. Kareem & Associates, the silver letters gleamed across the entrance, like a promise she wasn't sure she belonged in.
Amina had never stepped inside a building so clean, so cold, so… unreachable. But today was her first day. A cleaning job might seem small, but to her, it meant food on the table, school fees for her younger brother, and a chance to dream bigger. She took a breath, whispered a prayer, and walked in.
The marble floors mirrored her footsteps. Receptionists in blazers gave her brief, uninterested glances. Her job supervisor, Mariam, handed her a uniform and gave her a quick tour.
"You clean early, before anyone comes in. No talking to the staff unless they speak to you. And whatever you do—stay out of Mr. Kareem's way."
Amina frowned. "Mr. Kareem?"
"The boss," Mariam said with a tone somewhere between fear and admiration. "You'll know him when you see him."
Amina nodded silently. She had no intention of talking to anyone, let alone a powerful man like Mr. Kareem. People like him didn't even see girls like her.
But fate has a strange sense of humor.
Just as she turned into the hallway to clean the conference room, the elevator doors slid open.
And there he was.
Tall. Sharp suit. Expression like carved stone. Idris Kareem.
She quickly lowered her gaze, stepping aside to let him pass. But for a fleeting second, their eyes met.
And something shifted.
He kept walking.
She held her breath.
And outside, the rain began to fall harder. The scent of lemon polish hung faintly in the air as Amina wiped down the edge of the long mahogany conference table. The room was quiet, but her heart hadn't stopped racing since that brief moment in the hallway.
She'd seen powerful men before—on TV, in newspapers—but something about Idris Kareem unsettled her. Maybe it was the way his eyes had met hers. Cold, unreadable, and yet… not entirely indifferent.
"Focus," she whispered to herself, scrubbing harder at an invisible mark on the glass wall. She couldn't afford distractions. Not here. Not when her mother had used the last of their money to buy her bus fare into the city.
Her shift ended at 10:00 a.m., long before the office filled with its army of lawyers and assistants. But as she was gathering her supplies, she heard voices—low and urgent.
"…I said no, Charles. We're not settling for anything less than fifty million."
That voice. Calm, deep, commanding.
Idris.
She froze behind the doorway, her instincts telling her to move, but her curiosity nailing her in place. He was pacing the floor of his office just ahead, phone pressed to his ear. He wore power like a second skin, like it was his birthright.
Then, without warning, he turned sharply—and saw her.
Their eyes locked again.
This time, his gaze lingered.
Amina's breath caught.
"Give me a moment," he said into the phone, lowering it slowly. "You. Cleaner. What's your name?"
She swallowed hard. "Amina."
"You're new."
"Yes, sir."
He studied her for a moment. Not leering. Not kind. Just… searching. "You missed a spot," he said, pointing to the edge of the glass wall.
Her face flushed hot. "I'll fix it right away."
But before she could rush forward, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Next time, don't eavesdrop on private conversations. Even accidentally."
Her stomach dropped. "I—I didn't mean—"
"Don't let it happen again."
He turned and walked back into his office.
The door shut softly behind him.
Amina stood there, breathless and ashamed—but also something else.
Something dangerous.
Curious.
Drawn.