They didn't ask me if I wanted the job. They never do.
One moment I was sitting in a cramped office with coffee gone cold and a stack of half-finished reports, and the next, my boss slid a slim folder across the desk like it was nothing more than another Tuesday. Inside, crisp paper and a glossy black-and-white photo stared back at me. Square jaw, steel-gray eyes, a man in a suit that
probably cost more than my entire apartment. The name stamped across the file: Cole Maddox.
I'd heard it before. Who hadn't? The tech world's coldest golden boy. Ruthless. Calculated. The kind of CEO who crushed competitors with one hand while sipping scotch with the other. The reports painted him like a storm: unpredictable but devastating. Still, it was only a file, and files don't intimidate me. Men like him aren't supposed to, either.
"This one's delicate," my boss, Avery, said, leaning back in his chair. His tie was half-loosened, the man allergic to comfort but married to stress. "We've been hired to dig. Espionage, insider trading. Some people want Maddox taken down, but nothing sticks. That's where you come in."
I slid my thumb over the edge of the photo. He looked frozen, mid-speech, caught in the glare of a hundred cameras. Too sharp, too polished. "So what's the play?" I asked, though I already knew.
"You're his assistant," Avery said flatly. "Starting Monday."
And just like that, my stomach dropped. Assistant. Which meant close. Every second, every detail. It wasn't the first time I'd slipped into someone's life like smoke under a door, but something about this one—it felt heavier. The man in the picture wasn't smiling. He wasn't even trying. It was like the camera had tried to catch him off guard and failed. He saw everything.
"Close," I echoed, closing the folder. "How close are we talking?"
"Closer than anyone has ever gotten," Avery said. "Get in, dig deep, then disappear."
Monday came too soon.
I stood in front of Maddox Technologies' headquarters, my reflection stretched tall and anxious across the mirrored glass. The building cut into the sky like a blade, all steel and arrogance, and I couldn't help thinking it looked exactly like him—impenetrable, cold, sharp. My new badge burned against my palm as I pressed it to the scanner.
Inside, the lobby was all marble and glass, the kind of place that hummed money. People in sleek suits rushed past me, murmuring into Bluetooths, heels clicking, ties swinging. And there I was—Aurora James, fake assistant, real spy—trying not to look like a fraud.
The receptionist smiled too brightly when she saw me. "Ms. James? Mr. Maddox is expecting you."
Expecting me. That phrase landed like a stone in my chest. I followed her through hallways so spotless they could've doubled as operating rooms. At the end of one, a set of black double doors loomed. She knocked once and pushed them open, motioning me inside.
The room swallowed me whole.
Floor-to-ceiling windows washed the office in pale morning light. A massive desk stood near the center, minimalist and unforgiving, and behind it sat Cole Maddox himself. Not in a photo. Not in a report. Real. Breathing. Watching me.
And God, those eyes.
Gray, just like the picture, but sharper in person. They tracked me with a weight that made the hairs on my arms lift. His suit was charcoal, cut to precision, shoulders broad and posture too straight to be accidental. He didn't smile. He didn't blink. He just studied me, like I was another problem to solve.
"Aurora James," he said, voice low, smooth, threaded with something I couldn't pin down. "You're late."
I glanced at my watch. I wasn't. But arguing with him on day one wasn't part of the mission. "Traffic," I said simply, forcing an easy tone.
His gaze flicked down, then up again, assessing. Like he could peel me apart in seconds. "Sit." He gestured to the chair across from him.
I did, my palms flat against my skirt to hide the faint tremor. The air between us felt…charged. Not warm, not welcoming—more like stepping too close to a live wire.
"You'll answer directly to me," he continued. "My schedule is your schedule. You'll keep me on time, filter out distractions, and anticipate what I need before I need it. Do that, and we'll get along fine. Fail, and you won't last the week."
I nodded once. "Understood."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was testing me. "Why did you apply for this position?"
The truth curled at the back of my throat, dangerous and reckless. I didn't apply. I was placed here, assigned, planted. Instead, I let the lie slip out smoothly. "I wanted a challenge. And from what I hear, no one's more challenging than Cole Maddox."
For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Amusement, maybe. Or surprise. Whatever it was, it was gone too fast to catch.
"You'll find I'm not fond of flattery," he said.
"Good thing I wasn't flattering."
Silence stretched. Then, to my shock, the corner of his mouth twitched—the barest hint of a smile, or maybe just a mistake.
"Interesting," he murmured.
And just like that, I knew two things:
"Cole Maddox was going to be impossible to read."
"I was already deeper than I should be."
The first week blurred into a rhythm of late nights, endless calls, and more coffee than my body could handle. Cole Maddox was everything the file promised: cold, exacting, brilliant. He didn't waste words, didn't waste time, didn't waste anything. And yet, here and there, cracks appeared.
The way his jaw flexed when someone mentioned his ex-partner, Seraphina Cross. The way he lingered by the windows late at night, city lights reflected in those gray eyes like he was seeing something no one else could. The way, once, when I dropped a stack of papers in my rush, he knelt to help me gather them—not a word spoken, but his hand brushing mine, firm, steady.
It should've been nothing. But it wasn't. Not to me.
Every night, I filed reports back to Avery. Data, meetings, movements. I told myself I was staying focused. Professional. Detached. That's what spies do. But when I closed my laptop, Cole Maddox's eyes followed me into sleep. And that scared me more than any mission ever had.
One evening, close to midnight, I lingered outside his office door, files tucked against my chest. The building was quiet, empty, the hum of fluorescent lights louder than usual. Inside, I heard the faint sound of his voice. Not commanding, not sharp. Softer.
I pushed the door open.
He stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, back to me. "No, I don't trust her," he said, voice low, clipped. "Not yet."
My pulse jumped. Was he talking about me?
I froze in the doorway, silent, listening. But before I could catch more, he ended the call, sliding the phone into his pocket. Then he turned.
And his eyes locked on mine.
That was the moment I knew.
Cole Maddox wasn't just hiding from the world. He was hiding something bigger. And if I wasn't careful, I'd be the one caught in it.
And yet… as he studied me, something in my chest pulled tight, traitorous. Because for the first time, I wondered if exposing him was really the mission I wanted to complete.