Isabella Hart sat stiffly in one of the leather chairs of Blackwood Enterprises. Around her, a dozen women lounged like they were at an audition for a reality show. Some of them held their mirrors in front of them, re-applying makeup, while some tried to stuff their bra and push up their cleavages. It was almost comical
"God, can you imagine being scolded by Adrian Blackwood?" a tall blonde giggled, applying another coat of lipstick. "I'd melt into the floor."
"I heard he has a temper," another whispered, lowering her voice theatrically. "The last nanny spilled juice on his Armani suit. She was fired before she could say sorry."
"That's just what makes him so… delicious." The brunette in the corner smirked. "The power. The money. The looks. Who wouldn't want to tame him?"
Isabella shifted uncomfortably. Her thrift-store blouse suddenly felt two sizes too big, her flats embarrassingly plain beside their designer heels. She lowered her gaze to her lap, muttering under her breath.
"I'm not here for him. I just need the job. For Mom."
Her chest tightened at the thought of her mother lying weak in her hospital bed, cancer eating her body away while bills piled higher and higher. Isabella had already lost her father. She couldn't lose her mother too.
The lounge doors dinged as the elevator slid open.
The chatter stopped.
Every head turned.
And then he stepped in.
Adrian Blackwood.
The women straightened instantly. Chests pushed out, lips pouted, legs crossed. They obviously wanted to get his attention. But Adrian didn't even glance at them.
"Lord have mercy," someone whispered.
Isabella's palms went slick. She had seen pictures of him in magazines, articles about his billion-dollar fashion empire. But photographs didn't do justice to the raw power radiating from him. He was like a storm barely contained in a human body.
The assistant at his side clutched a clipboard. "Applicants will be called one at a time. Please wait until your name is announced."
One by one, the candidates were ushered into Adrian's office. None of them lasted long. They came out pale, some near tears, others cursing under their breath.
"Impossible man."
"He asked questions no nanny could possibly answer."
"Good luck to whoever's next."
Isabella's stomach twisted tighter with each passing name. Finally, the assistant's voice rang out.
"Miss Isabella Hart."
Her knees felt like jelly as she rose, clutching her folder. Breathe. Just breathe. For Mom.
The office door shut behind her with a soft click.
She froze.
He didn't look up.
"Name," he said flatly, flipping through a stack of papers.
"Isabella Hart."
His eyes lifted and locked on hers.
It was like being struck by lightning. He studied her, unblinking.
"You don't look like the others," he said finally, voice cool.
"Is that a bad thing?" Isabella asked meekly.
His lips twitched, almost like a smirk. "Sit."
She obeyed, trying not to fumble with her folder.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, sharp eyes assessing her like she was another business proposal. "Why do you want this job?"
Her throat went dry. She could lie and say something charming, rehearsed. But she had no energy for games. "Because I need it. My mom's sick. Cancer. I can't afford the bills. I'll work hard. I don't care about anything else."
Silence. He watched her like he was testing the weight of her honesty.
Then he leaned forward. "You'll start tomorrow."
Her mouth parted. "I…what?"
"You heard me. The position is yours."
Shock rippled through her chest. Relief, too, though she barely had time to process it before—
The office doors slammed open.
"Adrian!"
A woman stormed in on stiletto heels, designer dress clinging like a second skin. Her lipstick was red enough to bleed.
Adrian's jaw clenched. "Vanessa."
"You bastard," she snapped, tossing her bag onto his desk. "You think you can cut me off? I want my child support."
Isabella froze, wide-eyed.
Adrian rose slowly, his presence towering, dangerous. "Child support?" His voice dripped venom. "You don't have custody, Vanessa. I do. My daughter lives with me. I pay her bills. I hire her caretakers. What exactly do you think you're owed?"
Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "Money, Adrian. The money you owe me for the years I carried her, raised her, put up with your neglect."
"Neglect?" His tone sliced through the air like a blade. "When you had custody, I wired money every month. Tens of thousands. And every time I came to visit, my daughter was in clothes too small, eating scraps, looking like she hadn't been bathed in days. Where did that money go, Vanessa? Certainly not to her."
"Don't you dare accuse me…"
"I don't need to accuse," he cut her off. "I have proof. Receipts. Photos. Witnesses. You never wanted custody. You wanted a paycheck."
Her face flushed crimson. "You arrogant bastard!"
Adrian slammed a hand on the desk, making Isabella flinch. "You barged into my office demanding money, while my daughter…our daughter, needs stability, not your greed. You failed her. That's why the courts gave her to me."
Vanessa's voice cracked, but her anger only sharpened. "One day she'll hate you for taking her mother away from her. You can't buy her love. You can't control everything forever, Adrian!"
His jaw flexed. "Her mother that doesn't give a shit about her. Tell me, Vanessa, when was the last time you called? Or even tried to see our daughter?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Adrian's voice thundered on. "Not birthdays. Not holidays. Not even when she was sick with the flu and crying for her mom. You didn't show up. You didn't care."
Vanessa's nails dug into her palm, fury flashing in her eyes. "You think you're better than me?"
"I don't think. I know," he bit out. "Because while you were chasing parties and sleeping with different men, I was the one holding her through her nightmares. Feeding her. Loving her. So don't come into my office demanding money you'll never use on her."
Her mask cracked, shame flickering before rage swallowed it whole. "Go to hell, Adrian."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Vanessa snatched her bag furiously as she stormed out, muttering curses under her breath.
Adrian exhaled sharply, turning back toward Isabella. "Tomorrow. Seven a.m. Don't be late."