CHAPTER 2 – First Day
Elara didn't remember how she got back into the elevator.
Her mind was still echoing with his words.
You're hired.
The doors closed softly, and only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding since she walked into his office. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her skirt, trying to steady herself.
This wasn't how interviews were supposed to go.
No panel. No long questions. No "we'll get back to you."
Just one man. One look. One decision.
When the elevator opened on the twenty-fifth floor, a woman in a sharp navy suit was waiting.
"You must be Elara Quinn," she said briskly. "I'm Miranda. Follow me."
They moved quickly through endless glass corridors. People glanced at Elara, some curious, some pitying.
"Has he already scared you?" Miranda asked without slowing.
Elara hesitated. "I… I don't know yet."
Miranda let out a short laugh. "You will."
They stopped in front of a small desk just outside the CEO's office.
"This is you," Miranda said. "You answer his calls, manage his schedule, organize his meetings, filter his emails, and try not to cry in public."
Elara blinked. "Try not to—?"
Miranda was already walking away.
The desk was clean. Too clean. Not even a pen. It felt like a test.
She sat down carefully, like the chair might disappear.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Then the phone rang.
She jumped.
"Yes— I mean— Blackwood's office, Elara speaking."
Silence on the line.
Then his voice.
"Bring me the quarterly reports. Now."
The line went dead.
She hadn't even been told where the files were.
Panic rose in her chest, but she stood up and went searching. The office felt like a maze. Everyone looked busy, irritated, or both.
Finally, a kind-looking man pointed her to the archive room.
She grabbed the wrong folder first.
Didn't realize until she was standing in front of Alexander's desk again.
He looked at the file. Then at her.
"This is marketing."
Her stomach dropped. "I'm so sorry, I—"
"Do not apologize," he said calmly. "Fix it."
She nodded and rushed out, face burning.
By the time she returned with the correct reports, her hands were sweating.
He took the folder without a word.
She waited for him to yell.
He didn't.
He simply said, "Sit."
She sat.
He flipped through the pages silently, eyes scanning faster than she could follow. The room felt heavy with tension.
"You made one mistake," he said finally. "That's acceptable. You corrected it. That's rare."
She looked up, surprised.
"You're nervous," he added.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. It means you care."
No one had ever said that to her before.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of tasks she barely understood—emails, calls, schedules, meetings she wasn't allowed to attend but had to prepare.
At 7 p.m., the office was nearly empty.
Elara was still typing.
The door behind her opened.
She turned.
Alexander stood there, coat in hand.
"Why are you still here?"
"I didn't finish everything."
"You start at eight tomorrow," he said. "Go home."
She hesitated. "But—"
"That was not a suggestion."
She stood up quickly. "Good night, sir."
As she walked toward the elevator, she felt his eyes on her back.
Alexander remained standing in the doorway long after she left.
He didn't understand it.
She was inefficient. Inexperienced. Quiet.
And yet… the office felt strangely empty without her presence.
For the first time in years, he realized something unsettling.
He was already paying attention to someone he had no intention of needing.