The looming structure in front of me is daunting—fifty floors of gleaming, pitch-black glass streaked with tiny beads of moisture from the morning mist. My stomach churns as I stare at it. What have I done? Accepting Olivia's offer late last night might be the worst decision I've ever made.

  Please help me, Dad.

  Clutching my bag, I adjust my plain professional outfit. It's the best I have, but it feels laughably inadequate next to the expensive suits bustling around me. The morning commute swarms with purpose-driven individuals entering and exiting towering buildings, their confidence palpable. How do I even approach someone here? Do I need an appointment? Olivia's instructions were clear: floor 38, immediately. But unease gnaws at me as I feel eyes on me. They're judging. My attire. My presence. My very being. What if they know who I am?

  Oh God.

  I lower my gaze and step inside, avoiding all eye contact. The hum of conversations swirls around me like whispers in the wind. I dart to the elevator, my heart pounding as the doors close and I'm finally alone. The ascent is both too fast and too slow, each passing floor tightening the knot in my stomach. By the time the elevator dings open, I'm breathless.

  The floor is stunning. Words catch in my throat. The marble glistens under dim, elegant lighting, white and red blending into a sophisticated symphony. Priceless paintings adorn the walls. Rows of sleek couches line one side, while gleaming trophies dominate the other. "Business of the Year," among others. Whoever runs this place is clearly a force to be reckoned with.

  And then there she is—Olivia. She sits by herself near a set of double doors, looking up as I approach. Her face lights up with a smile.

  "Finally! I'm free." She rushes over and wraps me in a tight hug. I freeze. Physical affection is foreign to me, but she doesn't seem to notice.

  "I'm joking," she says with a laugh, stepping back. "Come, sit."

  We talk as she walks me through office protocols. There's a lot to learn—innovative systems, cutting-edge technology, all of it overwhelming. Olivia navigates it effortlessly, her confidence contagious. She makes me feel at ease as the day unfolds. Her boss is away on business, she explains, and it's a rare reprieve.

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  "He's a machine," she says, almost with awe. "Never stops. But make no mistake, he's merciless. One slip-up, and you're out." Her voice lowers conspiratorially. "His mother runs the company from the shadows, the most formidable woman you'll ever meet. And his girlfriend?" She sneers. "A gold digger, through and through."

  Her tone turns serious. "Don't cross him. Don't argue. And whatever you do, don't fall for him. He'll chew you up and spit you out."

  I'm not sure what to say, so I just nod. She slides a list across the table.

  "Here are his daily requirements. You'll be with him 24/7. Your life? Forget it. It's all about him now."

  She's rushing through her explanations, glancing at the clock. I raise an eyebrow. "You're in a hurry."

  She stops, sighs, and spins to face me. "Yes. I need to get out of here. He's a rock between me and my boyfriend. I'm always working, never free. I despise him."

  Her outburst surprises me, but I offer a calming smile. "I understand. Relax."

  She exhales and squeezes my hands. "You're perfect for this job. Just promise me, don't fall for him. He has no heart."

  Neither do witches.

  The week is a blur. Olivia guides me through the office, though she keeps me away from her boss's workspace. I learn about his preferences, his schedule, and his reputation. By week's end, Olivia's gifted me a car and a key to a luxurious apartment.

  When I step inside, I'm overwhelmed. The spacious interior, the designer furnishings—it's a far cry from my old life. Tears well in my eyes. Dreams I never dared to dream have come true.

  The next day, Olivia helps me shop for decor, and together we transform the apartment into a home. By Monday, I'm ready for work. I dress carefully in a knee-length skirt and a soft pink blouse, my hair neatly tied in a bun. Olivia's advice echoes in my mind: No open hair. He hates it.

  I stand before the mirror, taking in my reflection. Confidence radiates from me. My once-slim figure now boasts curves I've grown to love. For the first time, I feel ready.

  The office is abuzz when I arrive. Tension crackles in the air as people rush about, murmuring nervously. I grab a coffee and head to my desk, the list of his preferences in hand. My heart races as I knock on his office door. No response. I knock again. Still nothing. After a moment's hesitation, I push the door open.

  The space takes my breath away. Black and white elements blend seamlessly, the décor exuding power and precision. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a misty view of New York, the soft light filtering through like a halo. My hand brushes the glass as I move toward it, marveling at the beauty.

  Then I see him.

  A shadow shifts near the far wall. He stands by another glass panel, his back to me, broad shoulders outlined in sharp relief.

  "You're late." His voice cuts through the silence, smooth but icy. My knees buckle. The coffee cup slips from my grasp and shatters.

  I freeze. He turns.

  The world stops. Our eyes lock.

  "What the hell are you doing here?"