Chained to the CEO

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the top floor of Boateng Holdings. Vernissa clutched her slim black folder tighter, her freshly polished nails digging into the faux leather. Her heels clicked nervously against the marble floor as she stepped out, greeted everyone instantly by the sterile chill of air conditioning and an eerie silence.

Everything looked expensive-too expensive. From the velvet grey walls to the glass office panels and chrome details, it screamed power. And somewhere at the end of that hallway was him-Kwame Boateng, the man they called the Ice Boss.

"Don't let the silence fool you," the HR lady had warned. "He's sharp, observant, and doesn't tolerate mistakes. Be early. Be efficient. Be invisible."

Invisible she said;

That word had stuck with Vernissa since her final interview. She had prepared for this job like her life depended on it, because in a way-it did. She needed the money. She needed the new beginning. But most of all, she needed to prove to herself that she was no longer the scared girl who took whatever was handed to her.

Straightening her blouse, she knocked once on the glass door labeled "CEO."

"Enter," came the voice-low and clipped.

She opened the door and stepped in. The office was more intimidating than she'd imagined. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the city skyline. The sun cast long shadows across a minimalist desk behind which sat the man himself.

He didn't look up. His eyes were glued to a file in front of him, fingers flipping pages quickly, like time owed him something.

"I'm Vernissa," she said softly, someway panicking ,clearing her throat. "Your new personal assistant."

Still no glance.

"You're late," he said.

She blinked, stunned. "Sir, it's 7:58-"

"I expected you at 7:45. My time starts before 8. If you're not early, you're late."

She swallowed her pride and nodded. "Noted."

"Sit. You have three minutes to brief me on today's schedule."

She sat on the edge of the chair, fumbling slightly with her folder, then caught herself. No. Not today. She'd rehearsed this.

"8:30, finance check-in with Director Mensah. 10:00, conference call with the Tokyo investors. Lunch at 12:15 with Mr. Lartey from Accra Bank-confirmed this morning. Your afternoon is blocked for internal reviews and the legal team's update. You also have-"

He finally looked up.

His eyes were sharp, almost silver in the morning light. His face was carved like a statue-elegant and cold. And yet, something about his gaze made her pulse race.

"You're not as shaky as the others," he said bluntly.

"I came prepared."

"We'll see how long that lasts."

He stood, buttoned his navy suit, and walked past her without another word. She scrambled to follow, heart hammering. Was that approval? A warning? She couldn't tell.

By midday, she had already

Delivered two lattes (the first too sweet, the second "barely acceptable").

Missed a call from the legal team (the intern hadn't passed it on).

Been told twice not to breathe so loudly near his office.

And yet, Vernissa stayed calm and was never worried.

Even when a senior executive spilled coffee on her blouse and barked at her to "know her place," she held her tongue.

This was not a job for the weak. But she wasn't weak anymore.

At 6:45 p.m., the building was mostly empty. Vernissa sat quietly in her corner desk outside the CEO's office, eyes heavy but fingers still typing. Mr. Boateng stepped out, briefcase in hand. He paused when he saw her.

"You're still here?"

"You said not to leave until the Tokyo report was ready. I was just about to email it."

He tilted his head. Studied her. "Most assistants quit before sunset."

"I'm not most assistants."

A beat passed between them.

"You made three errors today," he said. "Tomorrow, make none."

Then, without another word, he left.

Vernissa exhaled.

Day one-survived.

But deep down, something told her this man wasn't just ice. No... there was fire beneath that calm exterior. And one wrong move could burn her entire world.