From assistant to wife - when loyalty turns to love

AYLA'S HOUSE

11:00AM

The soft, broken sound of coughing filtered through the cracked bedroom door.

Ayla Moore's eyes snapped open. It was still dark outside, the early morning silence broken only by that too-familiar sound. She threw the covers aside and rushed out of her small room barefoot, her heart heavy with worry.

In the dim glow of the living room, her mother lay curled up on their threadbare couch, coughing into her sleeve. Her shoulders trembled, and her skin had a sheen of sweat.

"Mom," Ayla whispered, kneeling beside her. "You're burning up again."

Her mother shook her head weakly. "Go back to bed, baby. I'm fine."

"You say that every time." She placed a hand gently on her mother's forehead and sighed. Still warm. She helped her sit up and supported her back with pillows before heading to the tiny kitchen to prepare her medication and a cup of warm tea. The cupboards were half-empty. She had to ration again.

This wasn't the life she imagined.

Once, Ayla had dreams. She had even been accepted into a university on a full scholarship. But when her mother collapsed one night and was diagnosed with a chronic respiratory illness, everything changed. Hospital bills, medications, daily care-there was no way to juggle studies and survival.

And there was no one else.

Her father had died before she was born, and her twin sister-if the story her mother told was true-had died in infancy. She often wondered how different life would've been if her sister had lived. Would they have supported each other? Would there have been less silence in the house? But those were questions she'd stopped asking years ago.

After making sure her mother was resting comfortably again, Ayla returned to her room and changed into one of her three decent outfits. A plain blouse, a long skirt, and flats that had seen better days. Her résumé was tucked inside a worn brown envelope. She looked at herself in the mirror-her deep brown eyes looked older than her nineteen years. But she smiled anyway.

"You can do this," she whispered.

The day stretched long and unrewarding. She walked through the city, submitting résumés, waiting in lobbies, and enduring countless rejections.

👥 "We're not hiring."

👥 "Try again in six months."

👥 "You don't have enough experience."

👥 "Overqualified."

The answers blended into one dull ache in her chest. She didn't know how to gain experience when no one gave her a chance. Still, she didn't cry. Not yet.

By noon, the heat was unbearable. She sat on a park bench to catch her breath, pulling out her water bottle. Her phone buzzed.

"Unknown Number"

She hesitated before answering.

"Hello?"

"Miss Ayla Moore?" A deep, polished voice came through. "This is Global Corp. We received your résumé last week. Are you available for an interview at 2:00 p.m. today?"

Her heart skipped. "Yes! Yes, I'm available. Thank you."

The call ended. For the first time in weeks, she smiled. A real interview at a real company.

~~~~

GLOBAL CORP

Two hours later, she stood in front of a towering glass building. The name GLOBAL CORP was embossed in gold above the entrance. She walked in with her head high, trying to ignore the security guards' disgusted glances at her worn shoes.

After checking in at the reception, she was directed to the top floor. Her palms were sweaty as she entered the executive suite. The office was grand with floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, leather chairs. Everything screamed luxury.

"Sit," a deep voice said.

She turned to find a tall man in his forties standing near the desk. Dark hair, expensive suit, and eyes that didn't hide where they were looking.

"Yes, sir." She sat uncomfortably, clutching the envelope in her lap.

He walked around the desk slowly, not taking his eyes off her.

"You're Ayla Moore," he said, stopping a little too close.

"Yes."

"You are an interesting candidate." He said with a smile.

"Thank you sir." She replied, smiling slightly.

"You're quite... eager," he murmured, a smirk playing at his lips.

"I'm hardworking, punctual, and I learn quickly," she replied, keeping her voice steady.

He ignored her résumé and instead leaned on the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. "You know, Ayla, I like loyal women. Women who know how to be... flexible."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You scratch my back, I scratch yours. I can make sure you're well taken care of. A personal assistant, perhaps? Or something more private." His eyes dipped lower than her face.

Ayla stood instantly, her heart thudding. "I came here for a job, sir. Not this."

"But if you want the job, you have to please me." He said.

He took a step closer, one hand reaching out to touch her arm.

Slap.

The sound echoed through the office. His cheek reddened from the blow.

Ayla's hand trembled slightly, but her voice didn't.

"Don't ever touch another woman like that again."

His face contorted with anger. "You'll regret this."

"No," she said, opening the door, "you will."

She walked out without another word, head held high, ignoring the stunned receptionist as she passed.

Outside, the city noise hit her like a wave. Her legs shook, but she kept walking. Her vision blurred with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

She took the long way home.

By the time she arrived, the sun was low, casting a soft orange hue across the cracked walls of their apartment. Her mother was asleep again. The only sound was the ticking clock in the kitchen.

Ayla sat by the window and pulled her knees to her chest.

She was tired. Angry. Hurt.

But not broken.

She stared out at the city lights beyond the rusted bars and whispered to herself, "I'll find a way. Somehow."

And she meant it.

To be continued.....