Chapter 5 Unveiling the Unexpected: A Clumsy Encounter and a Mysterious Saviour

The moment I heard the name Charles Goldberg ,a chill ran down my spine. It couldn't be the same person. Charles Goldberg? The playboy billionaire who graced every tabloid cover, known as much for his business acumen as for his revolving door of women? What have I gotten myself into? I thought, adjusting my suit in the mirror.

But I couldn't back out now. My disguise as a man would protect me. He would never know. I was going to be one of many in his empire, just another faceless assistant.

"I have no choice," I whispered to myself, adjusting my tie one last time. "It doesn't matter who he is. I'll play my role, and he'll never suspect a thing."

Downstairs, I could hear the usual sounds of home-my mom humming softly in the kitchen and Olivia pacing as she scrolled through her phone.

"I got the job, Mom," I said, leaning into the kitchen doorway, trying to sound casual. "I'll be staying at Emma's place for a while, just until I get settled. But I'll visit when I can."

My mother wiped her hands on a dishcloth and turned to face me, concern etched into every line of her face. "Are you sure about this, Charlotte? You've been through a lot recently..."

"I know," I interrupted gently, avoiding her gaze. "But I need this. A fresh start."

She sighed, pulling me into a warm hug. "Just... take care of yourself, alright? And be careful."

"I will," I promised, squeezing her tight.

Olivia popped her head in from the living room, grinning as she threw her arms around me. "Don't think you're leaving without saying goodbye to me! I'll visit you. You won't get rid of me that easily."

I laughed, ruffling her hair. "I wouldn't dream of it. I love you, Liv."

As I walked out the door, the weight of my lies pressed down on me.

This is for the best, I reminded myself. It's the only way to escape the past.

---

Charles

The morning felt like any other-ordinary, predictable, and dull. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the pile of résumés scattered across my desk. Interviews. Again.

"Sir, the interviews are about to start," one of my assistants announced, peeking into my office.

I nodded absently, already bored with the prospect. I knew what to expect-average people with average skills, none of them capable of keeping up with me or my empire. Being a billionaire wasn't just about wealth; it was about control, precision, and dominance. I wasn't interested in anyone who couldn't match my pace.

I stood, adjusting the dark gray suit that hugged my frame, every stitch custom-tailored to perfection. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me, a reminder of who I was. I was Charles Goldberg, and the world was mine to command.

---

The first few candidates were nothing special. One of them could barely look me in the eye, another couldn't stop stuttering. A waste of time, all of them. I scribbled dismissive notes on their résumés, growing more frustrated by the minute.

The door creaked open again, and I didn't bother looking up immediately. Another applicant. Another disappointment, no doubt.

But when I glanced up, something caught my attention. The man standing in front of me was tall, dressed in a sharp black suit and white shirt. His posture was confident, though something about the way he held himself seemed... hesitant. Like he wasn't entirely comfortable in his own skin.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to place the familiarity. Had I seen him somewhere before? Maybe at a business event or on TV? I couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Goldberg," he said, his voice steady but carrying a hint of uncertainty.

"Sit," I instructed, motioning toward the chair across from me. "Let's get started."

---

Charlotte

My palms were sweating as I sat down, but I kept my hands tightly clasped on my lap. The disguise was working, or at least it seemed to be. Charles Goldberg hadn't looked twice at me. The plan was holding.

He started with business questions, topics I'd prepared for-strategies, market trends, supply chain management. I felt the tension ease as I responded confidently, my years of shadowing my father's business dealings coming in handy.

But just as things seemed to be going well, disaster struck.

As I reached for the glass of water on his desk, my hand knocked over his cup of tea. The amber liquid splashed across his pristine white shirt, staining it instantly. My heart plummeted.

Charles stood up abruptly, his eyes flashing with rage. "What the fuck?" he barked, the words slicing through the air like a whip.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, grabbing napkins from his desk to blot the mess.

"Get out," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Now."

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away, swallowing the lump in my throat. I grabbed my things, offering a shaky apology before rushing out of the room. My heart pounded with humiliation as I fled down the hall.

---

Charles

I couldn't believe it. That idiot had ruined my shirt, my day, and my mood. I barely cared who the next candidate was. At this point, I just needed someone to fill the position.

I stormed out of the office, heading toward my car. But as I reached the parking lot, I noticed a group of men lurking near my vehicle. Their faces were hidden beneath hoods, and their postures were too casual, too rehearsed.

Before I could react, they were on me. One shoved me against the car, another swung a fist into my gut. Pain exploded in my ribs as I hit the ground, gasping for air. They kicked me repeatedly, their voices a blur over the ringing in my ears.

I tried to fight back, but my vision was fading, my strength slipping away. This was it. This was how it would end.

Then, out of nowhere, a shadow moved. A figure darted into the chaos, fists flying with precision. I heard the crack of bones breaking, the sound of bodies hitting the ground. The attackers crumbled one by one, their weapons knocked away in a flurry of swift, brutal movements.

I lay on the ground, blinking through the haze of pain, trying to focus on the person who had just saved me.

The figure turned toward me, stepping into the light, but their face was still hidden in the shadows. They knelt beside me, offering a hand to help me up.

I squinted, trying to make out their features, but my head was swimming with confusion. Who was this person?

There was something oddly familiar about them-the way they moved, the way they stood. My mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory.

"Who are you?" I croaked, my voice barely audible through the pain.

The figure hesitated for a moment, then turned abruptly, disappearing into the night without a word.

I sat there, stunned, the question echoing in my mind.

Who the hell just saved me?

I lifted my chin, straining to catch a final glimpse of the mysterious savior before they vanished completely into the darkness.

And then it hit me. The clumsy man from earlier. Could it have been him? Or was my mind playing tricks on me?

Whoever it was, I needed to find out.