Chapter 3 HER NAME IS ZARA

The executive floor of Orion Tower had a rhythm of its own.

Silence wrapped in money. Smooth footsteps on imported marble. Laughter that never reached the eyes. Everyone walked like they knew secrets they'd never tell.

Amara was beginning to learn the dance. Her second day on the job began with a 7 a.m. email from Damian titled "URGENT: Reschedule Tokyo Call. Fly documents to VI courthouse by 9." No greeting. No signature. Just raw expectation.

She was halfway through a voice call with the company's legal adviser when the elevator dinged behind her.

Heels clicked sharply against the floor. Fast. Confident. Loud enough to be intentional.

Amara turned.

The woman who walked in looked like she'd just stepped off the cover of Forbes Africa.

Slim, statuesque, caramel-skinned, and commanding. A high ponytail pulled her bone-straight weave back with military precision. Her red lipstick didn't smudge when she smiled-and her smile wasn't warm.

"Hi there," the woman said. "You must be the new girl."

New girl.

Amara rose slowly, instinctively defensive. "Amara. Personal assistant to Mr. Okoye."

The woman's brows lifted in mock surprise. "Oh, that position. How... unexpected."

She walked right past her and pushed open the door to Damian's private office without knocking.

Amara blinked.

Wait, what?

Wasn't that-?

She quickly crossed to her own desk and tapped a message into the company phone:

Sir, someone just walked into your office unannounced. Should I intervene?

Seconds later, her screen lit up:

No. That's Zara.

No explanation. No warning. Just Zara.

Ten minutes later, the door opened again.

Zara walked out, smiling-really smiling now. Her lipstick somehow still perfect. She paused in front of Amara's desk and set down a small lavender envelope.

"For you," she said sweetly. "Welcome gift. I always make it a point to be... gracious."

Amara opened it after she left.

It was a note. Handwritten. Slanted cursive. Elegant. Cold.

> "Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart.

Some jobs come with expiration dates.

XOXO, Zara."

Amara stared at the note, stunned.

Later that afternoon, she asked one of the junior execs during a break, casually: "Who's Zara?"

He laughed. "Zara Usoro? She's the original gatekeeper. Damian's longtime PA-slash-everything. We all thought she'd be made executive coordinator this quarter."

"She wasn't?"

He leaned in, grinning. "Nope. Word is-he bypassed her. Appointed someone new. You, right?"

Her stomach dipped.

"She's also... close to him?" Amara asked, forcing a light tone.

"Let's just say, if she ever wore white to work, the rumor mill would shut down. Everyone thinks they have... history."

Amara swallowed hard.

That evening, after most of the staff had gone, Amara was still working through the logistics of an investor dinner when Damian called out to her from his office.

"Come in."

She stepped inside, clutching her tablet.

He was seated on the couch, sleeves rolled up, eyes scanning a report.

"Sit," he said without looking up.

She obeyed.

A pause. Then: "Zara dropped by?"

"Yes, sir."

"She was polite?"

Amara hesitated. "If that's what you want to call it."

His mouth twitched. Was that a smirk?

"I didn't replace her with you," he said suddenly.

Amara blinked. "What?"

"She wasn't your predecessor. Her role is different."

"But she thought-"

"She thinks a lot of things," he cut in. "What matters is that you don't let her get into your head."

She looked down at her hands. "That's hard when she's practically a walking warning sign."

"She's loyal. Sharp. And dangerous if crossed. But you'll manage."

Amara raised her eyes slowly. "Why me, Damian?"

His gaze darkened slightly at the use of his name.

"Why did you hire me?" she pressed. "You don't know me. I'm underqualified. And now I'm being threatened by someone who's clearly been in your life for years."

The air stilled.

He stood, walked to the window, and placed a hand in his pocket.

Then he said, voice low:

"Because you look like someone I once knew. But you don't act like her. That intrigues me."

Her heart skipped.

What?

Before she could ask more, he turned around. "Dismissed. Go home. Rest. You'll need energy for tomorrow."

Amara stood slowly, legs shaky.

As she reached the door, he added: "And Amara..."

She looked back.

"Next time Zara hands you a note... hand her one back."

That night, Amara wrote down a new list in her journal.

To Survive This Job:

1. Ignore Zara.

2. Get your paycheck.

3. Stay invisible.

4. Don't fall for Damian Okoye.

5. Seriously. Don't fall.

And yet, lying in the dark, she could still feel the weight of his eyes on her.

And the echo of his words:

"You look like someone I once knew."