Chapter 2 The Devil in a Suit

The reception area of Kane Technologies was a world away from the polished opulence Isabella once called home, but it still radiated power, cold, calculated, intimidating power.

Glass walls. Black leather. Chrome surfaces. Everything was sharp and minimalistic, like the company had stripped itself of emotion and left only ambition behind.

Isabella adjusted the second-hand blazer she borrowed from Natalie and tried not to fidget. Her heels, once designer, were scuffed. Her hair was tied in a tight bun to look more professional than desperate. But no matter how hard she tried to pull herself together, she still felt like an imposter in a world that no longer belonged to her.

She clutched her printed résumé tightly in her hand and glanced at the woman behind the front desk.

"Miss Sinclair?" the receptionist said coolly, barely looking up. "Mr. Kane will see you now."

Mr. Kane.

She'd done a quick search after applying. Alexander Kane was a billionaire tech mogul, infamous for being brilliant, ruthless, and completely emotionless. The media called him the "Ice King of Silicon Alley." A self-made genius who took his startup from a garage project to a global empire in under a decade.

He was the kind of man her father would've admired.

The kind of man she used to mock at charity galas.

Now... he was her potential employer.

Her stomach twisted as she followed the receptionist down a sleek hallway and into a large corner office.

He was facing the window, back to her, hands clasped behind him. The skyline stretched endlessly beyond him, a view not unlike the one from her father's penthouse.

But everything about this man, his energy, his silence, felt more dangerous than the fall she'd just lived through.

"You're late," he said without turning.

Isabella blinked. "I, I'm right on time, actually."

He turned.

And she forgot how to breathe.

Alexander Kane wasn't just intimidating. He was devastating.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a custom black suit that hugged his frame with effortless authority. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jawline sharp, and his eyes, icy blue and piercing, felt like they could see straight through her.

God, he was beautiful. But there was no warmth in that face. No kindness.

He looked at her like she was a problem waiting to be solved.

"I don't hire people who arrive on time," he said flatly. "I hire people who arrive early."

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Great. Strike one.

Alexander moved behind his desk and sat, gesturing for her to do the same. She perched on the edge of the leather chair, acutely aware of how out of place she looked in this temple of power.

"I've read your résumé," he said without glancing at the papers in front of him. "And I'm going to assume every third line is an exaggeration or an outright lie."

She stiffened. "I assure you, Mr. Kane, I'm qualified."

"You're not," he cut in smoothly. "You're not qualified at all. No work history. No real experience. No certifications. A degree in Art History from NYU. A few charity events that you probably attended for the wine, not the work."

Her cheeks flamed.

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "So tell me, Miss Sinclair... why are you here?"

She inhaled slowly. "Because I need this job. And because I can learn."

"Everyone says that."

"But not everyone knows how to survive with nothing."

That made him pause.

For the first time, his eyes narrowed with interest. He studied her closely. "And what do you know about surviving?"

"I know what it's like to fall from the top," she said, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. "I know what it's like to lose everything overnight. I've learned how to make coffee, take the subway, and fight for things I used to take for granted. I know how to work through the night if I have to. I'm not afraid of pressure anymore. Because pressure is all I have left."

A long silence followed.

Then, unexpectedly, he smirked.

Not smiled. Smirked. The kind of expression that was half challenge, half condescension.

"Interesting answer," he said, reaching for a folder. "I like broken things. They tend to fight harder."

She flinched at that.

"I'll hire you," he continued casually. "Starting tomorrow. You'll report to me directly. Your title is Executive Assistant. Your salary is eight thousand per month. Don't be late. Don't complain. And don't expect praise."

Isabella blinked. "That's it? I'm hired?"

"You'll be on probation for 90 days. If you make one mistake, you're gone."

"Understood," she said quickly.

"Also..." He stood, towering over her. "You'll need to sign an NDA and a zero-tolerance policy. I don't tolerate gossip, distractions, or romantic entanglements in my office."

She felt his words settle like ice on her skin.

"I'm not here to flirt," she said, chin high. "I'm here to work."

His lips twitched. "Good. Because I have zero interest in pampered heiresses playing dress-up in a corporate world they don't belong in."

He walked to the window again, dismissing her with his silence.

But before she could leave, he added, "Your father was Richard Sinclair, correct?"

She turned, surprised. "Yes."

"I met him once. He said the biggest weakness in business... was emotion."

Isabella's chest tightened.

"He was right," Alexander said coldly. "Let's hope you don't let yours get in the way."

Isabella stepped out of his office with trembling hands, unsure if she had just taken a step forward... or walked straight into the devil's lair.