Chapter 2 Walking on Glass

The Langford Enterprises HQ was a sleek, cold fortress of glass and steel, the kind of place where ambition thrived and mistakes were punished in silence. Amelia walked through the lobby with a pounding heart, her heels clicking like gunshots on the marble floor.

She had survived her first day, barely.

Now, on Day Two, she was still an imposter in a borrowed suit, praying no one would ask too many questions.

Her desk was positioned just outside Alexander Langford's office, close enough to smell the cologne he wore, but far enough to feel completely insignificant. She had reviewed the assistant's guidebook all night and rehearsed how to answer phones, schedule meetings, and pretend like she belonged.

"Coffee," came his deep voice through the intercom. "Black. No sugar."

Her fingers fumbled with the receiver. "Right away, Mr. Langford."

She moved quickly, grateful for the excuse to escape his presence for even a few minutes. Every time he looked at her, it was like he saw right through her lie, like he was just humoring her before tearing her story apart.

When she returned with the coffee, he was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, London's skyline shimmering behind him. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled, shirt unbuttoned at the neck.

"Set it there," he said, not turning around.

She did as told, but her eyes lingered. He looked like something out of a magazine, wealth, power, and brooding silence all rolled into one perfect storm. And yet, he felt lonely.

"I hope it's not too strong," she said softly.

He finally turned to face her. "That depends. Did you make it yourself?"

"I... yes."

He studied her for a beat too long. "Then I'll let it slide."

Was that... humor?

Her lips twitched. "You don't strike me as the joking type, Mr. Langford."

"I'm not." He sat down and opened his laptop. "But I am curious about you."

Her breath hitched.

"I had an assistant last week," he continued, typing. "Competent. Efficient. Soulless. You, on the other hand, seem... very human."

"I can fix that."

"Don't."

That one word made her chest tighten unexpectedly. For a moment, they just looked at each other, not boss and assistant, not billionaire and girl with a secret, just two people, toeing the edge of something dangerous.

Later that afternoon, she sat at her desk proofreading an event memo when a voice startled her.

"Is he as cold as they say?"

She turned to see a beautiful woman in a tailored white pantsuit, polished, poised, and glowing with inherited confidence.

"Sorry?"

The woman smiled. "Alexander. I'm Lady Isabella Wycliffe. Old friend. Well, more like family. You're the new PA, I assume?"

"Yes. Amelia. Nice to meet you."

"Hmm." Isabella looked her over, not cruelly, but curiously, like someone inspecting a new handbag. "He's hard to impress. But then again... he's a Langford."

She leaned in slightly. "Keep your head down, dear. And don't fall for him. It never ends well."

Then she breezed away, her perfume lingering long after she was gone.

Amelia sat frozen. It wasn't a warning. It was a challenge.

And maybe, deep down, part of her wanted to rise to it.

Alexander's voice came through the intercom again.

"Cancel my dinner meeting. I've got something more interesting tonight."

A pause.

"And tell me, Amelia... do you own a dress?"