BOUND TO THE RUTHLESS CEO

CAMILLE

"If he asks you why you're applying for a job below your qualification, do not try to act smart. Just look him dead in the eye and lie like your life depends on it. Because honestly? It kind of does."

That was the last piece of advice Damian gave me before I took the fake identity from him and walked to the Alder Global Tower.

Now, standing on the eighty-second floor, with my feet hurting from the cheap three-inch heels I got on sale, I realized two things. First, Damian was completely right. Second, no amount of advice could have prepared me for the icy, terrifying person that Silvan Alder was.

The air up here was too cold, and the smell of cologne that costs probably more than my entire apartment rent was everywhere. It was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.

I adjusted the collar of my navy jacket. It was a bit too tight around my shoulders, but it was the only work outfit I had that didn't look cheap. My heart was beating like crazy.

"Just stay calm, you are not Camille Bernerd, but Camille Martin. An ambitious twenty-three-year-old girl who just really, really wants to work for the biggest corporate empire in Verona City."

I was carrying a forged document, which Damian had made for me.

The man who orchestrated the takeover that swallowed my father's life work was sitting right behind the heavy doors down the hallway: Silvan Alder.

I hated him, just hearing his name made me angry. I didn't care about the pay, I just wanted to bring him and his company down.

"Miss Camille?"

I jolted slightly. A huge guy built like a wall stepped out from around the corner. He wore a tight dark suit that fit his massive shoulders perfectly, had short hair, and gave me a sharp look like he was checking if I had a weapon.

"Mr. Alder will see you now," he said, inviting me in.

"Thank you," I offered a polite smile that looked more like a nervous twitch. Standing up, I smoothed my skirt and walked past him.

The hall was nice, but Silvan's office was crazy. One whole wall was made of glass, giving a massive view of the city and the snowy mountains. It had black marble floors, a huge mahogany desk, and barely any personal stuff. It didn't feel like a normal office, but it was impressive.

Silvan Alder was sitting behind the desk typing fast on his laptop, not even looking up as I walked in.

At thirty-three, Silvan was unfortunately, the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. He had thick dark hair, a sharp and defined jaw line, broad shoulders that fit perfectly on the custom black suit he wore. But he felt dangerous. You could feel this strong aura in the room, and just tell he was in absolute control.

"Sit," he instructed, his fingers still typing away.

I walked over to the leather chair across his desk, sitting down and placing my hands on my laps.

He finally closed his laptop and looked at me. I froze. His gray eyes were cold, like a villain in a movie, but really intense.

"Camille Martin," he said, reading off a piece of paper. "Twenty-three years old. Top of your class at Verona International Business. Two years at a mid-tier logistics firm in Geneva. Outstanding references. A completely flawless record."

"Yes, Mr. Alder," I said, nodding and trying to keep my voice steady despite the rapid beat in my chest."I believe I'm a great fit for your team."

He leaned back and put his fingers together under his chin. A tiny, dangerous curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, which didn't look like a friendly smile, It was the smile of a cat watching a mouse run into a corner.

"That's the problem," he said softly. "Your resume is too good. A woman with your grades and analytical skills doesn't apply to be a personal assistant. You apply for a high-paying analyst job where you can make six figures within two years. So tell me... why are you here?"

Why am I here?

I gripped the hem of my skirt under the table. Damian had warned me about this question.

"I like being where the action is," I answered, looking him dead in the eye. "Analysts just look at old numbers. A personal assistant works directly with the person making the decisions. I want to see how real power operates."

He didn't say a word. He just stared at me. The silence went for ten seconds. I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner and my heartbeat, panicking was not an option right now. Even when the memory of the girl that walked out of Silvan's office with red eyes from crying crossed my mind, I tried to remain calm.

But I couldn't break. If I broke, my dad's memory remained tarnished forever.

"Real power?" he broke the silence, leaning more closer. "Or direct access?"

A cold drop of sweat traced down from my hair, but I kept a composed posture.

"Access is useless if you don't know what to do with it, Mr. Alder," I responded, letting a bit of attitude slip into my tone. "And if you just want someone who brings you cold coffee and cries every time you raise your voice, you should probably hire someone else."

He looked surprised for a split second before hiding it, slowly leaning forward, resting his forearms on the desk, getting closer. I could smell his cologne, expensive cedarwood and tobacco. It smelled good, which made me even angrier.

He studied my face like a complex puzzle he was trying to solve. He knew I was hiding something, but didn't know what yet.

"You've got a lot of nerve," he murmured.

"I call it competence, sir."

"Is that what it is?" Silvan tapped on the desk twice, his gray eyes never leaving mine. "Most people who come into this room are terrified. They tell me what they think I want to hear. You, on the other hand, are looking at me like you want to fight."

I scoffed inwardly, "I don't want to fight you, Mr. Alder, I just want the job."

He didn't say anything for another long moment. Then, he pulled my printed resume, wrote a single word across the top in blue ink.

"You start Monday," he said flatly. "7:00am in the morning. If you are one minute late, do not bother coming. You'll be fired before you reach your desk."

My goodness! This had worked easier than I planned. I had expected another ten minutes of brutal questioning. I'd prepared answers for my family history, my previous address, and high school grades, everything.

"I won't be late," I said, keeping my cool. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Don't thank me yet," he retorted, looking all serious again.

"Now, about your pay," he rested his hand on the desk. "The base salary for my primary executive assistant is 20,000 dollars monthly. Plus full health benefits, a company card, and performance bonuses paid quarterly at my discretion."

I almost choked on my own spit. 20,000 dollars?!

If added up for a year, that was more than my dad earned. It was enough to pay off my apartment rent, buy a car, pay off debts and still have a decent amount for savings.

Okay, okay, I knew I had boasted of not caring about the salary, but this was too much!

I tried to keep a straight face. I needed to act like a smart business graduate, not a broke girl who couldn't pay her rent.

"That... is very generous, Mr. Alder!," I said, hiding my excitement.

"It's not generous, Miss Camille. It's the price for your full time," he rebutted, staring right at me. "When I call, you answer, when I travel, you come along. Apparently you belong to Alder Global for the time you'll be working here, so If that salary doesn't buy your complete loyalty, then nothing will."

Loyalty to you? Never.

"Understood, sir," I said with a nod.

He stood up, at 6'3", he completely towered over me. He buttoned his black jacket and walked around the desk, stopping right in front of me.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to lean back, but I forced myself to stand up and face him.

"You came into my office expecting to play a game, sweetheart," he whispered, his deep voice giving me goosebumps. "But listen to me carefully. In my world, if you strip for the devil, You give up your soul."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile right back at him. "Good thing I didn't bring my soul to work today, Mr. Alder."

A tiny hint of a smile flashed in his gray eyes. He didn't say anything else. He just pointed toward the door.

"Monday. 7:00 AM."

I turned around, keeping my head held high, and walked out of his office, though my knees felt like jelly. My heels clicked against the polished floor, until the heavy doors finally shut behind me.

Sweetheart? The nerve

.

The huge guard from earlier was leaning against the wall outside, with his arms crossed over his massive chest. He smirked as I passed.

"Good luck, Miss Camille," he said, "You'll need it."

I ignored him and walked straight to the elevator, pushing the button and stepping inside. The second the doors closed, I let out a huge breath. My hands were shaking so much I could barely pull out my phone.

I quickly texted Damian:

I got the job. 20,000 dollars salary.

He texted right back:

Are you sure about this? Money aside, once you're in, it's hard to get out. Silvan Alder is cunning.

I looked at my reflection in the elevator doors. My face was a bit red, but my eyes were steady. I thought about my dad in that cold hospital room, the debt letters, and the bad things the news said about us.

Silvan Alder must have thought he was pulling me into his trap, he thought I was just another weak girl he could scare into submission, but he had no idea what he was in for.

I typed back to Damian: Let him try.

CAMILLE

Walking from Alder Tower to the subway station felt like running a marathon in high heels. My legs were trembling, and my toes were completely numb inside these cheap heels.

I took the crowded train back home. I was living in a cramped two-bedroom apartment above a noisy laundry shop

When I unlocked the front door, the smell of burnt toast hit my nose immediately.

"Cammy?" Mia's called out from the kitchen.

A second later, her head popped around the corner. She was holding a wooden spatula in one hand, her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, wearing an oversized yellow sweater that looked like it had been through ten different thrift stores.

She looked at my face and frowned. "Tell me you didn't throw up on his shoes."

"I didn't throw up," I said, leaning against the door frame to kick off the black heels. The relief was so fast I almost let out a moan. "And I didn't get kicked out either."

Mia gasped, dropping her phone onto the counter and running over. "Wait, are you serious?"

I rolled my eyes, "I start Monday," I said, dropping my bag on the floor. "Seven in the morning."

"Oh my god!" She screamed, running across the small living room, before coming back and throwing her arms around my neck. "You actually did it! You got the job!"

She squeezed me so hard, I felt my ribs crack. I couldn't help but laugh a little, wrapping my arms around her back.

"Okay, okay, let me breathe," I laughed, pulling back. "I can feel my feet bleeding, Mia."

"Who cares about your feet, you beat the ice dragon!" Mia dragged me over to our worn-out gray couch and shoved me down. "Tell me everything. Right now. Did he yell at you? Did he do that scary glare thing people talk about on Twitter?"

"He didn't yell," I said, rubbing my sore heels. "It was worse. He just sits there, looking at you like he already knows every bad thing you've ever done in your life."

"Woah he's really that scary!"

"He's worse than the news says," I muttered. "He has these gray eyes that don't even look real. I swear, Mia, when I told him why I wanted the job, he stared at me for ten seconds without blinking. I thought I was going to throw up my coffee right on his desk."

Mia leaned in closer, folding her legs on the sofa. "But he hired you?"

"He wrote my start date on my paper and told me if I'm one minute late on Monday, he'll fire me before I even hit my desk."

"What an asshole," she said, shaking her head.

"Oh, but wait," I grinned, holding up a finger. "You haven't even heard the best part. When he brought up the pay, I almost choked."

Mia's eyebrows shot up. "What did he offer? Tell me?"

I laughed lightly at her reaction, she was such a drama queen who likes gossip.

"20,000 dollars. Monthly." I spelled out the 'monthly' getting a gasp from her.

She stared at me with her mouth slightly opened as the wooden spatula slipped from her hand, falling on the rug. "Twenty thousand!? That's huge."

"I know!" I squeaked, grabbing a throw pillow and burying my face into it. "If added together for a year, that's more money than my dad made."

"Did you confirm if he pays his previous assistant the same amount, because earning twenty thousand monthly, that's really crazy, for just being an assistant."

I frowned at her. "Who cares about what the previous assistants earned, girl! I saw the look on his face, so I'm sure he was really impressed by my resume."

"That means Damian did a really good job then. I will fake a degree and apply tomorrow!"

"Trust me, you don't want to," I chuckled.

"There's a catch." I let out a dramatic sigh. "He looked me dead in the eye and said the money isn't generous. It's the price for my full time job." I rolled my eyes, mimicking his voice. "So basically, I belong to Alder Global once I get hired. He calls, I answer. He travels, I follow. The man basically bought my soul for twenty thousand dollars." I threw my head back with a fake heave."

Mia started cracking up. "Girl, it's obvious you're being exploited, but at least you're financially comfortable now."

I glared at her, but I couldn't even hide my grin.

"I knew I said I didn't go there for the money," I muttered, leaning my head against the back on the couch. "But damn... my soul definitely sweated for a second."

We bursted into laughter.

Her face softened, the excited smile slowly fading. She reached over and grabbed my hands. "Cam... Are you sure you want to do this?"

"We already talked about this, Mia."

"I know, but I'm serious," she said, rubbing my knuckles. "You need to be careful, my cousin works in corporate law, remember?"

I nodded intently.

"Currently Silvan has a serious pending case, he ruined his own cousins just to get full control of Alder Global. He doesn't have a heart, he has an expensive calculator in his chest." Mia said.

I looked at her in terror.

Was he that bad?

As though reading my thoughts, she nodded, "yes he is, so just be watchful."

I glanced at the picture of Dad on the small table. "I just need his encrypted vault key. Once I get the proof that clears my dad's name, I'm out."

She heaved a sigh, then smiled weakly. "I trust you, I also want justice for Mr.Benered."

"But don't poke around his office when he's present okay"

I nodded like a little kid.

"Don't act suspicious too." She added, sounding like a strict mom.

"Yes ma" I nodded, trying to hold my laughter.

"If he catches you poking around his office or looking for files, he won't just fire you. He'll put you in jail, or worse. You're using a fake resume, and If Silvan Alder finds out who you really are...''

"Yes mom." I responded, making her laugh.

"You're totally crazy, you know that?"

"I know."

"And your shoes smell terrible."

I snorted, throwing a pillow at her. "They were ten dollars. Give me a break."

"Of course ten dollars is very cheap for a new pair of shoes, that's why they are hurting your feet because they lack good support."

I rolled my eyes, feigning to feel hurt.

"Come on," Mia said, sliding off the couch and grabbing my arm to pull me up. "Let's go throw those thrash shoes away and eat my delicious burnt toast. You have two days to learn how to survive the devil."

*************

Monday morning arrived earlier than I expected, even though I'd spent the whole weekend anxious praying for it to come. But now here I am, ughhh!

At 6:30 AM, I was already at work. I needed to make a good impression especially if I wanted to gain his trust and attention.

When I stepped off the elevator on the 82nd floor, the entire executive floor was a bit quiet , with only a few employees who had resumed work.

Initially, I had expected to be the first one here, because I didn't want to run into his scary security chief yet.

I guess I was wrong. When I reached Silvan's office, he was already inside, standing near the giant window, looking over the city. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, muscular forearms covered in dark hair.

Without even turning around, his deep voice echoed through the silence.

"If you're going to spy on me, Miss Camille, at least bring me a fresh coffee."

I was taken aback. How the hell did he hear me? The carpet is literally three inches thick!

I cleared my throat, pushed the door open, and walked in. "Good morning, Mr. Alder. You're early."

He turned around. The cold morning light hitting his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the dark circles under his gray eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept a single minute.

"What are you staring at?"

"I wasn't staring, Sir." I lied, scolding myself inwardly.

He looked at his gold wrist watch, "you're twelve minutes early."

"It should be earlier than that." I murmured.

"Were you saying something?"

"No sir." I gave a fake smile. "Punctuality is a virtue, sir."

"Not when it interrupts my thoughts," he said, walking back to his desk. ''Your desk is right outside. You'll see three black binders on it. Agenda items, financial reports, and board member profiles for the upcoming Alder Global summit. I need cross-referenced, and summarized on my desk by 8:00 AM."

I almost shouted. "That's over five hundred pages of data, Mr. Alder! That will take at least three hours."

He relaxed on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His gray eyes locked onto mine, with a mocking, challenging smirk.

''Then stop standing in my doorway complaining and get to work," he retorted. "Unless, you realize you aren't built for this after all?"

The sarcastic edge in his voice set a sudden fire in my chest. He was testing me, he just wanted me to fail so he could watch me cry and fire me before lunch.

"I'll have it ready, sir," I said, through gritted teeth, giving him my fake polite smile.

I turned around and walked out of his office.

Just as I was seated down, I heard the sharp clack-clack-clack of high heels coming through the hall.

A woman probably in her late thirties was strutting toward my desk, holding a stack of leather folders against her chest. She was wearing a beige designer blazer, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun that looked painful, and her dark red lipstick which stood out.

This was Brenda, the senior coordinator. I'd seen her profile in the onboarding files Damian whipped up for me. She'd been here eight years and basically was in charge of the floor until Silvan personally brought in an assistant seat right outside his door.

She stopped at my desk, giving me a sweeping look, like I was something gross on the bottom of her shoe. "So...," she started, her voice dripping with this fake sweetness. "You're the new girl."

CAMILLE

"Camille," I corrected, putting on a smile and standing up. "Good morning."

Brenda didn't smile back. She just let out a chuckle setting her heavy folders on my desk loudly.

"Twenty-three, right?" She asked, tilting her head. "I saw your file when HR processed your badge, everyone on the floor was surprised Mr. Alder didn't laugh you out of his office. He usually doesn't hire anyone without ten years of experience in London or Zurich. And you're very young."

I tried to sound polite. "Mr. Alder felt my qualifications were sufficient."

Her stare on me was so malicious. "Did he?" She leaned in, her voice turning mean. "Or were you just lucky because he needed someone desperate enough to handle the summit work on short notice?"

Now her voice sounded serious, more like a warning "Listen to me carefully, little girl. This isn't some college internship. If you mess up his schedule, make his tea wrong, or try any funny act on him, you won't just get fired. I will make sure you never get a job in this city again."

Seriously?! I wanted to roll my eyes and laugh. Is this a soap opera?

If only you knew why I'm really here, I thought, clenching my fists.

"I'll keep that in mind, Brenda," I said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get these files ready."

Brenda stared at me for long, clearly annoyed that I hadn't burst into tears like the last girl. She let out a sharp hmph, carried her folders and marched off, her high heels clicking aggressively against the floor.

I took a deep breath and sat back down, pulling up Silvan's schedule on my computer monitor. My phone buzzed on the desk.

Text from Mia:

Did you survive the morning or should I start planning your funeral?

I looked back toward the heavy glass door of Silvan's office, he was typing absorbably.

I typed back:

Survived. His senior coordinator wants to kill me, and the devil expects 500 pages analyzed by 8:00am."

Mia replied, sending a laughing emoji.

I laughed quietly before setting my phone down and getting back at work.

The next hours were totally tiring. As I flipped through the pages, highlighting key figures and typing summary notes on my computer, my eyes kept catching a recurring name.

Adam Alder, Silvan's uncle and the Vice Chairman.

According to these documents, Adam managed the logistics of the company, the exact department my father used to work with three years ago. My fingers tightened around the highlighter.

At 7:50am, I printed out a summary, put it in a blue folder, and walked back to Silvan's office, knocking once before stepping in.

If Silvan never hurried me, I didn't believe I could be this fast, a three hour work was finished in just a few minutes.

Silvan was on his desk, fully dressed in his black suit jacket now, typing rapidly on his laptop. He didn't look up as I approached.

I placed the folder right on the edge of his desk. "Your summary report, Sir. Ten minutes ahead of schedule."

He stopped typing, looked at the folder, then raised his eyes to meet mine. For a second, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his dark features, though he hid it almost instantly.

He picked up the folder and flipped through my notes. The room was quiet. I stood there with my hands folded at my back trying not to smile.

"Not bad," he murmured after two long minutes. He closed the folder and looked at me. "Your notes on the logistics division are surprisingly good, almost makes me wonder if you have personal interest in shipping."

"My father worked in logistics, sir," I answered. "I grew up with him, so I know how it works."

He leaned back in his leather chair, nodding. "That's good, really good. Then he paused, his brows raising in a questioning manner. "And where is your father now, Miss Camille?"

The question hit me like a slap in the face, a cold wave of sadness and anger surged through me.

You ruined his life, you monster!

Of course I wasn't going to say that. "He passed away three years ago."

He stared at me with so much intensity, standing up from his chair and walking towards me in slow steps. His tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow across the desk, stopping two inches from me.

He was way too close. And I could smell his scent of cedarwood and tobacco which made my heart do a weird, sudden flip in my chest.

"I don't like secrets, Camille," he said, his voice dropping into a low, rough baritone that vibrated in the air. Hearing him say my name so casually, sends unwanted electric shocks straight down my core.

"I don't have secrets, Mr. Alder," I whispered, holding his gaze even though every survival instinct was screaming at me to look away.

Silvan reached out. For a second, I thought he was going to touch my face. But his long fingers simply brushed past my cheek to grab a pen resting on the corner of the desk right behind me. His chest lightly touched my shoulder, radiating a heat that made my skin tingle.

He leaned down slightly, his lips so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath.

"Everyone has secrets, sweetheart," he whispered, his warm breath grazing my skin.

"The only difference is, in this building... I will find out what they are."

"The only difference is, in this building... I will find out what they are."

Then he straightened. Whatever had just happened seemed to disappear from his expression. He clicked his pen and returned to his work as if he hadn't just invaded my personal space.

"You're dismissed, Miss Camille."

His voice was back to its usual cool, authoritative tone. "Bring me my lunch and make sure the tea is hot."

What the fuck just happened?

I stood there still in daze of what had happened. My death glare on him could burn his skin. I turned around and marched out of his office, making sure my shoes clicked as loudly as possible on his pristine floor.

When I closed his doors, I sat down at my desk and pressed my cold hands to my hot face. My pulse was racing. He was terrifying, bossy, and way too smart, and the way he got so close to me was making me aroused. Something I often don't feel.

By 12:30 PM, my stomach was growling loudly. I pulled up the cheat sheet Brenda had left in my drawer.

1:00 PM Sharp. Black tea, hot (195°F), no sugar, single drop of lemon. Grilled salmon, plain greens, no dressing.

Somehow I feel Brenda was more than a coordinator, she acts like his wife.

At exactly 1:00, the food cart arrived. A silver-domed tray and a white porcelain teapot. I checked the tea twice, made sure the plate looked perfect, and smoothed down my skirt.

Knocking twice before entering his office. Silvan was on a phone call, speaking in French. He made a lazy motion with his hand, pointing toward the small glass table in the corner of his office.

I carefully placed the silver tray down on the table, the porcelain teacup next to a fresh napkin, and a saucer. I poured the black tea, watching the steam rise in a soft curl. It was boiling hot. Exactly as requested.

I waited patiently with my hands at my back, for him to finish his call so I could be dismissed.

Silvan finally clicked off his headset, tossed it onto his desk, and stood up. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, walking over to the glass table with that slow, dangerous stride that made my chest tighten.

He sat down, looked at the cup and frowned. "Too much."

"Excuse me?"

"The cup." He pointed at it. "You filled it too much."

I stared at him. "I'll fix it."

"And the temperature?"

I looked at him."You want me to check the temperature of your tea, too?"

His dark eyebrow went up. "I thought that was obvious."

Oh, this man

...

I took a breath. "It's hot, sir."

"This is lukewarm, Miss Camille."

"I'm sorry, sir? I brought it straight from the kitchen two minutes ago," I said, feeling the temperature. "The steam was literally..."

"I don't care where it came from," he interrupted, leaning back and crossing his legs. "It's cold. And the lemon ratio is wrong. Did you even taste it?"

"Would you like me to make another one?" I asked.

Gaining no reaction from him, I picked up the tray."I'm sorry, I will take it back down and have them remake it" I said, putting on the fake, sugary-sweet customer service voice I used when I worked retail in college.

"Don't bother," he said, resting his hands on his forehead. "You can't even make a simple cup of tea on your first day; I don't know how you're going to manage my schedule for Zurich."

Fuck professional composure; tea making wasn't part of my job, and he knew that.