Signed To The Ruthless CEO

Oh-no... no, no, no!"

The scream tore from Valerie's throat before she could even blink . Her head didn't just ache; it throbbed violently, as if her skull were a drum being beaten . Every nerve sending a raw ache , and screaming with a sharp, relentless pain that refused to stop.

Where am I ? Please, God, what did I do?

She tried to push herself upright, but her muscles protested. The room didn't just spin; it made her feel nauseous. As her vision finally cleared, her breath dry, then died in her throat.

Clothes-her favourite dress, now nothing more than pieces of fabric-were scattered across the cold floor. They were torn, crumpled, and utterly ruined. A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature raced down her spine as the weight of her nakedness hit her. Her skin was a design of aftermath: dark, fingerprint-shaped bruises evident on her pale flesh, and angry red hickeys formed designs across her neck, her shoulders, and the soft curve of her thighs.

She looked wreaked. Used. Wretched. And then she saw it-the faint, unmistakable traces of blood staining the white bedsheet beneath her.

Her heart didn't just skip a beat; it seemed to stop entirely, leaving a empty space in her chest.

Valerie tried to stand, but her legs were like water, wobbling violently as they threatened to betray her. Her fingers trembled so hard she could barely grip the edge of the nightstand for support. Every excruciating step toward the bathroom sent a fresh jolt of sharp pain through her body. The realization hit her like a physical blow: this had been her first time.

And she couldn't remember a single second of it.

Tears escaped, hot and stinging, rolling freely as she fumbled with the shower handle. The spray of hot water brutal on her skin, but it couldn't loosen the cold knot of shame and guilt tightening in her stomach Fear and regret were a poisonous cocktail in her veins. She cursed her own mind for the blank spaces, the void where memories should be.

The only thing she had left was the memory of the club.

The loud bass. The colourful lights. The burn of cheap alcohol sliding down her throat, a desperate attempt to cauterize the wound in her heart.

She had gone there to drown her world. Her ex-boyfriend hadn't just broken up with her on her birthday; he had used the occasion to announce his engagement to her stepsister, Claire.

My birthday. The universe wasn't just cruel; it was against her.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, the steam had offered a small measure of relief and comfort, though the dull ache in her bones remained. Her original clothes were a lost cause. She scavenged through the hotel wardrobe and found a white shirt and a pair of long black pants-likely left behind or provided by the suite. She didn't care about the fit or the fashion. She dressed with speed, packed her belongings, and fled the hotel without a single backward glance.

She made a frantic stop at a pharmacy, her hands still shaking as she paid for morning-after pills. She swallowed them dry right there on the sidewalk, the bitter taste a perfect match for her mood, before heading home.

But the silence of her room offered no peace. The moment the door clicked shut, the gravity of the situation collapsed onto her. She curled into a ball on her bed, soaking the pillows with a fresh wave of tears until her chest physically hurt.

How did I get there? Who was he?

The questions were a wave of torture. She couldn't tell a soul. Not even Nora. Especially not Nora.

Sleep finally claimed her out of sheer exhaustion, but it was a shallow, restless thing. It didn't last.

The shrill ring of her phone shattered the silence. Nora's name flashed on the screen-a beacon of cheerfulness she couldn't handle.

"Hey, Valerie! How are you feeling?" Nora's voice was a full of concern. "I heard about everything that happened on your birthday. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it! Are you okay? Have you eaten?"

Valerie swallowed a sob, forcing her voice to remain calm, though her throat felt like it was lined with shit She offered a few reassurances, desperate to end the call before her mask slipped. Nora promised to visit soon, and for the first time in their lives, Valerie found herself praying for her best friend to stay away.

Normally, Nora's visits were the highlight of her week-a shot of pure joy. But Nora was too observant. She would see through the facade in Valerie's eyes. She would see the way she winced when she moved. And Valerie wasn't ready to speak the truth when she didn't even know the man's name.

To kill the time, she made a bowl of noodles she did feel like eating and let a movie play to fill the silence. Eventually, she felt a bit of comfort. It was Sunday, and she needed air. Anything to stop the spinning in her head.

She threw on a simple yellow top and jeans, letting her hair fall loose to hide the marks on her neck, and applied a quick swipe of lip gloss.

At the park, the atmosphere was painfully wholesome. She sat on a bench, watching children chase each other with infectious laughter. For a few minutes, the heaviness in her chest eased.

Then, she saw them.

Claire and Ryan. Her stepsister and her ex, walking toward the mall directly opposite the park.

Her breath freezed . Her lungs felt squeezed..

She tried to turn away, to vanish into the thin air , but fate was in bitter mood . Claire's eyes locked onto her, and a bright, ridiculing smile stretched across her face as she found her path straight toward Valerie.

"Hey, Valerie!" Claire chirped, her voice dripping with a sweetness that made Valerie's stomach turn.

Ryan followed close behind. He didn't look guilty; he looked smug. His eyes raked over Valerie with a pity that made her skin crawl. He asked how she was holding up, but the words were empty.

"I didn't mean for the breakup to be so sudden," Ryan said, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather. "But your sister... Claire is just too good. She's like a goddess, honestly. If you want a stable relationship next time, Valerie, maybe you should take some pointers from her. The way she dresses, the way she talks... even the way she fucks me. You wouldn't even let me touch you."

The air left Valerie's lungs. Before she could react, Claire chimed in, leaning into Ryan's side.

"Just so you know, I'm carrying Ryan's child," Claire said, her eyes shinning with triumph. "I really hope you can move past him, especially since you've had that little crush on him since high school."

Claire patted her stomach . "After all, you're my sister. If not for you, I never would have met the love of my life."

To seal the humiliation, Ryan leaned down and kissed Claire-deeply, -right in front of her. No shame. No remorse.

They turned and walked into the mall hand-in-hand, leaving Valerie standing there as her world crumbled a little further. Her old wounds weren't just open; they were being salted.

Of course, she thought bitterly. Claire always won. Since they were children, Claire was the princess and Valerie was the obstacle. The villain in Claire's perfect Cinderella story.

Valerie fled the park, her mood was completely ruined . She collapsed onto her bed, scrolling aimlessly through social media, her life feeling like a shell.

Just as the sun began to dip, her phone rang again. It was the elderly woman from the flat across the hall. She was a kind, woman who treated Valerie like a surrogate daughter. She was calling to remind Valerie about their standing Sunday dinner.

Valerie wanted to decline, but the woman was too sweet to disappoint.

At five o'clock, Valerie dragged herself to the neighbor's door and rang the bell.

"It's open!" the woman called out.

The apartment was peaceful. The air was thick with the comforting scents of roasted chicken, crispy fries, and fresh cookies. Valerie forced herself to eat, though every bite felt like heaven.

The woman's sharp eyes didn't miss the sign from Valerie's mouth. "Something is wrong, dear."

"Just tired," Valerie lied, the words tasting like bile.

She helped clear the dishes, accepted a small bag of cookies, and retreated to her own apartment. In the comfort of her bathroom, the weight returned, heavier than before. She set her alarm for work, staring into the dark and wondering how her life had become a nightmare in twenty-four hours.

Miles away, the roar of an engine shattered the night.

Ellan drove like a man possessed, his sleek car moving seamlessly through the city. He bypassed red lights with a blatant disregard for the law, narrowly missing collisions that would have killed a lesser driver. Horns blared in his wake, but he didn't hear them over the roar of his own heart beat in his ears. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, his knuckles white as bone against the leather steering wheel.

Fifteen minutes of high-speed later, his tires screeched to a halt in front of a crumbling, abandoned factory.

He stepped out, went inside the factory and a wave of blood and metal welcomed him. His men straightened the moment they saw him, their faces masks of submission, but Ellan ignored them.

"Where is he?"

His voice didn't just carry; it thundered. Cold. Unforgiving. A sound that sent a physical shiver down the spines of the men standing guard.

They led him to a reinforced steel door at the end of a dark corridor. Inside, the room was dimly lit. A middle-aged man was chained to metal bars, his body a map of bruises and fresh cuts. He looked like a man who had already being to hell.

Ellan began to roll up his sleeves with a terrifying calmness.

He pulled a handgun from his pocket, spinning it with a deadly finesse. The metallic click of the bullet coming off echoed like death . Then, without warning, he fired.

The bullet whistled past the man's ear, landing itself in the wall behind him.

The man let out a raw, animalistic scream that tore through the factory.

"Who is she?" the man sobbed, his voice cracking. "I only did what I was told! Bella was supposed to be the one in the room with you! I swear on my life-I don't know how that other girl got there!"

Ellan's eyes narrowed. The CCTV footage from the hotel had been expertly wiped. There were only fragments left- ghosts. But one detail was burned into Ellan's memory: a small, beautiful scar on the girl's stomach.

His grip tightened on the gun.

He tossed the weapon onto a nearby table and turned his back on the prisoner. "Release him," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly, cool silk. "But put a trail on him. I want to know everywhere he breathes."

He paused, a dark thought crossing his mind. Bella. She would be dealt with in due time.

For now, he had a dinner to attend. His parents had been insistent, and in his world, some obligations couldn't be ignored-even when your blood was boiling.

The family mansion was glowing of light and prestige-too calm and too silent for the storm raging inside him. He ignored the polite greetings of the maids, walking straight into the formal dining room. His father was already there.

Ellan offered a sharp, clipped greeting and took his seat.

Then, he heard a voice that made his skin crawl.

And then he saw her.

Bella.

Something in Ellan's head snapped. Rage, hot and violent, surged through him. His fists clenched under the table.

Bella rushed toward him, a bright smile on her face as she reached out to touch him-

He didn't hesitate. He caught her wrist in a grip of iron and slammed her hand down onto the mahogany table. The crack of the impact echoed through the room like a gunshot.

His mother gasped, her eyes blazing with a warning look, but Ellan didn't care.

The rest of the dinner was full of tension. Bella sat beside him, leaning in closer than necessary, whispering sweet nothings as if he hadn't just nearly crushed her wrist. Ellan's responses were short, when he chose to respond at all.

The moment the meal ended, he stood and walked out without a word of polite departure.

Bella scrambled after him, catching him near his car.

"Why are you acting so cold, Ellan?" she asked, reaching for his arm again.

Ellan spun around, his movement a blur. He grabbed her arm with enough force to bruise. "Don't play dumb with me," he hissed, his voice low, lethal, and vibrating with a promise of violence. "You set me up."

A flicker of genuine shock crossed Bella's face-quick and unmistakable-before she masked it with a pout.

He shoved her back, and she stumbled, gasping for air as he climbed into his car and drove away into the night.

Bella stood in the driveway, trembling and struggling to catch her breath. She had been so careful. Every detail had been planned to ensure she was the one in that bed-proof that he belonged to her.

But fate had twisted the knife.

When Ellan arrived at his penthouse, he went straight to his study.

"Bring me a bottle," he snapped at the maid.

A few minutes later, a soft knock came at his bedroom door. He didn't answer.

The maid pushed the door open -and froze.

Ellan had just stepped out of the bathroom. Water trailed down the hard, defined lines of his body, and steam swirled in the air around him.

"I-I didn't hear a response," she stammered, her face flushing as she turned to flee.

"Stop."

His voice sliced through the room like a blade. She froze in her tracks.

Ellan sat in a leather armchair, wearing nothing but black trousers. "Pour the drink."

Her hands shook as she obeyed, the glass clinking against the bottle . She handed it to him and stepped back.

His mind was a battlefield. The warehouse. The mystery girl. The scar. Bella's lies .

He slammed the glass onto the table, the amber liquid splashing over .

"Clean it up," he said flatly. "Make sure everything is in order before anyone sees it."

The maid nodded frantically and hurried away.

Ellan stepped out onto his balcony, looking over a city that was still in full bloom beneath the moonlight. He took a slow, deep breath, trying to settle the roar in his chest. It didn't work.

He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"We put a trail on the man, Boss. And on Miss Bella."

"Keep me updated," Ellan replied, his voice deadly quiet.

He ended the call and retreated into the darkness of his room. He collapsed onto the bed-exhausted, restless, and nowhere near peace.

Rringgg! Rringgg!

The sound wasn't just an alarm; it was a physical reminder and assault to the ears . Valerie groaned, her arm feeling like a log as she fumbled blindly across the bedside table. Her fingers finally touched the cool plastic of her phone, and she silenced the uproar with a violent swipe.

She didn't move. Not at first.

Mondays always arrived with a cruel punctuality, dragging exhaustion behind them like a heavy, suffocating life threatening shadow. She hadn't found rest the night before-only restless tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind trapped in a thick fog. Laziness, sweet and seductive, whispered in her ear.

Just five more minutes...

Then, the fog cleared. Her eyes snapped open, tracking the position of the sun filtering through her thin curtains.

Something was wrong. The light was too bright. The room was too warm.

She lunged for her phone. 7:00 a.m.

Her heart didn't just drop; it went into the pit of her stomach.

"Oh no-no, no, no!"

Valerie sprang from the bed, her covers wrapped around her ankles and nearly sending her onto the floor. Adrenaline, sharp and stinging, replaced her exhaustion. Her interview at the Noir Group was in exactly sixty minutes. One hour. Sixty minutes to prove she wasn't the failure her family claimed she was. This job wasn't just a paycheck; it was the only ladder out of the pit her life had become.

She had no Plan B. No safety net. No one to catch her if she fell.

Mumbling frantic prayers and curses under her breath, she tore through her morning routine. She scrubbed her skin in a blur, applied just enough makeup to mask the dark circles of a sleepless night, and yanked her hair into a high, professional ponytail. Her hands were trembling so violently she nearly fumbled the buttons of her coffee-brown silk shirt. She paired it with tailored white pants and the white stilettos she usually reserved for dreams-or funerals.

By 7:30 a.m., she was on the road , flagging down a taxi with the desperation of a lost child. When one finally screeched to a halt, she slid into the back seat, breathless and vibrating with nerves.

"Noir Group," she gasped. "And please... ignore the speed limits."

When the car finally pulled up in front of the destination, Valerie felt the air leave her lungs.

The Noir Group skyscraper loomed above her-a tall building of glass and steel that seemed to pierce the very clouds. It didn't just look like an office; it looked like an altar to power, money, and ruthless influence. Standing at the base of it, Valerie felt tiny . Unworthy. Like a stray cat trying to enter a palace.

I have to do this, she whispered, the words a thin shield against her rising tension. I have to.

She straightened her shoulders, took a breath that tasted of exhaustion and nerves, and stepped inside. Her heels clicked with a sharply against the polished marble floor as she approached the reception desk. She forced a, calm smile even as her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

"Good morning," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'm Valerie. I'm here for the Executive Sales Manager interview."

The receptionist didn't even look up from her screen. "Twenty-fifth floor. First office on the right."

"Thank you."

Valerie turned toward the elevators. In her haste, she didn't notice the difference between the staff elevators and the executive gold-trimmed lift. She just saw an open door and stepped inside.

The moment the sensors registered her presence, her life tilted in a swift motion .

Ellan Noir arrived seconds later.

The atmosphere in the lobby didn't just change; it froze . Conversations died mid-sentence. Security guards straightened their spines. Even the continuous hum of the air conditioning seemed to go silent out of respect.

He moved with a predatory confidence-tall, broad-shouldered, and encased in a tailored suit that clung to his muscular frame with a deadly precision. He was young, impossibly powerful, and whispered about in every boardroom in the city. Dark rumours followed him like a shadow-rumours of a temper as cold as ice and a reach that went far beyond the corporate world.

As the elevator doors began to slide shut, Ellan stepped into the small, confined space.

His sharp gaze swept the whole place landing instantly on Valerie. She was unfamiliar. Tense. A splash of ink in his pure world

And yet...

A flicker of something sparked in the back of his mind. A distant memory of a dim room. The scent of rain and panic. Room 502.

He didn't speak. He simply reached out and pressed the button to the floor of his office.

Valerie stiffened, her back pressing against the cool metal wall. Her heart was hammering so loudly she was certain he could hear it. She squeezed her eyes shut, silently rehearsing her interview answers, trying to reclaim her breath.

Then, the world stilled.

The elevator jolted violently, a sickening metallic screech echoing through the shaft. The lights flickered once, twice, and then changed into a terrifying, dim emergency glow.

"No... no, please..." she whispered, the sound escaping her before she could catch it.

The elevator died. It sat motionless, suspended in a void of steel.

Panic, hot and paralyzing, surged through her. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be trapped. If she missed this, she'd have to go back to her father. She'd have to endure Claire's mocking laughter and her feigned sympathy. She'd be a ghost in her own life.

"I-I have an interview," she stammered, her voice breaking. "I can't be late. I really can't. Please..."

Tears, unrestrained and without warning, slid down her cheeks. She felt small, broken, and utterly exposed.

Ellan watched her from the shadows of the corner. Initially, a flash of annoyance crossed his deadly features-he hated tantrums. But as he watched her, his expression shifted to pure curiosity.. This was a girl fighting for her life not just a late appointment . Her vulnerability wasn't a sign of weakness; it was the raw and fierce resolve.

Moments later, the machine roared, and the elevator back to life. The tension in the elevator eased and the lift began its smooth motion once more.

As the doors slid open on the twenty-fifth floor, Valerie scrambled to wipe her face, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She had just broken down in front of a stranger.

Ellan stepped forward, blocking her path for a split second. He reached into his breast pocket and held out a crisp, white silk handkerchief.

"Pull yourself together," he said, his voice a cool, low, manly that sent a different kind of shiver down her spine. "In this building, first impressions are the only ones that matter."

Without waiting for a response, he stepped out and walked away, his stride long and commanding.

Valerie stared at the expensive fabric in her trembling hands. She had no idea that this brief, embarrassing encounter had already re-written her destiny. By the time she reached the waiting area, she felt like she was walking through a dream. Three other candidates sat there-two women and a man-their faces void of expression. Valerie ducked into the nearby restroom, adjusted her ponytail, scrubbed the tear tracks from her face, and used the cool water to ground herself.

The interviews began. It was a utter devastation .

One woman emerged minutes later, her eyes red and her hands shaking.

A man followed, his face a blank sheet of shock.

Then came Chloe, a girl who looked like she'd been through a war zone.

When Valerie's name was finally called, her heart skipped a beat, then settled into a heavy, measured thud. She whispered a final, silent prayer and stepped through the heavy oak doors.

The office was made of glass. Sunlight spilled across a polished oak table that looked like it cost more than her entire apartment building. Four people sat in high-backed chairs, looking down at her like judges.

And there, in the center of the storm, sat the man from the elevator.

Ellan Noir.

He didn't say a word. He didn't ask a single question. He simply leaned back, his fingers placed under his chin, and watched her. His gaze was intense-unsettlingly so-as if he were peeling back the layers of her coffee-brown shirt to see the secrets she carried beneath.

Valerie answered every technical question with desperation. She talked about market trends and sales while her hands remained clasped tightly beneath the table to hide their tremors.

When the ordeal finally ended, she walked out of the room feeling utterly drained, as if she'd left a piece of her soul on that oak table. She scanned the hallway, half-hoping to see Ellan so she could return his handkerchief, but he was gone.

She left the building quietly, the cold city air hitting her like a slap. She stopped at a small, modest restaurant, staring at a plate of food she couldn't eat, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and a tiny, flickering flame of hope.

That night, back in the silence of her flat, she washed the silk handkerchief by hand. She used the gentlest soap she had, hanging it to dry with a care .

She would return it. She had to. Because deep down, she knew this wasn't the last time she would see the man with the cold eyes and the silent mystery.

While Valerie was drowning in her own thoughts, the atmosphere at the Noir Group was thick with confusion. Ellan Noir didn't just request a file; he demanded it.

The board of directors exchanged puzzled glances. Ellan rarely, if ever, concerned himself with entry-level or mid-management business. He was the Lord of the empire not the servant. Yet, there he sat, flipping through Valerie's credentials with a gaze that could peel , bore hole into anything.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was a low, dangerous calm. "We're hiring her."

The HR director cleared his throat. "For the Sales position, sir? We have more experienced-"

"No," Ellan interrupted, his eyes never leaving her photo. "Not Sales. She'll be my Executive Personal Assistant. Double the starting salary."

It wasn't because he thought she was the most qualified. It was because he needed her within his reach. He needed to know why this girl intrigued him so much .He needed answers that only closeness could provide.

At her apartment, Valerie was full of nervous energy. The place was a battlefield of takeout boxes and discarded tissues-remnants of her weekend of mourning. She spent the morning scrubbing every surface, the physical labor providing a temporary calmness for her mind.

She was just returning from the supermarket when her phone chimed. An email. Subject: Offer of Employment – Noir Group.

Her heart performed a couple of somersault. She didn't just get the job; she was being catapulted directly to the 123rd floor. Personal Assistant to the CEO. Double the pay.

"A win is a win," she whispered, though a small, intuitive part of her wondered why a man like Ellan Noir would want a stranger as his right hand.

She called Nora immediately. The two of them screamed into their phones, a chorus of pure, unfiltered relief. For the first time since her birthday, Valerie felt like the ground beneath her feet was solid. She spent the rest of her savings on a new professional wardrobe- for the life she was about to start.

Monday arrived with a crisp, intimidating chill.

Valerie stood before the Noir Group skyscraper, looking every bit the high-powered assistant in a mid-length black dress that hugged her curves and white stilettos that added a boost to her confidence. Tucked deep in her bag, the crisp handkerchief.

She walked into the lobby, head held high, and approached the desk. "I'm here to resume as the CEO's Personal Assistant."

The receptionist's eyes flicked from Valerie's face down to her shoes, a silent, icy judgment. "123rd floor."

Valerie turned toward the elevators. She reached for the nearest one-the gold-trimmed doors-when a hand clamped onto her arm.

"What are you doing?" a deep, melodic voice asked.

Valerie spun around, her breath hitching. Standing there was a man who looked like he'd stepped off a fitness magazine cover-tall, muscular, and wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that gave him an air of approachable intelligence.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know," she stammered, heart racing.

"No harm done," he said, his smile softening his features. "But don't make that mistake again. This lift is strictly for the CEO. Using it is a fast track to a penalty."

"I understand," Valerie said, her face heating up.

"I'm Eric, by the way. You the new recruit?"

"Valerie. My first day."

They rode the public elevator together. When Valerie mentioned the 123rd floor, Eric's eyebrow shot up, but he didn't pry. He just offered a playful wink as they parted ways. "Hoping to see you around, Valerie."

She was met at the top floor by Rose, a petite woman who moved with the efficiency of a Swiss watch. Valerie barely had time to set her bag down before the intercom on her desk crackled to life.

"Get in here." The voice was a dark devilish growl. The voice wasn't just a command; it was a dark, devilish growl that seemed to vibrate the very glass of the office walls.

Valerie smoothed her dress, her palms damp, and hurried toward the heavy double doors. She knocked softly-a courtesy he likely didn't care for-and entered.

The office was a cathedral of power, all floor-to-ceiling glass and polished obsidian stone. Ellan sat behind a desk that looked less like furniture and more like a fortress .

"Good morning, sir," she said, her voice trembling just enough to betray her.

"My schedule for today," he said, sliding a tablet across the desk without looking up. His movements were swift , efficient. "You have a meeting in fifteen minutes. Take these documents to the executives for signatures. And book my lunch at a five-star restaurant. Somewhere private."

"Yes, sir."

She turned to leave, but her conscience pulled at her like a lead weight. She stopped, reached into her bag, and pulled out the silk handkerchief, neatly folded. She stepped closer, invading the sterile space of his desk to place it on the oak surface. "Sir... I'm here to return this. And I'm truly sorry about the elevator. I didn't know the rules."

Ellan finally looked up. For a second, time seemed to stretch, thin and fragile. He looked at the handkerchief, then at her. She stood there-a mix of professional poise and raw, wide-eyed honesty.

"How do I make it up to you?" she asked softly, the words hanging in the heavy air.

Ellan stood up. His massive frame cast a long, intimidating shadow that seemed to swallow her whole being . He took a step closer, and the air in the room suddenly stilled, as if the building itself was holding its breath.

"Sir..." she stammered, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"You want to make it up to me?" he asked, a predatory, devilish smirk across his lips. "I'm feeling particularly charitable today, Valerie."

He sat back down,swellving round in his chair . He didn't reach for the handkerchief. Instead, he tossed a thick, silver-embossed file across the table.

"Open it," he commanded.

Valerie's fingers shook as she flipped the first page. Her eyes widened, the breath hitching in her throat.

"I could sue you," he continued, his voice low ,predatory and lethal. "For breaching executive security, for putting the safety of this lift-and my life-in danger. I could fire you right now and ensure you never hold a job in this city again. You'd be blacklisted before the sun sets."

He paused, letting the weight of the threat settle in her marrow.

"Or," he leaned forward, "you can redeem yourself. I'm giving you a choice. One phone call from me, and the best cardiac surgeons in the country are flown in to fix Nora's failing heart. I pay for the surgery, the recovery, and the debt you've been drowning in. Or... I let the elevator penalty ruin you."

Valerie was speechless, her world tilting on its axis. She looked down at the contract, reading the words in a voice that was barely a whisper, yet loud enough to echo in the silent office.

...To be at Ellan Noir's beck and call 24/7. To never refuse a request, regardless of time or nature. Total professional and personal availability. Any breach of contract results in immediate blacklisting... or worse.

"This is absurd," Valerie whispered, the sting of tears blurring her vision. "This is... slavery."

Ellan stood up again, taking slow, calculated steps toward her. "You should have thought about the cost before you stepped into my lift, Valerie. Or before you offered to pay me back."

He moved with the speed of lightning, pinning her against the edge of the desk. The mahogany was cold against her lower back, but he was heat. His breath fanned her skin, and the scent of his expensive, manly cologne drifted into her nostrils, making her head feel fuzzy, her brain refuse to function at a very important time.

His gaze dropped to her lips. He was about to say something-to seal the bargain with words she couldn't take back-when the world outside their bubble exploded.

SLAM!

The office doors flew open.

"Ellan, darling!"

Bella strutted in, her presence like a splash of acid in a clean room. She stopped dead when she saw Valerie.

Rage, hot and immediate, surged through Ellan. Valerie tried to shrink back, her wrist caught in the crossfire as she tried to excuse herself, but Ellan's grip on the situation was iron-clad. He didn't let Valerie leave just yet, leaning in to whisper something inaudible to her before turning his fury on the intruder.

Bella lunged forward, grabbing Valerie's wrist with claws disguised as nails. "Who the fuck do you think you are?! Stay away from him if you value your life, you little slut"?

Valerie didn't cower. She twisted her arm, breaking Bella's grip with a sharp, practiced motion.

"Bella!!!" Ellan's voice was thunder. The walls seemed to shake. "Who gave you permission to breathe my air, let alone question my staff?"

Bella recoiled, her face turning a sickly shade of pale. Ellan stepped toward her, his hand ghosting over her neck-not a caress, but a threat.

"You think I don't know about the other night? The drugging? The setup?" His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "You're a slut, Bella. A dirty whore who thinks she can trap a king. You'll never be more than a footnote."

Bella's eyes bugged out. She gasped for air, her body trembling. "You... you loved me once..."

"I made a mistake once," Ellan snapped, shoving her back toward the door. "Get out. Now!"

He didn't wait for her to leave. He dialed security. Within minutes, a man escorted a weeping, screaming Bella out of the building. But the look in Bella's eyes as she left wasn't one of defeat-it was a promise of war.

As soon as she reached her car, she dialed a burner number. "I want everything on the girl in Ellan's office. Every debt, every secret, every ghost in her closet. Now!"

Back inside, Valerie was rubbing her bruised wrist. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a cold realization: her dream job had come with a nightmare attached. She asked Rose about the woman.

"The Boss's ex," Rose whispered, eyes darting toward the closed doors. "A top-tier scandal. She cheated, he found out, and the world went quiet. Just... stay out of her way."

Lunchtime arrived so fast . Valerie knocked on Ellan's door to announce the reservation.

"Give me a few minutes," he replied. Valerie turned to go, but his voice stopped her. "Did I dismiss you?"

She froze. "I... sorry, sir."

"Wait for me at my car."

In the garage, she ran into Eric again. He was leaning against a sleek SUV, looking remarkably relaxed.

"Hey, Eric," she greeted, a small smile finally breaking through her stress.

"Look at you! PA to the Big Bad Wolf," Eric joked, his eyes gleaming. "How's the first day? Survived the Bella-storm yet?"

Valerie laughed faintly, grateful for the distraction. Eric was a chatterbox, and apparently, he was the only person in the building who wasn't terrified of Ellan.

When Ellan arrived, the air chilled again. "Let's go."

They headed to a VIP section of an upscale restaurant. The meal was served in a tense, rhythmic silence, punctuated only by Eric's constant chatter, which Valerie used as a shield to keep from looking at Ellan.

When Valerie excused herself to the restroom, Eric leaned in, his voice dropping. "So? Do you like her? She's different, Ellan."

Ellan's gaze hardened into flint. "Don't question me, Eric. Go to the warehouse. Get me the data on the man we trailed. Now. And don't let me ask again."

Eric nodded, the playfulness vanishing as he took his leave.

When Valerie returned, the table felt empty. "Where's Eric?"

"Errands," Ellan said shortly. He set his fork down and leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers. Valerie stiffened " Do we have a deal?

Valerie nodded, her throat dry. "Yes."

"Accompany me to the banquet tomorrow evening."

It wasn't an invitation. It was a command.

"Sir, I don't think-" Drop the signed contract on my table after lunch ."My driver will take you to a stylist," he continued, cutting her off with a tone of finality . "I will pick you up when you're finished."

"But I-"

"will you like me to remind you that I'm not to be questioned "

She swallowed hard. It felt like a weight. She looked at him-at the cold, calculating beauty of his face-and gave no answer. Silence was her only surrender.

That evening, the apartment felt smaller. Nora was already there, a surprise visitor who wrapped Valerie in a hug the moment she walked through the door.

"I wanted to surprise you!" Nora chirped.

They spent the evening over dinner, the air filled with laughter as Valerie recounted the chaos of the office, the "handkerchief man," and the job. But she kept the birthday-and the blood on the sheets-locked away in the dark.

As Valerie tried to sleep but she couldn't she thought about the contract "all of this is for you Nora I can't bear to loose you , miles away, a phone rang in a dark room.

"We're trailing her, Miss Bella. We'll have the full report by morning."

"Good," Bella hissed, staring at a photo of Valerie on her screen. "Let's see how long she lasts once the world knows who she really is."