Ethan Cross didn’t look like a billionaire.Not today, at least.The man who once commanded the 87th floor of Cross Dynamics International, a global tech and logistics empire, was now standing in the lobby of the same building, wearing a plain navy shirt, wrinkled khakis, and carrying a modest résumé in his hand.His dark hair, usually slicked back for board meetings, hung loosely over his forehead. The Rolex was gone, replaced by a cheap leather watch. Even his scent had changed from Tom Ford to something he picked off a drugstore shelf that morning.No one could recognize him now. That was the plan.For months, Ethan had been haunted by a question that no financial report or executive meeting could answer: What was the real culture of his company? Was it truly the family his HR executives described in polished presentations, or was it cold, hierarchical, and indifferent beneath the surface?There had been complaints, subtle ones, anonymous letters about harsh managers, overworked staff, and discrimination in promotions. But in the boardroom, everything always looked clean, sanitized, perfect.So Ethan decided to find out the truth himself.He took a leave under the pretense of health reasons, handing temporary control of the company to his trusted COO. Then, under the alias Ethan Gray, he applied for an entry-level job in the mailroom at Cross Dynamics’ London headquarters.Chapter One: The ManagerGray, is it? You’re late.The voice snapped like a whip across the room. Ethan turned.Standing by the cubicle wall was a woman in a fitted grey suit, her black hair neatly tied back, eyes sharp as polished glass. She looked barely thirty, yet carried the presence of someone who’d already learned to fight twice her weight in the corporate jungle.Yes, ma’am. The traffic, Ethan started, but she cut him off.Spare me. Everyone in London has traffic. You manage it, or it manages you.She motioned toward the stack of boxes. You’re in mail distribution now. Sort, deliver, and don’t mess it up.Her name was Amara Blake, Manager of Administrative Operations. And by every whisper in the staffroom, she was notorious. Ruthless, efficient, perfectionist to the bone.Ethan gave a small nod and began sorting the envelopes, watching her from the corner of his eye. She moved like someone who owned the space head high, posture precise. But beneath the armor, there was something else; a tension, a loneliness, perhaps.By noon, he had already made two mistakes, wrong floor, mislabeled envelope and she made sure everyone knew.You can’t even read floor numbers? My nephew could do better! she scolded, tossing the mislabeled mail back at him.He bit back his irritation.In another life, she would be trembling before his authority. But that was the point of the disguise, to see the truth when people thought he was no one.Sorry, ma’am, he said quietly.Don’t call me ‘ma’am. It makes me sound ancient, she muttered, turning away. Just—Amara is fine. For now.