Bonded To The Cold Mafia Boss

Chelsea hadn’t slept in thirty hours. Her eyelids felt thick, her shoulders were stiff from carrying her life on her back, and the only thing keeping her upright was a cup of hospital coffee that tasted like someone rinsed a mop in it. She walked out of the teaching hospital with that cloudy, exhausted feeling that made everything look slightly out of focus. Rent is due in two days. She replayed it again and again as she moved through the morning crowd; nurses dragging their feet, interns rushing in, patients staring at the sky like they were trying to bargain with it. The sun wasn’t even fully out, but the heat was already creeping forward like it had something to prove. Her phone buzzed. Another message from her landlord. “Last warning. If I don’t see something by Friday, I’m throwing out your loads and locking the door.” She stopped walking. Her chest tightened. Her balance, her hope, her brain, everything just stalled. Her bank app still showed the same thing she’d been seeing for weeks. $0.00. It didn’t taunt her anymore. It just felt like a fact the world expected her to accept. Her dad had been gone eight months, but his debts were still very much alive. New ones popped up every week. Loan companies, lawyers, banks, things he must have tried to fix before cancer finished him off. She hadn’t broken down in a while; crying started to feel like a waste of energy. Her phone pinged again. It was an email this time. She almost ignored it… until she saw the sender. RioCorp Recruitment Team. She blinked twice and opened it with shaking fingers. “Dear Chelsea Allison, You have been shortlisted for an interview for the position of Clinical Research Assistant at RioCorp Headquarters. Interview Date: Today.” She froze in shock, she rubbed her eyes to confirm she was not being delirious from the lack of sleep. She had sent an application months ago, and she had completely given up hope. She snapped back to her senses and whispered, “Today?” She checked the time. She had just two hours to get ready. She was still in scrubs. Her hair was tied under a scarf she wrapped half-asleep. She smelled like antiseptic, stress, and sweat. There was no world where she could walk into RioCorp like this. But if she didn’t go… she’d be sleeping outside by the weekend. She called Violet. Her friend picked up on the first ring. “Why do you sound like your spirit left your body?” “I got an interview,” Chelsea whispered back. “RioCorp. Today.” Violet screamed. “Why are you still there? Get here now. I’ll fix you.” Chelsea didn’t argue; she just ran. …. Violet’s hostel room looked like a boutique crashed into a tornado. Clothes everywhere. Makeup scattered on the table. Shoes peeking out from places where shoes shouldn’t be. Violet stood in the center, hands on her hips. “You look like someone that needs prayer.” “I came straight from—” “No story. Strip. We’re on the clock.” Chelsea snorted. “You’re dramatic.” “And you’re broke. Move.” In minutes, Violet transformed her. White blouse. Black skirt. Nude heels that gave her fake confidence. Light makeup to hide the sleepless night. Perfume that didn’t scream “I work in a hospital ward.” Chelsea stared at herself in the mirror. For a moment, she breathed easier. Violet hugged her from behind. “Go there and pretend you’re the daughter of the owner. Once you get your first salary, faint if you want.” Chelsea smiled. “Thank you.” “Don’t cry yet. That mascara is expensive.” --- RioCorp Headquarters was an entirely different universe from what she was used to. Tall glass windows that towered over the city. Heavy security that rivaled those at the Presidential Villa. Floors that glittered like gold and showcase your reflection. . Screens showing their latest tech innovations. Art pieces that probably cost enough to settle half her father’s debt. Chelsea stopped in the middle of the lobby, half impressed and half intimidated. She was beginning to consider if this was all a mistake when a woman in a navy suit walked up to her. “Name?” “Chelsea Allison. I’m here for the interview.” She stammered. “You’re expected, follow me.” The woman replied, and walked ahead of her, her heels clicking the floor elegantly. Chelsea followed her through security. Halfway down the hall, the lights flickered, once, twice, almost like they were reacting to her. She frowned, blinked, and told herself she was just hallucinating from exhaustion. The elevator doors opened into a floor that screamed money. Clean lines, glass offices, and a view of the city that made her feel tiny. “This is the waiting room, you will be beckoned on shortly” the woman said. Chelsea sat down, palms already sweating. She pulled out her headphones and clicked on a song to control her nerves. As “Girl On Fire” sounded through her headphones, she started feeling less nervous and more confident. Music always has a way of calming her and making her feel in control, and she started depending on it more after her father's death. Then she heard footsteps. Slow, controlled, steady. Someone important. She didn’t turn, then her pen suddenly rolled off her lap. She bent to pick it up before it rolled down the hallway, when her hand suddenly brushed someone else’s. She froze. The hand was big, warm fingers and a steady grip. She felt a strange pull in her chest. She lifted her head to apologize and her breath caught in her chest. The man standing over her looked like he walked straight out of a powerful family tree. Tall, sharp features, quiet strength. His eyes locked on hers the moment their skin touched. He didn’t blink, he didn’t even move. He just looked startled like a ghost. Chelsea jumped back, feeling self-conscious. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to—” He wasn’t listening to her. He was staring at his own hand like something unbelievable had just happened. A man suddenly ran over, with documents in his hand and asked the other man frantically “Sir, are you alright?” Still no response. Chelsea felt her stomach drop. “If I hurt you or if I—” The man finally spoke, voice deep and calm. “No reaction.” The assistant’s expression shifted. Almost alarmed. He checked the man’s hand. “No rash.” Chelsea’s eyebrows pulled together, confused. Rash? What rash? She was about to ask when the man stepped closer. Too close. He watched her face like he was studying every detail. “Who are you?” His voice was quiet. “I’m… here for an interview,” she said. His eyes didn’t leave hers. The assistant cleared his throat. “Mr. Rodrigo, your father is waiting.” Chelsea’s heart thudded. Rodrigo? The CEO?? She had bumped into the CEO on her interview day. Mr. Rodrigo stepped back, but his gaze lingered on her like she’d just answered a question he didn’t know he was asking. He glanced at her file. “Chelsea?” he said slowly. She nodded. His jaw tightened with frustration, confusion, something she couldn’t name. He finally turned and walked away, the assistant giving her a look she couldn’t read. Curiosity,Worry, Recognition, she didn’t know. All she knew was that something strange had just happened. And her interview hadn’t even started