****Years later****
I walked out of the elevator on the 32nd floor, my heels clicking against the polished tiled floor.
The building smelled of money, expensive cologne, fresh coffee, and power. It’s the Sinclair Tower, the tallest and most ruthless corporate headquarters in the city.
My black pencil skirt hugged my hips a little too tightly, and the white blouse I wore felt too thin. I could still feel the bruises Marcus left on my thighs from last night.
“Miss Bennett?” A sharp voice called out.
I turned to see a tall, impeccably dressed woman with a severe bun.
“I’m Claire, Mr. Sinclair’s executive assistant. You're four minutes late.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Traffic was…”
I wanted to talk but she quickly cut me off.
“Mr. Sinclair doesn’t accept excuses,” she said, lookin
