I was wrong.
Jemma wasn’t the office lady I imagined. Instead, she looked like a senior supermodel in her forties—elegant, graceful, and effortlessly stunning. Her aura filled the room, and every movement she made oozed class and sophistication. The way she carried herself reminded me of royalty wrapped in haute couture.
But she wasn’t here to welcome me to work or brief me about responsibilities, as I had assumed.
No. Jemma was here for something completely different.
Klaus led me down the elevator to the living room, where Jemma was already seated on one of the plush white couches, flanked by two assistants—one male, one female—both of them stylish, efficient-looking, and barely older than me.
The moment Jemma’s eyes landed on me, they lit up. She stood gracefully, clasping her hand
