HAILEY’S REVENGE

Episode Three

That afternoon, I parked in one of the city’s older neighborhoods—far away from the shiny towers and designer coffee shops. The buildings here wore their history like scars. Cracked paint, rusted fences, streets too quiet for comfort. This was the kind of place where secrets thrived.

I sat behind the wheel, hands tight on the steering wheel until I spotted him. A man in a dark hoodie approached. No words. Just business.

I handed him a black bag. He passed me a thick manila folder across the window.

“It’s all in there,” he murmured.

“Everything?” I asked, eyes narrowing.

“Company finances. Internal memos. Staff records. Even the building’s security schedules.”

“The ID?”

“In there too.”

I gave him a curt nod. “Thank you.”

Back in my hotel room, the bed was buried under papers—emails, photographs, transaction logs, surveillance shots. I sifted through them with focused intensity, every page another piece of the puzzle that was Arnold Groups. That cursed empire had its fingerprints all over the life I lost.

Then, as I flipped another page, I froze.

A photograph. A man. Strong jaw. Sharp eyes. Dismissive expression.

I leaned in closer. “I know this face…” I whispered. Where—?

And then it hit me.

The airport.

The man who brushed past me like I was invisible, arrogance radiating from his every pore.

“Of course,” I muttered. “That attitude was unforgettable.”

My gaze dropped to the forged ID card on the bed.

Kaylie Gregory.

I said the name softly, rolling it over my tongue like a vow.

It was time.

A week later

I stood inside ice-cold lobby of Arnold Groups.

I wore a navy-blue skirt suit—elegant but modest. Professional. My blonde hair was twisted into a sleek bun, makeup subtle, posture perfect. Every detail calculated. Kaylie Gregory looked nothing like the broken girl at the bar a week ago.

To my surprise, the waiting area was empty. No other candidates. Just me.

Weird.

I approached the young receptionist, who seemed almost too nervous to look up from her screen.

“Hi,” I said, offering a warm smile. “I’m here for the secretary interview… but I seem to be the only one?”

Before she could respond, the glass doors behind me slid open.

A sudden hush fell over the room.

It was eerie. Like someone hit mute on the entire building. People froze. Conversations died. Phones disappeared into pockets. Staff vanished into corners like shadows.

Then he walked in.

Derek Arnold.

My breath caught.

It was one thing to see him in a photo. But in person? He was taller than I expected. Sharper. Dressed in a charcoal suit that hugged his frame like it was tailored by the gods. His face was unreadable—expressionless but dangerous, like a storm cloud before it breaks.

No one spoke. No one moved. Even the receptionist gripped her tablet like it might protect her from his presence.

He didn’t even glance at me.

Just walked through, jaw tight, eyes ahead. Not a flicker of recognition.

He didn’t need to say anything to command the room. The fear in everyone’s posture told me enough about what kind of leader he was.

The moment he disappeared around the corner, the receptionist finally found her voice. “The interview is on the 28th floor,” she murmured, still not meeting my gaze.

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice calm despite the fire building inside me.

The elevator opened and a small group of employees stepped in. But the moment Derek—approached, they all rushed out like frightened birds.

Apparently, he didn’t share elevators.

I stepped in anyway.

“Hold that,” I said, reaching past him to press the 28th floor.

He didn’t look at me at first. But I felt the moment he really saw me. That shift. That flicker of surprise. And something else—displeasure.

“Good morning,” I offered politely, playing the part.

The air crackled. Somewhere behind me, someone gasped. A woman whispered, “She’s dead.”

He stared at me like I’d spat in his coffee.

“Get out,” he said, voice like cold steel.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said get out.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command. Sharp, final, thunderous.

I hesitated.

My pride told me to stay. But my mission told me not to push—not yet.

I stepped out just as the doors began to close.

Behind me, someone chuckled.

“Are you new?” a voice sneered. “He doesn’t ride with anyone. Not even directors.”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because inside me, something was burning.

He might not know who I am now… but one day, he will.

And when he does… he’ll remember the woman he humiliated in that elevator was the same girl whose life his family destroyed.

The room was silent, thick with anticipation. I sat upright in the sleek, minimalist conference hall, my posture composed, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. My nerves were a live wire beneath my skin, but I didn’t let it show. Five people sat across the polished oak table—two women, three men—staring at me with the kind of calm that only comes from years of interviewing hopefuls. Still, I didn’t flinch. I’d come too far for that.

“Do you know what you’re here for?” one of the women asked, her voice firm, yet not unfriendly.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, keeping my tone even and respectful.

“For the position of the CEO’s secretary?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave a small nod. “Let’s begin.”

But we didn’t. Because just then, the large double doors behind them creaked open. The room shifted like the air itself had changed. Every panelist stood instantly, as if gravity had suddenly gotten stronger. I followed their lead.

Then he entered.

Derek Arnold.

He took the center seat without a word and glanced at me briefly. My breath caught, but I stood steady.

“You may begin,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

Then, after a beat, he leaned forward slightly, squinting.

“Wait a minute…” he said slowly, a spark of recognition flashing in his eyes. “Aren’t you the girl from the airport?” His voice edged sharper. “And the bar?”

My heart stuttered. I nodded once, slowly.

His eyes narrowed. “That outfit… you’re the one from the elevator this morning.”

Another nod.

He pushed his chair back with a screech and stood up abruptly.

“I can’t work with her,” he said flatly. “I cannot work with you. You’re not what I want representing me.”

Then he turned to leave, his stride long and deliberate.

One of the men from the panel scrambled after him. “Sir, please. Just one moment.”

Derek stopped, visibly annoyed.

“She’s your only option,” the man said in a hushed voice. “No one else applied. The listing’s been up for a week. The city’s talking—no one wants to work this close to you.”

“And she doesn’t know?” Derek asked, his jaw tense.

“She’s new. Doesn’t know the rumors. And sir, she’s exceptional. Five languages. Four years of spotless experience. Her résumé is flawless.”

Derek turned his head just enough to glance back at me. His eyes flicked over me again—colder this time.

After a long pause, he sighed.

“You’re hired,” he said curtly. “Live up to my expectations.”

Then he was gone, already tapping into his phone.

I exhaled shakily, my knees weak. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath.

—

Later that afternoon, I walked into my fifth apartment showing. I was tired, running on fumes, but the moment I stepped into the small, sunlit unit, I knew it was the one. Warm walls, polished wood floors, and a tiny kitchen with just enough space to cook and think. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. I signed the lease immediately and moved in that night.

—

The next morning arrived far too quickly.

My alarm blared like it was announcing the apocalypse. I wasn’t used to waking up this early—not anymore. But I had a job now. A mission.

I rushed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, took a freezing shower to jolt myself awake, and poured my first cup of coffee just as my phone buzzed.u

I answered instantly. “Grandma?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” came her warm, familiar voice. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. Tired. But fine,” I said, forcing a small smile.

“I told you—it’s Kaylie now,” I added gently. “Please try to use that name.”

She paused. “Hailey…” Her voice was softer now. “I’m worried. What you’re doing—it’s dangerous. Can’t you let this go?”

My throat tightened.

“You’re a brilliant lawyer,” she continued. “You graduated top of your class. You could be opening your own firm by now. And instead, you’re hiding behind a fake name to work for the man you should be suing.”

“I need this,” I whispered. “It’s not just a job, Grandma. It’s… closure. It’s the only way I know how to move forward.”

There was another long pause.

“I just don’t want to lose you too.”

“I have to go,” I said quietly. “I’m running late. I love you.”

Before she could say more, I hung up, pressed my forehead to the wall for a second, and let out a long breath.

Then I grabbed my bag and left.

—

The office buzzed with energy when I arrived. My new desk—just outside the CEO’s office—was sleek, clean, and already stacked with files. At 7 a.m., the phone rang.

I picked up immediately.

“Get in here now,” Derek growled through the receiver.

I walked into his office, heels clicking against the floor. He didn’t even look up. Just handed me a folded piece of paper.

“That’s what I expect from a secretary. My dos and don’ts. I don’t repeat myself.”

And just like that, he turned back to his laptop.

I walked out, unfolded the paper, and nearly laughed.

Hair must be down at all times.

No red lipstick.

No lunch breaks—order in.

Work hours: 18 hours daily.

No personal calls.

“This man’s a psychopath,” I muttered.

Still, part of me smiled. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

But he would.

One week later, I was practically living at my desk.

By the time I sat down that morning, I’d already been fetching coffee, coordinating files, answering emails, and correcting reports.

The intercom buzzed again.

“Hailey. In my office. Now.”

I took a deep breath and stepped inside. He didn’t glance up.

“This is the third time I’m asking for the Stapleton file

“I did,” I replied calmly. “Pages twelve through twenty are highlighted. Discrepancies marked in red.”

He stopped typing. Finally looked at me.

Then, without a word, he tossed the file across the desk. It slid to a stop like a slap in the face.

“Not precise enough.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek.

He leaned back in his chair. “Tell me, Miss Gregory…” He let the silence stretch. “Is this your idea of efficiency?”

“No,” I said coolly. “It’s my idea of thoroughness.”