Chapter 2 — “His Game, His Rules”
1499 Words
Angela POV
She didn’t sleep that night.
Not even close.
She lay on that thin hotel mattress staring at the ceiling, replaying the same moment over and over in her head.
“Does the name Richard Reyes mean anything to you?”
His voice. Calm. Almost bored. Like he was asking about the weather.
And then — “You’re hired.”
Just like that.
No explanation. No threat. No dramatic speech. Just two words and he walked out like she was nothing.
That was somehow worse than anything else he could have done.
Angela turned on her side and grabbed her phone. 2:47 AM. She opened her father’s photo again.
“He knows, Baba.” she whispered. “He knows exactly who I am.”
She waited for fear to hit her.
It didn’t.
What hit her instead was something sharper. Something dangerous.
Good. she thought. Let him think he has the upper hand. Let him feel safe.
She put the phone down and closed her eyes.
If Hassan Malik wanted to play games — she’d learned from the best.
Her father had taught her chess when she was six years old. First lesson he ever gave her —
“Angela, never let your opponent know which piece matters most to you.”
She smiled in the dark.
I’m coming for your king, Hassan.
Next Morning
She arrived at Malik Enterprises at 8:55 AM.
Five minutes early. Intentional.
Linda was already at her desk, coffee in hand, reading something on her screen. She looked up when Angela walked in.
“You’re early.” she said. Not a compliment. Not a complaint. Just an observation.
“Habit.” Angela said simply.
Linda stood up. “Come. I’ll show you your workspace. Mr. Malik arrives at exactly 9:15. Not 9:14, not 9:16. 9:15. You need to be at your desk by then.”
“Understood.”
Linda walked her through the floor. It was massive — open plan on the sides, glass offices in the middle, and at the very end, behind two heavy wooden doors, Hassan’s office.
Angela’s desk was right outside those doors.
Of course it is. she thought.
“You handle his schedule, his calls, his meetings.” Linda said, pulling out a thick folder. “His coffee is black, no sugar, served at 9:20. He doesn’t like small talk. He doesn’t like questions that waste his time. If something urgent comes up — and it will — you handle it first, then inform him. Never the other way around.”
Angela nodded, taking mental notes.
“And one more thing.” Linda stopped walking. Turned to face her directly. “Whatever you think you know about him — forget it. Mr. Malik is not what people say he is. He’s worse.”
Angela met her eyes. “Is that a warning?”
Linda looked at her for a moment.
“It’s advice.” she said. “There’s a difference.”
9:15 AM exactly.
Angela heard the elevator before she saw him.
The entire floor shifted — that was the only way she could describe it. People sat up straighter. Conversations dropped to murmurs. Even the air felt different.
Then the elevator doors opened.
Hassan Malik walked out in a dark charcoal suit, phone in hand, already talking to someone. His steps were unhurried but somehow covered distance faster than they should. Two men followed behind him — assistants or security, Angela couldn’t tell.
He didn’t look at anyone as he crossed the floor.
Until he reached her desk.
He stopped.
Looked down at her — she had stood automatically, she didn’t even know why — and for one second his dark eyes met hers.
Nothing in his face changed.
“Miss Reyes.” he said simply.
“Mr. Malik.” she replied.
He held eye contact for exactly two seconds longer than necessary.
Then he walked into his office and the doors closed behind him.
Angela sat back down slowly.
Her heart was beating faster than she wanted it to.
Stop it. she told herself firmly. He’s the enemy. That’s all.
The first three hours were controlled chaos.
Calls from Singapore, emails from three different board members, a meeting rescheduled twice, a legal document that needed immediate review — Angela handled everything. Her hands moved fast, her voice stayed calm, her brain worked the way it always did under pressure — sharp, focused, clear.
By 12:30 she had cleared half the backlog Linda said usually took the full day.
At 12:47, her desk phone rang.
Internal line.
His office.
She picked up. “Yes, Mr. Malik?”
“Come in.”
That was it. Call ended.
Angela straightened her blazer, picked up her notepad, and walked to the heavy wooden doors. She knocked once.
“Come.”
She pushed the door open.
His office was — overwhelming. That was the word. Floor to ceiling windows on two sides, the entire Dubai skyline laid out like it belonged to him. Dark furniture, clean lines, nothing unnecessary anywhere. A massive desk in the center that probably cost more than her entire apartment back home.
Hassan was standing at the window, hands in his pockets, looking out.
He didn’t turn around when she walked in.
“Close the door.” he said.
She did.
Silence.
She waited, notepad ready, face neutral.
He finally turned.
Walked slowly to his desk. Sat down. Opened a file.
“You cleared the Singapore contracts this morning.” he said. Not a question.
“Yes.”
“You rescheduled the board meeting without losing the Zurich connection.”
“Yes.”
He looked up. “How?”
“I checked the time zones before confirming. Zurich is three hours behind Dubai. Most assistants forget that.”
He studied her face. “Most assistants don’t notice it’s even a problem.”
Angela said nothing.
Hassan leaned back in his chair. Slow, deliberate. His eyes never left her face.
“You’re good at this.” he said quietly.
“That’s why you hired me.” she replied.
Something flickered in his eyes. Gone before she could name it.
“Sit down, Miss Reyes.”
She sat.
He opened a different file. Slid it across the desk toward her.
She looked at it.
And her blood ran cold.
It was her real resume.
Her actual name. Her actual history. Her father’s company. The timeline of everything that happened three years ago — all of it, laid out neatly, like someone had spent months putting it together.
Angela looked up slowly.
Hassan was watching her with that same unreadable expression.
“I know exactly who you are.” he said quietly. “I knew before your interview. I knew before you even landed in Dubai.”
The room was very quiet.
Angela put the file back on the desk. Carefully. Calmly.
“Then why am I sitting here?” she asked. Her voice was steady. She was proud of that.
Hassan tilted his head slightly.
“Because I want you here.”
“Why?”
He was quiet for a moment. Like he was deciding how much to give her.
Then —
“Your father’s company didn’t fall because of me, Angela.”
She went completely still.
He had used her first name. Deliberately.
“I know what you think happened.” he continued, voice low and even. “I know what it looked like. But there are things you don’t know. Things that were hidden from you very carefully.”
Angela’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to rewrite history to protect yourself. I was there. I watched everything fall apart. I watched my father—” she stopped. Breathed. “I know what you did.”
Hassan looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said something she wasn’t prepared for.
“I know you do.” he said quietly. “And I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
He stood up. Walked back to the window.
“I’m asking you to find out the truth.” he said. “The real truth. Not the version someone fed you.”
Angela stared at his back.
Her mind was spinning. Her chest was tight.
He’s lying. she told herself. This is a manipulation. This is what men like him do — they twist things, they confuse you, they make you doubt yourself.
But something — some small, irritating, traitorous part of her brain — registered the way he’d said it.
Not defensive. Not aggressive.
Tired. Like a man who had been carrying something heavy for a very long time.
She stood up.
“I’ll get back to the contracts.” she said. Flat. Professional.
“Angela.”
She stopped at the door. Didn’t turn around.
“The real enemy.” he said quietly. “Is still out there. And they already know you’re here.”
She left without answering.
But her hands — hidden at her sides — were shaking.
- Writer
