His Obsession

The elevator doors opened on the 42nd floor, and Amelia Carter's heels sank into carpet so thick it swallowed sound. Everything here was glass. Glass walls, glass desks, a glass ceiling that turned the Lagos skyline into something you could fall into. She smoothed down her blazer…the only good one she owned…and tried to look like she belonged. She did not feel like she belonged. "You're Miss Carter." It wasn't a question. The woman who said it had appeared from nowhere, silver-haired, sharp-eyed, holding a tablet like a weapon. "Yes. Amelia Carter. I'm here for…" "I know why you're here. I'm Mrs. Grey, Mr. Blackwood's executive coordinator. You're four minutes early. Good. He notices lateness. He does not notice anything else." Amelia blinked. "Sorry?" "You'll understand by the end of the week." Mrs. Grey turned on her heel. "Walk with me.” Amelia walked. The office at the end of the hall didn't have a nameplate. It didn't need one. Everyone on this floor moved like they were orbiting something, careful not to get too close to the door at the end of the corridor. Mrs. Grey knocked once and didn't wait for an answer. "Your new assistant, sir." The man behind the desk didn't look up right away. He was younger than Amelia expected…younger than the framed magazine covers in the lobby downstairs suggested, all sharp jaw and colder eyes. When he finally lifted his head, it wasn't curiosity in his expression. It was assessment. The way you'd look at a report you hadn't decided whether to trust yet. "Sit," he said. She sat. Adrian Blackwood slid a single sheet of paper across the desk without a word. At the top, in stark black letters: RULES. "Read them," he said. "You have thirty seconds." Amelia's eyes moved fast. 1. Be on time. Always. 2. Do not touch anything on my desk. 3. Do not speak unless spoken to in meetings. 4. My schedule is confidential. All of it. 5. Do not ask personal questions. 6. Do not discuss me outside this office. 7. If I say leave the room, you leave the room. 8. You do not have access to my private floor. 9. This is a three-month contract. Do not expect it to become permanent. And then, alone at the bottom, in a different, heavier font…like he'd typed it separately, later, and meant it more: 10: Never get too close to me. Amelia looked up. "That's — thorough." "It's necessary." Adrian's voice didn't rise or fall. It just was, flat and final, like weather. "I go through assistants quickly, Miss Carter. Not because I'm difficult. Because most people can't follow simple instructions." "I can follow instructions." Something flickered behind his eyes — not quite a smile. Closer to disbelief. "We'll see." He stood, buttoning his jacket, already moving past her toward the door. "You start now. My 10 a.m. moved to 9:45. You have six minutes to learn where the west conference room is." "No one told me…" "I'm telling you now." He didn't slow down. "Rule one, Miss Carter." She grabbed her bag and ran. By the time she found the room…third floor, not the one Mrs. Grey had vaguely gestured toward…she was two minutes late and out of breath, hair falling out of its clip. Adrian was already seated at the head of the table, six executives around him, all silent, all watching her walk in like she'd interrupted something sacred. He didn't look at her. He looked at his watch. "Sit," he said again. Same word. Colder this time. She sat. The meeting moved fast…numbers, projections, a word she didn't recognize thrown around as if everyone should. She took notes she barely understood, pen scratching too loud in a room that seemed to breathe quietly on purpose. It was near the end, while an executive named Mr. Kendrick pulled up a slide, that she saw it. A file open on the tablet in front of her…left there by whoever had the seat before her, background documents for the meeting she wasn't supposed to be reading. A vendor contract. Boring. Standard. Except halfway down the approvals list, a name stopped her cold. Daniel Carter…Consultant, Verified 2019. Her father's name. Her father, who worked at a small logistics firm two hours outside Lagos. Her father, who had never once mentioned Blackwood Enterprises. Not at dinner. Not ever. Amelia's pen stopped moving. Across the table, she felt it before she saw it…Adrian's eyes, already on her. Not on the slide. Not on Mr. Kendrick. On her face. Like he'd been watching her read it. "Miss Carter." His voice cut through the room, quiet and precise. "Is something wrong?" Every head turned toward her. She closed the file. "No, sir." But when she looked up, Adrian wasn't looking away. He was watching her the way you watch something you're not sure you can trust yet…and something else underneath that, something she didn't have a name for. Whatever it was, it made her stomach drop. Because for one second, just one, it looked like he already knew exactly what she'd seen.