The Billionaire's Plus Sized Redemption

Chapter 8 — Blank Pages

Olivia pov;

Luca dropped two ceramic mugs onto the kitchen counter, coffee splashing over the rims. He didn't hand me one. Instead, he crossed his arms and fixed me with a smirk that I knew all too well.

"So," he said, drawing the word out like taffy. "The Blue Note Lounge."

My hand froze mid-reach for the coffee. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me, Olivia Bennett." Luca leaned against the counter, his eyes sparkling with barely contained glee. "I saw you. Adrian and I were on the dance floor, but I saw everything. The way he looked at you. The way you actually relaxed for the first time in days."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Luca, I"

"Tall, dark hair, sharp jawline," Luca continued, ticking off details on his fingers. "Expensive suit. Looked at you like you were the only woman in the room. And you left with him, Olivia. You left the lounge with a complete stranger and didn't come home until past midnight."

I dropped my gaze to the counter, my fingers curling around the edge of the mug. "It was just a conversation. Nothing more."

"A conversation that lasted until the morning?" Luca raised one eyebrow. "Olivia. I'm not judging you. I'm dying of curiosity. Who was he?"

I pressed my lips together, the image of steel-gray eyes flashing in my mind. "I don't even know his last name."

Luca's smirk softened into something gentler. "But you wanted to. I saw your face when you looked at him."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again."

"Maybe," Luca said, finally handing me the coffee mug. "But for one night, you actually looked alive again. That's worth something, Olivia."

“Luca, please,” Adrian said, stepping into the kitchen with his leather laptop bag slung over one shoulder. He reached out and poured himself a cup of black coffee. “Leave her alone. She’s allowed to have a night out without answering a police interrogation.”

“Thank you, Adrian,” I said, offering him a grateful smile.

“I’m not interrogating!” Luca said, waving his hands in the air. “I’m caring! There is a difference.”

Adrian patted Luca’s shoulder gently as he walked past toward the front door. “Have a good day at work, Luca. See you tonight, Olivia.”

“See you tonight,” I called back as the front door closed behind him.

After Luca left for his styling appointment, the apartment became dead silent. I stood alone in the small kitchen, holding my lukewarm mug. The quiet weight of reality settled right back onto my shoulders.

The excitement of last night faded fast, replaced by the sharp, stinging truth of my life. I was twenty-nine years old. I was living in my childhood best friend’s spare room. I had just few dollars left in my bank account, no job, and a cardboard box of second-hand clothes. I couldn't stay here forever, sleeping on a borrowed bed and eating borrowed food. I needed a job. I needed a real salary. I needed a life that belonged to me, not one built on charity.

I carried my old laptop over to the wooden dining table and sat down. The wood groaned under my elbows as I opened the screen. The white bright light hurt my eyes for a second before the desktop loaded.

I opened a blank document and typed my name at the top: Olivia Bennett.

My hands began to shake over the keyboard.

I started typing in my education—my honors degree in Business Administration from years ago. My fingers moved fast over the plastic keys. But then I hit the work history section, and my hands froze completely.

The cursor blinked steadily against the white screen. Blink. Blink. Blink.

From twenty-twelve to twenty-nineteen, I had been an executive assistant at a respected firm, organized, sharp, and capable. But after twenty-nineteen? Blank. Seven empty years.

I stared at the screen as my throat tightened. Seven years where Damian had convinced me I was useless. Seven years where he made me call in sick, then hand in my resignation, and finally stay trapped inside our big, empty house. Seven years of sitting at home, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock, flinching at every loud noise.

How could I explain seven blank years to a company? What employer would hire a woman who had been out of the workforce for almost a decade?

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking three slow, deep breaths to steady my racing heart. I opened my eyes, swallowed hard, and started typing again. I focused on my skills—organization, calendar management, logistics, problem-solving. I wrote down everything I knew I was good at, trying to make the words look strong on the page.

My phone chimed on the table, vibrating against the polished wood. I picked it up. It was a text message from a former college classmate I had reached out to few days ago.

“Hey Olivia! I spoke with a connection of mine. Her name is Sophia Reynolds. She’s the HR Director over at Kingsley Global Holdings. She’s wonderful and very fair. Keep an eye on their career page—they update listings every morning.”

I stared at the name on the screen. Kingsley Global Holdings.

It was one of the largest multinational companies in Riverton, a massive corporation that managed logistics, real estate, and finance. They occupied a massive glass tower downtown in the Kingsbridge District. Working at a place like that felt completely out of reach for someone like me. But Sophia Reynolds sounded like a real human being, someone who might actually read a resume instead of throwing it in the trash.

I opened my web browser and typed in the company’s website. I clicked on the Careers tab and scrolled down the long list of open positions. Most of them required specialized engineering degrees or ten continuous years of senior executive management.

I kept scrolling, my finger dragging across the laptop touchpad.

Near the bottom of the page, a brand-new listing posted just two hours ago caught my eye:

POSITION: Personal Secretary to the Chief Executive Officer

LOCATION: Kingsley Tower, Executive Floor

REQUIREMENTS: High organization, adaptability, discretion, strong problem-solving under pressure.

My pulse quickened. A secretary position for the CEO. It was a demanding job, but the description listed exact tasks I knew I could handle—scheduling high-level meetings, managing daily operations, organizing travel, and managing executive correspondence.

I looked at my updated resume on the other tab. My hands were still trembling slightly, but a sudden spark of quiet determination bloomed in my chest. I didn't have a perfect work history, but I was organized, sharp, and hardworking. I had survived seven years of psychological warfare under Damian’s roof; surely I could handle managing an executive's calendar.

I didn't let myself hesitate or overthink it. Before the fear could talk me out of it, I clicked Upload Resume, attached my cover letter, and hit the big blue Submit Application button.

The screen refreshed instantly, displaying a bold green checkmark:

“Thank you, Olivia Bennett. Your application for Personal Secretary has been submitted successfully.”

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the green text on the screen, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. I had just thrown my name into the ring at the biggest company in the city.

I closed the laptop screen with a soft click, sat back in the quiet kitchen, and wondered if anyone at Kingsley Tower would ever actually call me back.