The title THE ALPHA'S CURSED SECETARY

The rain in Lagos didn’t fall that night. It slammed. Zara Okoye stood under the Blackwood Tower awning, water dripping from her thrift-store blazer. The job offer in her hand was crumpled from how many times she’d read it. _Night Secretary. 10M naira. 3 months. No references needed._ Her mother’s hospital bill sat in her phone gallery. 9.8M naira. Due in 7 days. The red “OVERDUE” stamp looked like blood. She had no references. No degree. Just desperation and a mother who raised her alone. The tower was all black glass and no warmth. No receptionist. No security guard. Just a steel door with a card reader and a note taped at eye level: _Floor 99. Do not use the elevator after 11:59pm._ Her stomach twisted. That was weird. But 10M naira was weirder if she said no. The elevator was old, slow, and silent. Floor 99 dinged like a warning. The doors opened to darkness. Only one light on at the end of a long hallway. His office door was open. Mr. Blackwood didn’t look up when she entered. He sat behind a desk of black wood, pen moving across paper like he was signing lives away. Suit jacket off. Sleeves rolled. The man was built like a weapon. Sharp jaw. Dark hair. And eyes— Gold. Too gold to be human. “Zara Okoye,” he said. Voice rough, like it scraped on the way out. “You’re late.” “Rain, sir. And the door— there was no one—” “He only hires humans,” he cut her off, finally lifting his gaze. “For a reason.” She forced herself not to step back. He was beautiful in the way storms are beautiful. Dangerous and impossible to ignore. “I’m very human,” she said, clutching her bag. “Sir.” Something flickered in his expression. Not amusement. Not kindness. Something older. Tired. “Stand there,” he ordered. He stood and walked to the far wall. Chains hung there. Thick, iron, ancient. Scratches marked the brick behind them. Deep gouges. Like claws. Zara’s mouth went dry. “Rules,” he said without turning. “Three of them. You break one, you leave with nothing. No pay. No warning.” He pulled a card from his desk. Black. Heavy. He placed it on the desk between them. *RULE 1: No leaving before 6am.* *RULE 2: No looking at me after midnight.* *RULE 3: Run if I say ‘run’.* She stared at the card. Then at him. Then at the chains. “Sir… is this some kind of test?” she tried to laugh. It came out wrong. “Because if it’s about overtime, I can—” “Do you think I brought you here for coffee?” He turned then. Full on. And the office felt smaller. “Zara Okoye. You need 10M naira. Fast. I need a human to sit in this chair and type what I tell you. From 12am to 6am. That’s all.” “So why the chains?” His jaw clenched. For a second she saw pain there. Real, bone-deep pain. “Because every night at midnight, I chain myself to this wall.” He touched the iron cuff. It was worn smooth, like he’d done this a thousand times. “The witch who cursed my bloodline wants you dead, Zara. She wants my line ended. And I am what she made me.” Zara blinked. “You’re saying… you’re cursed?” “I’m saying I’m not safe after midnight.” His gold eyes held hers. “Rule 2 exists because if you see me, you won’t run. Humans don’t run when they should. They stare. They pity. They die.” The wall clock ticked. Loud. 11:57pm. He walked back to the chains. Slid his right wrist into the first cuff. Click. The sound echoed. “Last chance to leave,” he said quietly. “Take the elevator now. I’ll pay you for the month and forget your name.” Her mother’s face flashed in her mind. Pale. Tubes. The nurse saying “we need payment or we stop treatment.” Zara shook her head. “I need the job, Mr. Blackwood.” He didn’t argue. Click. Left wrist in the second cuff. Muscles in his forearms jumped. Veins under his skin started turning dark. Not blue. Black. Like ink bleeding under pale skin. 11:59pm. He pulled the third chain from the wall. A collar. Leather and iron. “Turn around,” he whispered. “Now, Zara.” She didn’t. Fear rooted her feet to the floor. “Turn around,” he said again. Harder this time. Desperate. “Do not look at me after midnight. That is not a suggestion. It’s the only thing keeping you alive.” 12:00am. The lights flickered. Thunder hit the windows. The chains snapped taut as he yanked them. Metal groaned. His head dropped forward. A sound tore from his throat— not human. Not animal. Something in between. And his eyes… The gold bled out. Black flooded in. Void. Bottomless. Beast. The transformation didn’t look like movies. It was worse. Bones didn’t c***k. Skin didn’t split. He just… changed. Shoulders widened. Fingers lengthened. Nails darkened. His breath came in ragged pulls, like he was fighting himself and losing. Zara’s hand flew to her mouth. Rule 2 shattered. She was looking. He lifted his head. Black eyes found hers across the room. Chains stretched to their limit. For one heartbeat, nothing. Then his lips pulled back from teeth that were suddenly too sharp. “Run,” he snarled. Rule 3. But Zara couldn’t move. Her legs were water. Her heart was a drum. 10M naira meant nothing now. Only the thing in the chains that used to be a man. He lunged forward. The chains caught him inches from her face. Iron bit into his wrists. Blood welled, black in the dim light. “RUN!” he roared, and the windows rattled. She stumbled back. Fell into the secretary chair. Papers scattered. His chest heaved. Black eyes locked on her mouth. On her pulse at her throat. Hunger. Not for blood. Something else. Something worse. Then, slowly, agonizingly, he sank to his knees. Chains dragging him back. “Don’t… look… at me,” he gritted out, every word a war. “I’m the monster, Zara. Remember that when the witch comes for you.” The room smelled like ozone and iron. His breathing slowed. The black in his eyes receded, a little. Gold fighting its way back. 6:04am. The first light of dawn touched the window. He slumped forward, forehead hitting the brick. Chains loose now. Human again. Just a man in a torn shirt, bleeding from his wrists. “Your first night is done,” he said, voice wrecked. “Will you come back tomorrow?” Zara stared at the blood on the floor. At the chains. At him. Her mother needed 10M naira. And the monster in the chains had just told her to run. She picked up the black rule card from the floor. “I’ll be here at midnight,” she whispered. His gold eyes snapped up to hers. Shock. Then something darker. Possession. “Foolish girl,” he breathed. “The curse demands blood. And now it knows your scent.” *[End Chapter 1]*