Bound to the billionaire’s secret

Even at 5:45 a.m., the streets pulse with a restless hum — as if the city never really slept, just closed one eye to pretend. The alarm doesn't ring, it screams. Sounded like even my phone has given up on me. I jolt upright, hair tangled, heart thudding, scared and anxious. 7:52am. My interview is at 8:30 on the other side of Manhattan. Great, as I wasn’t aware of the interview, my friend Maya applied for me. Of course I’m about to ruin my first illegal interview. Another dream half buried before it even starts I shove off the blanket, grab one blazer that still looks semi professional and dash to the washroom. Moms soft cough drifts from the next room. She’s awake, waiting for her meds. I promised myself I’ll buy the refill after I land the job, if they’ll even let me in the building. The subway groans through the tunnel like it’s mocking me. The typical busy morning. A kid spills orange juice on my skirt; a businessman curses because I’m in his way. A man in a suit jogs across the crosswalk, balancing a coffee in one hand and determination in the other. Welcome to New York, Amara Johnson- where hope costs more than rent. Finally, I reached Hale Enterprises, my nerves are buzzing. The tower slices the sky, sixty floors of steel glass and pure intimidation. I stepped inside where everything screams luxury, marble floors, chrome pillars, people who look and smells like money and victory. Lucien’s name engraved everywhere. I sign in with shaking hands. “Personal assistant interview”. I say confidently, pretending I belong here. The receptionist's eyes flick down to my thrift store heel. “Name”. “Amara Johnson”. She types, frowns. “You are not on the list” My stomach drops. “Could you please check again” I got an email yesterday…..” Before she could go through the list and reply me again A deep voice cuts through the lobby. “What’s going on?” The air changes. Everyone straightens. Phone lower and head uptight. The man walking towards us looks like he invented gravity and decided to keep it to himself. Lucien Hale. Tall, controlled, black suit that fits like sin. His expression- calm, unreadable, a hint of something sharp beneath, with the kind of posture that says he has never had to shrink himself to fit anywhere. Unapologetically expensive. His hair is dark and styled with effortless precision, like he just ran a hand through it and it fell perfectly into place. His eyes…they are cold, observant, calculating — the eyes of a man who sees everything and reveals nothing. “This applicant doesn’t appear on the list, sir”, the receptionist murmurs. His gaze slides to me, slow and assessing. “Your name?” “Amara Johnson” I said, my voice cracking. He gives me a disgusted look and studies me for one endless second. “Follow me” The receptionist's jaw drops. I trail after him past security glass and hallways that smells of expensive ink and quiet power. We ride an elevator that hums like a vault door sealing shut. He doesn’t look at me, but the silence is heavier than words. When the doors open, we are in an office that could double as a museum; floor to ceiling windows, people sitting in the board room. There it was, the moment of truth. I faced a panel, they questioned my resume inconsistencies. Lucien sat quietly, stern face, cold eyes as I wished the ground could swallow me up. One executive mocked my lack of experience, another warned that I’ll crumble under pressure. “Everyone leave, ” he instructed with a cold expression. “You weren’t scheduled for today”, he continues, scrolling on his tablet. “Yet you’re here”. “I…… there….. must’ve been a system error” I mumbled “System errors don’t happen here”. He glances up. “Why do you want this job?” I thought to myself for a minute, thinking of what to say. Because rent is overdue, mom needs meds and I need money to breathe. Instead, I say, "Because I’m good at it.” He paused. You don’t look like someone who enjoyed taking orders. “ I don’t. But I’m very good at giving results.” Something flashes behind his eyes, interest or maybe danger, I can’t figure it out. “You realize this posting demands total discretion. No questions, no gossip, no mistakes.” “I understand.” “Do you?” He leans back, voice low. “Working for me means you’ll see things you shouldn’t. Hear things you can’t repeat. Can you keep your mouth shut, Miss Johnson?”. My heart pounds. “Yes sir “ He continued, tapping a file on the desk. “Last assistant lasted six days, think you’ll beat that?” “I’ll try.” His lips curve, not a smile, a test. “You start tomorrow. Seven am. Don’t be late” My brain stutters. “Wait- you’re hiring me?” “You wanted the job. Don’t waste it” He stands, dismissing me like the matters closed and calls security to escort me out, politely. I found my way back to the lobby, half dazed and half happy, clutching the badge he slipped onto the file : Temporary Clearance-A.J. I can’t tell if I just got lucky or walked into something I won’t survive. Outside, the city roars; taxis blur, sirens wail. I lift my face up to the wind and breathe, really breathe for the first time in weeks. Tomorrow, I’ll walk back into this building as his assistant. Still facing up, a shadow moves behind the glass— the shape of Lucien watching from sixty floors up. And though I can’t see his eyes, I feel it, the certainty that he’s already planning what to do with me.