His Lost Fiance

Chapter 2 — The First Day

Morning light spilled across the city in weak, silver lines. Aira stood outside the Armandi building, nerves twisting her stomach like wire. She had barely slept, too busy replaying the strange interview and the man’s voice that had seemed to reach beneath her skin.

Inside, the lobby was quieter than she remembered, the marble floors gleaming under white lights. The same guard from yesterday checked her name and handed her a security pass.

“Floor fifteen. Report to Miss Sana,” he said.

Aira thanked him and stepped into the elevator. Fifteen floors up, the doors opened to a different world—sleek desks, soft music, and people moving with quick, purposeful steps. Miss Sana, the same woman from reception, motioned her over.

“You’re early. Good,” she said briskly. “You’ll handle calls, manage visitors, and answer to me. Keep your uniform tidy and your voice calm. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. They’ll bring your ID by noon.”

Aira sat behind the wide marble counter, glancing at the phone display, the clock, the mirrored glass that showed her reflection beside endless halls. She focused on breathing steadily. Stillness, not panic.

By midday, exhaustion turned to dull rhythm—calls, paperwork, silence. She began to believe the job might really be simple after all.

Then the elevator chimed.

Two men in dark suits stepped out, one carrying a file, the other scanning the reception area. Their gaze stopped on Aira.

“Miss Malik?”

“Yes?”

“Director Arman would like to see you.”

Her chest tightened. “Now?”

“Immediately.”

Miss Sana looked up from her desk, surprised but said nothing.

Aira followed the men back into the same elevator she had taken the day before. This time the ride felt longer. The floor numbers climbed, and with each one the air seemed thinner.

When the doors opened, she found herself again in that silent corridor. The tall man from yesterday waited by the office door and nodded once for her to enter.

Rafeel Arman stood behind his desk, a cup of coffee in one hand, a file in the other. He looked different in daylight—colder, sharper. The sunlight through the glass made a pale halo around him as he spoke without raising his eyes.

“Sit.”

Aira sat carefully, clutching her ID card.

“You started this morning,” he said. “How is the work?”

“Good, sir. Everyone has been kind.”

“Kindness can be misleading here.” He set the cup down, finally meeting her gaze. “We prefer honesty.”

“Yes, sir.”

He studied her for what felt like minutes. “Why didn’t you mention your father’s full name yesterday?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” she said carefully. “It’s been years since we spoke.”

“Why?”

She hesitated. “He… stayed in the village. I left when my mother died.”

Rafeel’s expression didn’t change, but something unreadable flickered across his eyes.

“Condolences,” he said quietly.

“Thank you.”

“I knew your father,” he continued. “He was respected once. Still is, in certain circles.”

Aira nodded, unsure what to say.

He leaned back in his chair. “Do you plan to remain in the city long?”

“If I can. I just want to work, sir.”

“Good.” He closed the file gently, his tone calm again. “You’ll report directly to my office each morning for the next few weeks. Call it additional training.”

“Sir, I—”

“That will be all, Miss Malik.”

The conversation ended there. She stood, heart hammering, and managed a quiet “Yes, sir” before leaving.

When the door closed behind her, the man at the desk exhaled slowly and picked up the phone.

“Keep an eye on her,” Rafeel said. “No one tells her about her father. If she asks questions, I’m informed first.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

He ended the call and turned his chair toward the window. Below, the city gleamed in the afternoon heat, unaware that one small piece of its machinery had just begun turning exactly as he planned.