trapped with my boss

I wasn’t supposed to be nervous. It was just an interview. Just another office. Another chance for rejection to strike. Yet, as I stood outside the sleek glass building of Cross Holdings, staring up at the polished steel, my stomach twisted in knots. “Get it together, Lily,” I whispered to myself, tugging at the hem of my blouse. My reflection stared back at me—hair slightly tangled, blouse neat but simple, heels worn. Survival had a way of making even small things feel monumental. This job wasn’t optional. My rent was overdue. My younger brother’s school fees were waiting. My mother was gone, and suddenly I was the only one keeping the household afloat. Walking away wasn’t a choice. I stepped into the lobby. Everything screamed wealth. Polished floors reflected my nervous steps. A woman in a crisp suit approached. “Miss Hart?” “Yes,” I said. “Follow me,” she instructed. I obeyed, heels clicking. She led me through wide corridors lined with framed achievements and abstract art. I felt very small. We stopped in front of a massive door. Beyond it, I heard a faint keyboard click. “Good luck,” she said, and left. Inside, the office was expansive, windows overlooking the city skyline. But all I noticed was him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair neatly styled. Eyes like storm clouds—grey and piercing. Nathaniel Cross. I had read about him. Feared him. Admired him. Now he was staring at me. “You’re late,” he said. Flat. Steel in his voice. “I—I’m sorry, sir. Traffic—” “Excuses,” he cut in. “I don’t tolerate them.” I swallowed hard. He finally looked at me, and the room seemed smaller. “You’ll be my personal assistant,” he continued. “Long hours. Absolute obedience. No mistakes. No emotions. Can you handle that, Miss Hart?” “Yes, sir,” I said, trying to sound steady. He leaned back. A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “Good. Because once you start working for me… there’s no turning back.” The first week was brutal. Nathaniel had rules for everything: never speak unless spoken to, never be late, never make mistakes. Breaking any of them earned a cold stare that could freeze the blood. Emails, meetings, coffee runs, filing documents—it never stopped. “Miss Hart,” he snapped one morning, “you forgot the Henderson files.” “I’ll get them immediately, sir,” I said, rushing. Everything I did seemed never enough. Yet, there were moments. Moments when I saw him standing by the window late at night, phone untouched, eyes distant, as if carrying invisible weight. I tried not to notice. I told myself I wasn’t supposed to. But the more I saw, the harder it became. Evenings at home were worse. My apartment, once comforting, now felt stifling. I would replay the day’s events in my head, wondering what Nathaniel thought of me. Did he see me as competent? Weak? Invisible? I sat on the edge of my bed, laptop open, reviewing the reports I had sent. Everything had to be perfect. One mistake would be remembered. I had to prove myself—not for pride, not for ego—but survival. And then there was the small, inexplicable thrill when I caught him staring at me—just once, from across the office, before he looked away. A dangerous mix of fear and curiosity blossomed in me. By the end of the week, exhaustion had settled into my bones. Yet, there was a strange anticipation. Tomorrow, I would see him again. I would face his icy gaze, his impossible expectations, and I would survive. Because I had no other choice. Sleep came fitfully, dreams tangled with office lights, city skyscrapers, and the faint, lingering image of storm-gray eyes. And somewhere deep down, I realized this: working for Nathaniel Cross wasn’t just a job. It was going to change me.