The ring on his finger didn’t stop me

The elevator doors slid open on the 40th floor, and my stomach dropped. Okoro Holdings. Glass walls. Cold marble. The smell of money. My worn flats made no sound as I walked to the reception desk. This was it. My last interview. If I didn’t get this job, my sister’s hospital bills wouldn’t get paid. “Name?” the receptionist asked without looking up. “Tonia Adele. I’m here for the Personal Assistant position.” She finally glanced at me. My thrift-store blouse, my cheap bag. Her lips pressed together. “Mr. Okoro is waiting.” My heart hammered. 40th floor. CEO’s office. I’d seen Daniel Okoro on magazines. Billionaire. Ruthless. 32 years old. And married. The ring on his finger was famous. I knocked. “Come in.” The voice was deep, cold, and it made my knees weak. He didn’t look up from his laptop when I entered. Tall. Black suit. Hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it. “Sit,” he said. I sat. For a full minute he didn’t speak. Just typed. Then his eyes lifted to mine. Dark. Sharp. Assessing me like I was a problem he needed to solve. “You’re late,” he said. “I’m not. The interview was for 3pm. It’s 2:59.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Then it was gone. “Good. I hate liars.” He leaned back. “This job isn’t for the weak. I work late. I travel. I don’t do small talk. And I don’t get involved with my staff.” His eyes dropped to my hands. To my empty ring finger. Then back to my face. “Can you handle that, Ms. Adele?” I swallowed. “Yes, Mr. Okoro.” “Daniel.” My breath caught. “What?” “You’ll call me Daniel. In private.” The air in the room changed. And just like that, I knew. This job was going to ruin me.