Luna's Moon

Chapter Seven

Apparently, I was supposed to resume immediately. No heads-up, no formal memo—just vibes. I only found out when I arrived at my office the next morning to see it completely cleared out. My desk? Gone. My files? Vanished. Even my plant, the poor thing, was missing. Geez, what’s the rush?

I headed straight to Mr. Gordon’s office, confusion written all over my face. He didn’t say much—just handed me a box filled with my personal belongings and pointed upstairs.

To the first floor.

Oh dear.

The elevator ride to the first floor felt longer than usual, probably because my heart was pounding like a tribal drum in my chest. First floor. The level for high-ranking officials—executives, partners... and now me? I held my box tightly, feeling ridiculously like the new kid on the first day of school.

The doors dinged open. Sleek, modern, quiet. Carpet so soft I could probably sleep on it. I stepped out, instantly aware of how out of place I felt.

Inside was a long, glossy hallway with offices lined neatly on both sides. At the far end, a larger office with double doors loomed. And right in front of those doors was a sleek black desk—my new station, apparently.

A woman with sharp cheekbones and a sleek ponytail approached me. She looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine, not an office building.

“You’re Miss Luna?” she asked, already turning toward the double doors.

“Yes,” I nodded, gripping the box tighter.

“Mr. Moon is expecting you. You may set your things down and go in.” She didn’t wait for a reply before gliding away.

I dropped the box beside the desk and smoothed my dress. Then I pushed open the doors.

Aurelian Moon was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, dressed in another impeccable black suit, hands behind his back, looking out at the city skyline like it belonged to him. It probably does.

When he turned, his golden irises locked onto mine. Be still my heart.

“You’re late,” he said simply.

I blinked. “No one told me I was to resume today.”

He picked up a sleek black folder from the table and extended it toward me, his fingers long and steady, the movement precise—controlled.

"Everything you need is in here. I expect excellence, Luna. No delays. No excuses," he said, his tone calm but edged with authority that made it clear he wasn’t used to being challenged.

I accepted the folder, feeling the faint warmth lingering from his hand. It wasn’t thick—five pages maybe—but it felt heavier somehow. I nodded, unable to find my voice.

"Any questions?" he asked, his gold-ringed eyes watching me with unnerving intensity.

"Yes, actually... Why me?" I asked, clutching the folder tighter to my chest.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. His towering frame moved with silent confidence, like a predator that knew exactly how much space he occupied. His broad shoulders cast a shadow over me as he closed the distance until his polished black shoes gently brushed against the heel of mine.

I should’ve stepped back—but I was rooted in place. What is this overpowering feeling?, I've never felt this strongly for anyone.

"Why not you, Luna?" he murmured, voice low and velvety, the corner of his lips curving into a faint smile. "You’re fit for it."

His scent wrapped around me—clean, woodsy, laced with something dark and spicy. It curled in my lungs and settled in my stomach like a storm brewing. My breath quickened.

" I’m sorry I upset you the other day,". He added, leaning just a little closer, his golden irises glowing subtly beneath thick lashes, studying my face like he was memorizing it. I felt intoxicated by his presence.

"You didn’t," I squeaked embarrassingly, eyes locked with his. Even in my heels, I barely reached his chest, and yet under his gaze, I felt entirely exposed.

Suddenly, he turned away, putting a few calculated steps between us. The air shifted, tension loosening just slightly as he distanced himself.

Moments later, the door creaked open. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance. It was like he’d known someone would arrive—down to the second.

"You may go, Luna," he said without looking at me, his voice even, was I the only one affected?

You don’t have to tell me twice. My legs—finally free from the invisible hold—carried me toward the door.

As I reached it, I caught sight of the visitor entering. A man dressed sharply in grey, oozing importance. I dipped my head slightly in polite greeting and slipped out, the door closing softly behind me.

My heart was still pounding.

I returned to my new desk and began arranging the few personal items I’d managed to bring along—my pen holder, a small notepad, and the coffee mug Stella had given me last year. Once everything felt just right, I sank into the sleek leather chair and opened the folder, my eyes scanning its contents with careful precision.

Every word, every instruction—I read intricately, wanting to leave no room for error.

Page One detailed a general schedule: early morning briefings, interdepartmental coordination meetings, document reviews, and end-of-day reports. Straightforward, if packed.

Page Two listed high-profile contacts—executives, international liaisons, private security officers, and even personal stylists. A few names stood out from the elite social scene. These were people one didn’t call lightly.

Page Three was a full-page confidentiality agreement, stamped in red with the words:

“Under no circumstance is the subject to discuss, disclose, or infer the nature of Mr. Aurelian Moon’s business dealings, travel, or personal information without express written consent.”

And then came Page Four, the page that made my stomach flip:

Subject is to accompany Mr. Aurelian Moon on all official travels, both domestic and international. Subject will be responsible for the following:

Preparing daily itineraries and keeping Mr. Moon on schedule.

Coordinating correspondence with global partners and government liaisons.

Ensuring privacy and discretion in all personal and business affairs.

Reviewing and organizing classified files prior to executive meetings.

Preparing accommodations, meals, and environment preferences in advance of travel.

Providing assistance at formal events as needed, including documentation, translation, or public relations notes.

Managing unforeseen complications during travel with immediate initiative.

Remaining accessible at all hours during work assignments, regardless of time zone.

My heart skipped a beat.

This wasn’t just a job. This was a position that demanded presence, loyalty, and total immersion. I’d be his shadow, in boardrooms and on private jets. No personal space. No clocking out at five. Just him. And me.

Page Five was a timeline—with Geneva circled. Departure: Friday.

I lowered the folder slowly, my fingers tightening around the edge.

Friday.

That was three days away.

I exhaled, the weight of everything settling in my chest.

Traveling. With him.

This is what I loved, love, doing and I do enjoy it but what is this foreboding feeling?.