Annabell stood tall in the glass-walled conference room, her sleek black dress hugging her curves as she observed every word, every flicker of emotion on the executives' faces. It was a routine board meeting—but behind the polished suits and practiced smiles, she sensed something else… secrets.
Michael Yin sat at the head of the table, his gaze occasionally drifting toward her. He had seen her work—sharp, calculated, poised. That was exactly why he'd asked her to be present, not just as his new assistant, but as his eyes.
After the meeting, as the executives filtered out, Michael's voice cut through the silence. "Stay."
Annabell paused, her fingers gripping her tablet. He rose slowly, walked over to her, and in a voice only she could hear, asked, "What did you see?"
She met his gaze. "There's tension. A lot of it. Especially when 'Project Phoenix' was mentioned. Grant looked panicked, Susan was fidgety. Someone's hiding something."
Michael's jaw tightened. "That's what I thought."
Without another word, he signaled her to follow him. Down the hallway, past his office—straight into the elevator.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"My home," he said simply.
Annabell blinked. "Excuse me?"
He turned to her, his voice firm. "You want full access, you'll need to be closer. I'm not letting this company fall because someone outplayed me. You'll work better by my side, twenty-four-seven."
"I didn't sign up for that," she said flatly.
He pulled out a sleek leather folder and handed it to her. "Now you have. Read the contract. It includes housing, double the pay, unlimited access—so long as you get results."
She looked at him, hesitating. "And if I say no?"
Michael's eyes darkened. "Then I find someone else. But I don't want anyone else."
***
His house was not just a mansion—it was a fortress. High-tech, private, dangerously alluring. Like the man who owned it.
As they entered the grand foyer, Annabell was momentarily awestruck. Marble floors, chandeliers, a panoramic view of the city.
"This place is…" she began.
"Efficient," he interrupted. "And secure."
He led her upstairs to a guest suite—larger than most apartments.
"This will be your room. Office is down the hall. You'll eat here, sleep here, work here."
"You're really serious about this," she said quietly, flipping open the contract.
Michael stepped closer. Too close.
"I don't play games, Annabell," he said, his voice low. "I built this empire from nothing. And I'll burn it down myself before I let anyone destroy it."
Their eyes locked.
"I'll sign," she whispered. "But you should know something."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I don't play games either."
Michael smirked. "Good."
But as she sat down with pen in hand, neither of them could ignore the way the air crackled between them—like a fire waiting for a spark.
This was no ordinary arrangement.
And it was only just beginning.
—