Ayla's POV
Gran! Gran! Gran!
My alarm screamed beside my pillow, and before it even got the chance to ring a second time, I was already up.
Usually, I was the kind of girl who snoozed it at least twice before crawling out from under the blanket, but not that day.
That day wasn't just another morning.
It was the first day of a new beginning.
I threw off my covers, heart pounding with excitement and nerves. For a few seconds, I stood beside my bed, letting it sink in, I was really going to work at Solaria Manhattan that day, the most renowned luxury hotel group in New York. The name itself sounded like money and authority.
I had spent four long years studying hotel management while I was in university, but since I graduated three years ago I hadn't landed a single real job. I did three years of part-time work and menial jobs just to survive. And now, finally, I was walking into one of the best hotels in the city.
I rushed into the bathroom, still grinning, and caught my reflection in the mirror. And like every morning, I paused.
A pretty girl stared back at me: long, fluffy brown hair that refused to lie flat no matter how much I brushed it, big round hazel eyes with a faint blue shimmer on the lids, soft lips, a heart-shaped face, and smooth glowing skin. I looked… decent. Maybe even a little pretty.
No… scratch that. I looked damn pretty.
"Okay, Ayla Davul," I whispered to my reflection, puffing my cheeks. "You're twenty-four, starting fresh, and today you are getting the chance to prove that there's more inside your head than just a cute face."
A hot shower followed, long, steamy, confidence-building. Then I slipped into my best outfit: a crisp white blouse tucked into a navy-blue pencil skirt, topped with a light-cream blazer. I pulled my hair into a low ponytail, letting a few strands fall loose around my face. The mirror version of me looked polished, professional… almost like I belonged in a place like Solaria.
When I stepped back into the sitting room, my roommate Mira sat perched, cross-legged on the sofa. She was munching on cereal and scrolling through her phone. Her pajamas and curly hair were in total mess… typically Mira.
"Oooh, my queen is here, pretty as always," she teased the moment she saw me in the room.
I fastened my watch, pretending to be calm. "First day at a corporate job. Do you think I'm going to do good?"
Mira jumped up, cereal forgotten. "Of course you will! You're Ayla Davul, remember? Best student, best worker, best everything. If those other companies didn't hire you, that's their loss." She adjusted my collar and sprayed perfume on me like an over-caring mother.
I laughed softly. "You've always been the best person to me, Mira. I love you."
Still fussing with my blazer, she murmured, "That's because you're amazing too. Three years of working for people who wanted you for your looks and never saw your skills. And now Solaria Manhattan sees that my best girl has something more than prettiness alone. I'm super proud of you." She pinched my cheek. "Just promise me one thing… bring me a hot rich executive. And maybe grab one for yourself too."
"Ha-ha, very funny." I grabbed my beige handbag and checked my reflection one last time. My lipstick was perfect, and my perfume smelled expensive even if it was from a discount store. That's Mira's magic cheap things, perfect taste.
"Bye, my love," I said, heading for the door.
"Wait! No hug? Don't starve me now that you've got a job!" she complained, arms wide open.
"Oh, my bad, you come first in everything." I giggled and hugged her tight.
"You've got this, babe," she whispered. "Call me at lunch. I want every detail, especially if your boss is hot."
I rolled my eyes. "Hopeless."
She grinned, unbothered. "Don't forget to get your work done and get mine too. Preferably a handsome, rich executive."
"Alright, ma'am. As your ladyship pleases," I said with a mock bow before heading for the door.
As I stepped outside, the morning breeze brushed my face, carrying with it the scent of new beginnings.
Outside, New York was already alive, cars honking, people rushing, the city pulsing with noise and ambition. The kind of morning that promised something big. I clutched my bag tighter and headed for the bus, nerves buzzing under my skin.
The ride felt endless. My heart wouldn't calm down, not even when I replayed the call from HR: "Congratulations, Ms. Davul. You passed the interview and meet the criteria for the position. You'll be joining us as the new secretary to the General Manager."
Secretary to the General Manager.
The words still sounded unreal, huge, and intimidating… perfect!
When I finally stepped off the bus, I walked for a few minutes before reaching Solaria Manhattan, and I was more than astonished by the sight before me.
[SOLARIA MANHATTAN]
The name gleamed in gold above the entrance, its motto carved beneath: "Where Luxury Touches the Sky."
And it truly did. A ninety-story tower of glass and steel, catching the morning light like a jewel. Every pane reflected power. A private rooftop helipad glinted far above. For a second I stared so long my eyes ached.
Inside, the air changed: cool, fragrant with white tea and cedar. Marble floors stretched beneath crystal chandeliers; luxury hummed in every surface. The men at the desk wore deep-purple suits with gold pins, the women tailored blazers embroidered with the Solaria crest.
"Wow," I whispered. "Three years late getting a real job… it's worth every minute."
I walked toward the reception desk, heels clicking like nervous punctuation marks. My cheap shoes squeaked once. I winced, then stood tall, forcing confidence.
I paused a few steps before the desk and rehearsed my words.
"Good morning, I'm Ayla Davul, newly hired secretary for the General Manager… no, that sounded stiff."
"Good morning! I'm here to start my first day… ugh, too cheerful."
Maybe just… "Hi, I'm Ayla Davul, the new secretary… yes. Calm and confident."
"Okay," I whispered, clutching my bag tighter. "Calm and confident."
I squared my shoulders and took a breath so deep it almost hurt. One step. Then another.
The receptionist looked up with a polite smile. "Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to Solaria Manhattan. How may I assist you?"
"Hi," I said, trying not to sound breathless. "I'm Ayla Davul, the new secretary assigned to the General Manager."
She checked her tablet and nodded. "Yes, Ms. Davul, you're expected. Please head to the top floor of the executive suite. Elevator to your right."
"Thank you," I said, and by this time my palms were damp.
Each step toward that elevator felt like a drumbeat: my first real job, my first taste of power, and somewhere above… my new boss.
I pressed the top-floor button. The doors slid shut with a soft ding. My reflection in the mirrored walls looked nervous, hopeful, and determined.
"I can do this," I whispered.
The elevator climbed 50th, 60th, 70th… my stomach lifted with it. Then, finally, ding.
The doors opened.
I stepped out, rehearsing my polite smile, smoothing my skirt. The executive floor glowed with quiet opulence: artwork, glass walls, and silence.
I stopped in front of the large door marked General Manager's Office.
"Hmmm," I cleared my throat softly and knocked once.
No answer.
I inhaled and knocked again, two quick taps.
Knock! Knock!
"Come in," a low, rich voice answered from inside.
The sound made something twist inside me, sweet, firm, dangerously familiar. But I brushed it off. Where on earth would I know someone in a place like this?
I pushed the door open.
The office was stunningly wide, sunlit, and impossibly sleek. Every surface gleamed. The air was laced with jasmine and something sharper.
At the massive desk, a figure sat turned away, long black hair cascading like silk over the back of a leather chair.
"Good morning, ma'am," I said, with the smile I had practiced. "I'm Ayla Davul… your newly assigned secretary."
Silence.
Then the chair began to turn slowly, deliberately, and my boss, a woman, faced me.
A tailored white blouse hugged her body with effortless elegance. A gold watch gleamed at her wrist. Her skin was flawless. A pair of dark glasses hid her eyes, but her posture… her presence… it stirred something old, something buried.
She reached up, removed the glasses, and those eyes…
Piercing. Amused. Unreadable.
Yet heartbreakingly familiar.
My knees buckled. My bag slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud I barely heard over the roar in my ears.
"It's her," I whispered, my mouth parted, stunned.
Of all places, of all chances… fate had brought me back to her.
She tilted her head, lips curving not quite into a smile, something between recognition and danger. And just like that, the world felt both terrifying and beautiful again.