Every time cynthia heard the click of expensive shoes down the hallway, her heart did a tiny jump—half fear, half fascination.
She still couldn't believe she'd survived Thh, the office was buzzing with gossip.
Apparently, Alexander had called an emergency meeting.
Apparently, someone was being transferred.
Apparently, the boss was in one of his "moods."
Cynthia quietly ate her sandwich in the break room, praying she wasn't the reason.
Miss Brooks," came a low voice from the doorway.
She froze mid-bite.
Alexander stood there, flawless as ever in a charcoal suit, one eyebrow raised.
"The director wants to see you," he said.
She swallowed. "You… are the director."
"Exactly."
He turned without waiting, and she hurried after him, tripping over her own nerves.
His office felt cold .
Alexander didn't speak right away—he simply gestured for her to sit.
Cynthia perched on the edge of the chair, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse.
She could hear the ticking of the minimalist clock on the wall, each second stretching.
I heard that you found the missing file",he said
Yes sir, cynthia blinked
Finally, he said, "How long have you worked here?"
"Six months," she replied. "Technically five and a half—"
"Six," he corrected.
"Right."
He looked at her, expression unreadable. "Do you enjoy your job?"
She hesitated. "I mean, I enjoy having it."
One corner of his mouth lifted—almost a smile, but not quite.
"I appreciate honesty," he said. "Most people try too hard to impress me."
"Trust me, I'm not one of them."
That earned her a soft huff of amusement.
Then he stood, walking to the window. "I'm making a staffing change. Effective immediately, you'll be my personal assistant."
Her brain stuttered. "I—sorry, what?"
"You heard me."
"Sir, I… I don't even know what a personal assistant does here."
"You'll learn." He turned to face her, eyes sharp. "I need someone efficient, quiet, and—"
He paused, studying her like a riddle. "—invisible."
Invisible. The word stung, but curiosity outweighed her pride.
"Why me?" she asked.
His gaze didn't waver. "Because you don't stand out. And that's exactly what I need."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Outside, the skyline shimmered through the glass walls.
Cynthia's thoughts raced — this had to be a mistake.
Then, more seriously: "This position requires discretion. You'll have access to private files, projects, and… people. If you're careless, it won't end well."
Her heart skipped. "End well?"
He ignored the question, sliding a small folder across the desk.
"Your new schedule. Report to me directly at seven tomorrow morning."
"Seven?"
"Do you have trouble waking up?"
"Yes," she admitted before thinking.
"Fix that," he said, dismissively.
Cynthia left the office in a daze.
Promoted? Demoted? Kidnapped into secretarial servitude? She couldn't tell.
All she knew was that her life had just tilted off-balance.
As she reached her cubicle, she noticed something odd.
Her desk drawer — which she'd locked — was slightly open.
She found a letter laying there
A chill ran through her.
She glanced toward Alexander's office.
The blinds were half-closed, but she could see his silhouette — tall, composed, motionless.
Watching.
For the first time, Cynthia wondered if her "promotion" had nothing to do with her work performance… and everything to do with what she'd found