Osato arrived early at work that Thursday morning, the office still shrouded in an unsettling silence that allowed her thoughts to wander into dangerous, uncharted territories she desperately tried to avoid—three months, 931 days—since she last saw Ebenezer. No sleek black car in sight, no chance encounters, no familiar silhouette behind the wheel. Nothing.
She had vowed not to replay their fleeting, intense meetings in her mind, forcing herself to move on, burying her heart in work, staying busy enough to keep her fears at bay. But that morning, an unfamiliar, persistent gnawing tugged at her.
Just as she settled at her desk, Hamilton strode in—alone, unaccompanied for the first time since she began working there. And his demeanor seemed… softer, more approachable.
"Good morning, Osato," he greeted, his voice unexpectedly warm and subdued.
"Good morning, sir," she responded, straightening her posture.
He didn't leave immediately. Instead, he leaned slightly against her desk, studying her face as if searching for something hidden.
"You look tired. Haven't been sleeping?" he asked.
Startled, she blinked. Hamilton rarely showed interest in her personal life, rarely offered compliments. His usual tone was strict, structured, and intimidating.
But now… this was different.
"I'm fine, sir. Just… busy," she lied.
His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, softer, more knowing.
"I'm hosting a private dinner next Saturday," he said. "It's for top clients and media partners. I need someone to help coordinate. I thought of you."
Her heart pounded. Why her?
"Sir… are you sure? I'm still learning—"
"Osato," he interrupted gently, "I've watched you these past weeks. You're smart, presentable, quick. And…" his eyes softened further, "you have a presence that puts people at ease."
She didn't know how to respond.
Hamilton cleared his throat. "If you're willing, I'd like you to assist me exclusively that evening."
Exclusively.
The word echoed loudly in her mind.
"I… yes, sir. I can help," she managed.
He smiled—not his usual formal smile but a genuine, controlled one.
"Good. I'll have my driver take you home after work so you don't stress yourself."
Osato froze.
His driver.
For a moment, she wished—no, prayed—that it would be Ebenezer.
"Is… is it the same driver I met on the first day?" she asked cautiously.
Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "Ebenezer? He's on a different assignment. He hasn't been around much."
Suddenly, all the air left her lungs.
She nodded quickly, masking her disappointment.
By the time Hamilton retreated into his office, her emotions were a tangled mess—confusion, longing, something she refused to admit.
At lunch, she video-called Jannet and Barney, eager to share everything.
"So, wait—your boss actually stood by your desk and checked on you?" Barney exclaimed, eyes wide.
Jannet clapped excitedly. "Female power! I told you Hamilton likes you!"
Osato frowned. "He's just being professional."
Jannet hissed, "A professional doesn't stare like that. Wake up, sis! That man is into you!"
Barney leaned forward. "But why's he suddenly acting nice? Something's triggered it."
Distractedly, Osato poked at her rice. "Maybe he's just in a good mood."
Barney shot her a suspicious look. "Or maybe you're replacing someone... "
Her fork froze mid-air.
Replacing who?
Before she could ask, Jannet pressed on. "But forget Hamilton—have you heard from Black Car Boy?"
Osato sighed. "No. And I'm done thinking about him."
Their eyes met in a silent agreement.
"You'll think about him again," Jannet predicted, pointing knowingly. "Something will bring him back."
Osato chuckled nervously, unaware how eerily accurate those words would soon prove.
Later that afternoon, Hamilton summoned her to bring a file. As she turned to leave, her gaze fell on a familiar item—on his side table, a cracked-screen phone.
A cracked-screen phone.
Her breath hitched.
She recognized that phone—only one person carried a phone with a crack like that—Ebenezer.
Her pulse quickened.
Hamilton noticed. "Oh, that? One of my drivers misplaced it weeks ago. I found it this morning at security."
His driver.
Her heartbeat pounded wildly.
He hadn't just disappeared.
Something had happened.
And now… she needed answers.
Before she could speak, Hamilton drew closer, his voice soft.
"Osato… I hope you know you can come to me if anything's bothering you."
She hesitated, torn between fear, curiosity, and a strange warmth.
Hamilton's interest was no longer subtle. It was undeniable, complex.
And it wasn't his face her heart saw.
It was Ebenezer's.
That evening, she barely made it through the workday, haunted by that cracked phone—the proof Ebenezer hadn't vanished into thin air.
At 6:12 p.m., as she shut down her computer, her phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
Good evening, Osato. Don't make plans tonight. A package will be delivered to your apartment shortly.
—H.
Her stomach clenched.
Almost immediately, another message appeared.
Consider it preparation for Saturday.
She stared at the screen, torn between feeling honored… and feeling hunted.
At 7:04 p.m., there was a knock.
The delivery person wheeled in a sleek, cream-colored box, embossed with gold from a high-end fashion house she'd only seen in magazines. Inside: a breathtaking dress.
Midnight blue, silk, backless, with a thigh-high slit that whispered danger.
Beneath it, matching heels, delicate diamond studs, and a handwritten note.
You deserve to be seen properly.
—Hamilton
Her hands trembled.
This wasn't just an invitation.
It was a declaration.
The venue was a restored Victorian mansion in Kensington, glowing with warm light, guarded by men in black suits. Luxury cars lined the driveway.
When Osato stepped out, the scene stopped—heads turned, whispers spread.
The dress felt sewn onto her skin. Her makeup was soft but striking, her hair sleek in a low bun, exposing her neck and collarbones, radiating quiet confidence.
She didn't look like an assistant.
She looked like the woman of the night.
Hamilton appeared at the mansion's entrance, dressed sharply in a tailored black tuxedo. His eyes found her, a flicker of something unreadable—pride, desire, possession.
"You're stunning," he said softly, offering his arm.
She hesitated—then took it.
Cameras flashed instantly.
Hamilton never left her side.
He introduced her to powerful men and elegant women as "Osato, my right hand." His hand rested on her lower back; his fingers brushed her when he spoke. Every gesture was deliberate, intimate—almost too much.
Eyes followed them—media, rivals, society insiders.
And between champagne toast and polite laughter, Osato realized a terrifying truth.
Hamilton wanted to be seen with her.
As night deepened, a journalist whispered to another, loud enough:
"So, that's her… the new one."
The new one?
Her chest tightened.
Sunday morning arrived with a headache and a vibrating phone.
Jannet called first. "Did you see the news?!"
Her stomach sank.
"What news?"
Barney joined, breathless. "Sit up first."
Osato opened her browser with trembling fingers. And there it was.
Headlines splashed across the media:
BUSINESS TYCOON HAMILTON GREY STEPS OUT WITH MYSTERY WOMAN — SOURCES CONFIRM OFFICE ROMANCE
Subheadline:
The billionaire CEO was seen last night at an exclusive dinner with his personal assistant, Osato E., sparking rumors of a secret affair. Insiders say they've grown 'remarkably close' over recent months.
There was her photo.
Hamilton leaning toward her.
Her heart squeezed.
His hand at her waist.
The shot looked intimate, personal, damning.
Her phone buzzed again—another message.
Hamilton: Ignore the noise. Let them talk.
Another followed:
We'll discuss this tomorrow. Come in early.
She dropped her phone onto the bed, her chest heaving.
She wasn't just Hamilton's assistant anymore.
Now she was part of something public.
And somewhere out there, Ebenezer's silent, abandoned phone hung as a warning she hadn't yet understood.
Because if the headlines were loud—the truth was about to explode.
Monday morning came too fast.
Osato barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw headlines bleeding into Ebenezer's cracked phone, Hamilton's hand at her waist dissolving into shadows. By 5:30 a.m., she dressed in neutral tones and left her apartment before the city fully woke.
By the time she arrived, the office was already humming.
That alone told her everything.
Whispers followed her down the corridor—voices hushed when she passed, eyes darting, phones quickly lowered. The receptionist smiled too brightly. Security nodded a little too respectfully. Someone she barely knew mouthed, "Good morning," with unmistakable curiosity.
She was no longer invisible.
She was news.
At 6:58 a.m., Hamilton's door opened.
"Osato," he said calmly. "Come in."
The office looked different—warmer lighting, blinds half-open, the city stretching beyond the glass like a silent witness. Hamilton stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, immaculate as ever. But when he turned, his expression wasn't unreadable.
It was resolved.
"You saw the coverage," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"They were always going to notice," he continued, voice measured. "Saturday just sped things up."
She swallowed. "You didn't warn me."
He studied her carefully. "Would it have changed your decision to come?"
Her silence was his answer.
Hamilton moved closer, stopping just short of invading her space. "Osato, what we're building—professionally and otherwise—requires strength. Scrutiny is the price of proximity."
"Proximity to what?" she asked quietly.
His eyes sharpened, impressed rather than offended. "Power. Influence. Protection."
The word protection snapped something inside her.
"My name's everywhere now," she said, voice trembling despite her effort. "People are calling me things I never agreed to."
Hamilton softened slightly, reaching out—then stopping himself. "You're not a victim here."
Her heart thundered. "Then why does it feel like I was positioned?"
For the first time, a crack appeared.
Before he could respond, a knock—urgent, sharp—sounded.
Hamilton frowned. "I'm not expecting anyone."
The door opened anyway.
Security.
"Sir," the guard said tense, "we have a situation downstairs."
Hamilton's jaw clenched. "What kind of situation?"
The guard hesitated, eyes flicking to her. "One of the drivers. He's insisting on seeing you."
Osato's breath caught.
Hamilton's voice dropped dangerously low. "Which driver?"