Emily
I descended the stairs with measured steps, spine straight, shoulders squared, expression neutral.
Control.
That was the goal today.
I'd chosen this outfit carefully—a tailored blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted trousers, a blazer structured enough to make me feel anchored. It wasn't flashy, not loud, not attention-seeking. Just elegant. Clean lines. Muted colors. The kind of clothing that said I belong anywhere I stand.
It felt foreign on my body.
I rarely dressed like this. As a sculptor, days were spent in oversized shirts, worn jeans, clothes I didn't mind ruining with clay dust and plaster stains. Clothing was usually an afterthought, a practical necessity rather than a statement.
Today, it was armor.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere. The servants paused—not fully stopping, but slowing just enough for me to notice. A glance here. A whisper there.
I ignored it.
My gaze swept the living room instinctively, searching for familiar faces. It was empty.
Relief loosened something tight in my chest.
Good.
I had no interest in explanations this morning. No patience for questions wrapped in concern or curiosity sharpened into suspicion. I didn't want to justify myself—where I was going, why I was leaving early, why I was dressed like this, not today please.
I stepped outside, the cool air brushing my face, grounding me. The cab was already waiting. I slid into the back seat, exhaling slowly as the door shut behind me.
A job interview.
The irony.
A proper lady from an elite family wasn't supposed to work. She was meant to cultivate interests, not careers. Painting, embroidery, flower arranging—acceptable hobbies, things to pass time between engagements and social events.
I had only been allowed to go into sculpting because it was artistic, refined, and non-threatening.
But now that school was over, the days stretched endlessly ahead of—empty, suffocating. Left alone with Lily's constant presence, my parents' expectations, and the quiet weight of an engagement I wasn't interested in, it was only a matter of time before I would lose my mind.
I needed something that belonged to me. Somewhere I could go where no one cared who my family was or who I was supposed to marry.
I needed independence—even if it was small.
The company building was modest, tucked between larger offices that dwarfed it. I had chosen it deliberately. Small company. Less competition. Lower expectations.
Or so I thought.
The waiting area was crowded.
I froze just inside the door, my confidence wobbling. People filled the seats—men and women around my age, some older, all dressed with purpose. Laptops balanced on knees. Folders clutched tightly. Quiet conversations murmured under breath.
My heart sank.
I hadn't expected this many applicants.
I took a seat anyway, smoothing my blazer, forcing my expression to remain composed. My qualifications suddenly were actually laughable. A sculptor applying for a position that required administrative skills, coordination, experience I didn't technically have.
I had hoped passion and adaptability might count for something.
As the hours passed, my optimism thinned. One by one, candidates were called in and emerged—some confident, some deflated, some unreadable.
When it was my turn, I did my best. I spoke clearly, explained my background, highlighted transferable skills. Organization from managing studio projects. Attention to detail. Discipline.
The interviewers were polite.
Too polite.
I walked out knowing.
I would not pass the interview.
By the time I stepped back into the street, the weight of disappointment settled heavily on my shoulders. I hadn't expected miracles—but I had hoped.
I wandered without direction until I spotted a café across the road. The idea of sitting, breathing, pretending the world wasn't pressing in on me was appealing.
I reached for the door—
—and nearly collided with someone stepping out.
"Emily?"
My stomach dropped.
I looked up to see a familiar face—Adrian's assistant. Polite smile. Professional posture. Recognition flickering in his eyes far too quickly.
"Good afternoon Miss," he said smoothly. Then he looked around, then looked back at me. I could see the question on his face.
My grip tightened on the door handle.
"No," I said immediately.
He blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"No greetings. No messages. No updates." Her voice was firm. "Please don't mention me to him."
His smile stiffened slightly, but he nodded. "As you wish."
I didn't wait for a response. I stepped away, raised my hand, and hailed a cab with sharp precision. I slid inside before the door even fully opened, giving the driver an address without looking back.
Only when the car pulled away did I release the breath I'd been holding.
My phone buzzed later that evening.
I knew who it was before I even answered.
"Why are you looking for a job?" Adrian asked, his voice calm, too calm.
I closed my eyes briefly.
I knew he wouldn't keep it to himself—that assistant.
"Do you monitor everyone you sleep with?" I shot back.
A pause. Then a low chuckle. "Do you need money?"
My jaw clenched. "Is that what you think?"
"I can solve that problem easily."
"I don't want your money."
"Then why?" he pressed.
"How do you even know?" I demanded.
"You're not hard to find," he replied lightly. "Especially when my assistant runs into you."
I knew it.
I swallowed my irritation. "I need something to do. I'm done with school. I can't sit around all day."
Silence stretched between them.
Then—"Come work for me."
I laughed, short and disbelieving. "Absolutely not."
"Secretary. Office role. Controlled environment."
"I said no."
"I'll make sure you never get hired anywhere else."
I smiled bitterly. "Do your worst."
"You don't think I will?"
"I don't care."
Another pause. Calculated.
Then he spoke again, voice quieter. "I could tell people about us."
My blood went cold.
"You wouldn't"
"I would," he replied simply. "Your parents. Nathan. The press. I can be very convincing."
My nails dug into my palm.
"You're disgusting," I whispered, anger lacing my voice.
"Come work for me," I repeated. "And I'll keep things… contained."
I stared at the wall, anger and fear warring inside her.
"Promise you'll behave professionally," I said finally. "No threats. No games."
Adrian laughed softly.
"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."