The office looked more like a house embedded inside a tower—everything screamed status and power: a long desk by a panoramic window; chairs perfectly aligned; a massive personal desk that looked handmade. One wall was lined with bookshelves filled with awards, rare texts, glossy photographs. Nearby, two leather sofas with a glass table between—plus a minibar too elegant to be called just a bar.
A vibe straight out of a movie about people who play god.
The strict, expressionless woman gestured to the farthest chair. Clearly—it was going to feel like an interrogation. I handed over my résumé.
— That's... my résumé, — I said, though I'd rather not share more than necessary. Better to offer less than more.
She took the folder without a word, placed it at the far end of the desk, then left—leaving me in absolute silence.
I shifted my gaze to the window. New York roared beyond the glass. Here, though—another world. Smooth, sterile, dangerous.
Then a click.
Behind the bookshelf, a hidden door opened—one I hadn't even noticed. And naturally, he emerged.
Teron Veskari.
He walked in confidently. Almost menacingly. I scanned—just the two of us. He took the opposite chair, glanced at the résumé... slid the folder aside, and finally met my eyes.
— Long time no see, — he said. His voice was low, calm, and irritatingly assured.
I wanted to retort: " Yeah, unfortunately" but held back.
— Hello. I'm Mirey Ellis. I'm here for the assistant position... Interview, I guess. Must be a mistake.
I tried to keep it formal. In my head: if I stand, grab my résumé, and walk out— that would be a victory.
— Honestly? — He steepled his fingers, chin resting on his hands. — I thought about how to get you here—then you show up yourself. Lucky me.
Lucky? He's serious?
— It was a mistake, — I repeated.
— You still walked in despite the name, — he continued, as though ignoring me. — Responsible. Smarter than you let on.
It was praise or—but maybe he was just showing his hand, confirming he'd already read me like an open book.
— I noticed your poise during the meeting. My mistake—about yesterday, — he nodded toward the fiasco that led to my firing. — But you wouldn't have accepted my original offer if you still worked for Vel. So... I had to speed things along.
What?
He admitted—he orchestrated my dismissal.
— I planned a simple invite, — he continued. — But serendipity—you came anyway.
— Excuse me, Mr. Teron — I began, calm in tone but burning inside. — Yes, I'm responsible. But I didn't know whose company I was walking into. It's coincidence.
So, mistake.
I meant to stand and walk, but he was faster. He got up—into the chair next to me. Too close.
— I want to hire you. You're smart, fast, able to find holes others miss. Useful. And trust me—someone without a degree landing at West Raid isn't an accident. You cleaned Vel's books. Contracts. Legal loopholes. You saved him from penalties.
He poured on the compliments and it only made the whole more unsettling.
— I want you to do the same for me. Clean up. Redact. Render all my 'black' paperwork flawless.
His voice calm. But his eyes—burned through me like warning flames. If I refused—he would flip the situation again.
— I'm sorry, Mr. Teron. This was a mistake. Thank you for your time, but I must decline.
I stood. Exhaled in relief. Walked to the desk to collect my résumé.
But he was already blocking my way.
Tall. Like a concrete wall. No scent—just composed control.
— Why are you refusing so fast? — he murmured. — You haven't even heard my offer.
— Please guess, — I shrugged. — Ten times more than Vel paid? Bonuses? Paid lunches? Insurance?
He said nothing.
— Not about the money. It's about what you're asking me to do:
1. It's illegal.
2. It makes me complicit.
3. If it leaks—I go to prison.
Fixing Vel's poor paperwork is one thing. Erasing shady criminal schemes is completely different.
He smiled. Wide. Smooth.
And damn—it broke something inside me. For a moment, I thought: He's terrifyingly handsome when he smiles.
Stop. Breathe.
— I'm sorry. Goodbye.
I opened the door—but he spoke again, softer. More dangerous.
— I'll pay your sister's schooling. University too. All of it. Upfront.
I froze.
He instantly found a vulnerability. Weaponized it. Thought he had the key—but he miscalculated.
— You misread me, — I said, quietly, continuing through the doorway.
The receptionist looked up, surprised—but silent.
I walked to the elevator.
He was already there on my floor.
I entered, hit the button, and began counting—how many seconds between me and this theater of power.
Home. Familiar, hard-fought, the only one I've got.
I slipped off my shoes like shackles and shed that suffocating office suit—as if it had been draining the air from me. After a quick shower, water still dripping on my shoulders, I clenched my fist and typed to Derek:
10:30 – "You knew it was Teron's company and sent me regardless. That was a gut punch."
Freedom. One day—and it already smells different.
I opened the confirmation for tomorrow's interview, spread out my directions, calculated travel time. The location's far—but this is New York. Everything's distant and expensive.
I picked up my updated federal law digest—odd hobby for an ordinary office mouse? Yet for me, it's like meditation.
I opened the page… and froze.
How easy for someone like Teron to learn about someone like me. It's not what he knows that's scary. It's why he knows it. He saw me as gray, compliant, simple—the one you can buy or manipulate.
Money for my mind. For my signature. For my risk.
If he really is mafia—I'm certain he is—this was never a coincidence.
And yes, if he decides to kill me—it would almost feel merciful. But if he frames me and I go to prison—that's torture I won't volunteer for.
The day stretched slowly: book, food, sleep, silence.
And for the first time in two years—no constant buzzing in my head. I exhaled. I just lived.
Morning came with pure June light over New York. And—you wouldn't believe it—I even smiled.
Derek bombarded me with apologies. Said he thought it'd be funny.
Funny—especially when you want to burn someone with your stare. But I held no grudge. Just… don't repeat it.
Today's interview was at a company in a high-rise—no VIP security, no keycards or interrogations. Simple. Human.
I found the listing quickly:
Elite Drop—modest, with style.
At reception—a regular girl. No gloss. Brown-eyed, modestly dressed. Her polite smile was surprising in itself.
– Wait just a moment, she said. They'll see you shortly.
They led me to a room with a sign: Personnel Manager.
As I entered, my gut clenched. A spacious, typical manager's office. But in the chair—Toren Veskari.
I automatically glanced at the nameplate: "Edward Hawk."
Not his name. But his expression was that of someone who just claimed this territory and sits on his throne.
I approached calmly, sat across him, and slid the résumé over—no emotion. No trace of weakness.
Rule No. 1: never show they got to you.
He seemed to savor my composure—and that made me even sharper.
– Miss Ellis, this firm will become a VESC subsidiary soon. You'll transfer to the main building. Are you okay with that? — his tone smug, triumphant.
– You can't buy every company I walk into, I answered evenly. Mr. Veskari, remind me—who are VESC's main competitors? Kingstand? Or UNEST?
There it was—a fine crack in his confidence. I saw him freeze. His eyes grew colder. Calculations began behind them.
I had staked my ground. He's not the type to abandon the game mid-way.
If not him—then no one.
– Why me? I breathed, surrendering on the surface, but still guarded inside.
– Because you proved yourself at that meeting. — He stood with hands spread- no panic, no wasted words. You corrected mistake, even when it wasn't yours. You act instead of talk. By the way, what were you highlighting in the documents? I meant to ask.
– That's a secret. You have no right to know - I rubbed my temple. He watched. He memorized. He studied. - What's the chance you'll discard me once I'm no longer useful?
– That won't happen. We will sign a real contract, he began—but I cut him off:
– A contract means I'm complicit in your illegal activities. Thank you, but no. — I stood, ready to leave.
He went cold. Without emotion, he pulled out his phone and typed.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
– Read it, he commanded, not a hint of courtesy.
9:10 — "You either agree to the job I offered, or I ensure your sister pays the price. Choice is yours. Think twice."
That was it.
Threat. Blackmail. Control.
Insurance. Not for him—but for me.
Toren Veskari isn't a kind boss with a tie. He's a predator. A player. A threat.
He's dangerously smart… and this won't end easily.
– Fine, I exhaled, but I have conditions.
– Are you sure you can dictate terms? — his brow rose, his voice unchanged. More curious than cold.
– Yes. If you're playing with my life, I also get to place the pieces.
– Speak. — That smug smile returned.
– First: a private office. A proper desk, a water cooler, a window—or good lighting at least. I'll choose my chair—my back can't survive hours hunched over documents. And please—keep it away from everyone. And from you too. So no one knows I work there. Preferably—nobody.
He didn't expect that. He considered it before slowly nodding.
– All doable. Care to explain why?
– If you're buying a company for one employee, you don't trust your lawyers or accountants—or anyone at the top. I'm neutral. Independent. And if you don't trust them—you shouldn't trust their replacements. Better if no one knows I exist.
He smiled again. Proud.
– I knew I wasn't wrong about you, he said, standing. Let's go to your new office and discuss details.
And I followed.
Not submissively.
With intention.
For now—his pawn.
But every pawn has the chance to reach the end of the board.