Amara's POV
I didn't know what hell looked like until I walked into Voss Enterprises.
Everything screamed power — the tall mirrored walls, the cold marble floors, the click of heels that sounded like commands. Everyone here looked polished, expensive, and intimidating.
And then there was me — Mrs. Voss, in a plain white blouse and beige trousers, clutching my bag like a lifeline.
The receptionist smiled, too wide to be genuine. "Good morning, Mrs. Voss. The CEO said you'd be joining the marketing department?"
I nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yes. Amara, please."
Her eyes flickered. Amara? Not Mrs. Voss? Oh, she'd definitely be telling someone that before lunch.
She handed me an ID card. AMARA VOSS — Marketing Assistant (Provisional).
Provisional. Of course.
As I took the elevator, my reflection in the mirrored walls stared back — nervous, determined, angry. I straightened my shoulders. You asked for this, Amara. Now prove you belong here.
The doors slid open to a sea of desks and screens. People stopped typing the moment I stepped out. Their eyes — sharp, assessing, some openly curious, others cold.
A brunette whispered to her friend, not quietly enough.
"That's her?"
"Yeah. The boss's wife."
"The one he married for a deal?"
"Poor thing. Must be weird to get a job you didn't earn."
I pretended not to hear, but each word scraped my skin like glass.
A man in his thirties — tall, with a charming grin — approached. "Mrs. Voss, I'm Daniel. Welcome to marketing."
"Amara," I corrected softly.
He smiled. "Of course. Amara. Let me show you your desk."
My desk was neat, tucked in a corner, facing the window. It was beautiful — but the air around it was heavy with whispers. I sat down, turned on my computer, and got to work.
I buried myself in files, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me uncomfortable.
But at lunch, it started again.
"She probably doesn't even know what half those reports mean."
"She doesn't have to. She's sleeping with the CEO."
"I heard he's barely home. Maybe that's why she looks so tense."
Something inside me snapped.
I stood up, walked over to their table, and said quietly, "If you're going to talk about me, at least make it interesting. You sound bored."
The whole room froze. One of the girls blushed, the other glared.
I smiled faintly. "Good talk."
When I sat down again, my hands were shaking — but not from fear. From adrenaline. From pride.
They could whisper all they wanted. I wouldn't be their easy target.
By the time the day ended, my head ached, but my pride stayed intact. I'd done real work, given real input, and earned Daniel's small nod of approval.
Still, as I left the building, I couldn't help but notice the security guard's sudden stiff posture — and the way everyone's tone shifted.
I turned — and there he was.
Alexander.
Standing near the glass doors, his tie gone, sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable.
"Mr. Voss," someone whispered, straightening immediately.
He walked toward me slowly, every step deliberate. "You're late," he said.
I blinked. "It's 5:32."
He tilted his head. "My employees leave at five."
"I'm not just your employee," I said softly.
His jaw tightened. "That's the problem."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Come with me."
The whispering started again. Eyes followed us as he led me out, his hand ghosting near my back — not touching, but close enough to spark gossip for weeks.
By the time we reached the car, I was fuming. "You enjoy this, don't you?" I said as he opened the door. "The drama. The attention."
He looked at me with cool amusement. "You think I care what people say?"
"You should. Because they're calling me your plaything."
Something flickered in his eyes then — something dark, dangerous. "And what do you call yourself, Amara?"
I met his gaze, unflinching. "Someone trying to survive your world without losing herself."
For a second, neither of us spoke. Then he exhaled, sharp and low. "Then do it. Prove them wrong."
I slid into the car, refusing to look at him again. The engine started, the city lights reflecting off the windows — and I realized something terrifying.
This wasn't just about power anymore.
It was personal.
---
Alexander's POV
I knew it would be chaos the moment she stepped into the building.
Voss Enterprises wasn't kind to anyone — especially not to women who carried my name. They'd tear her apart before lunch, all smiles and whispers and fake respect.
But I let it happen.
I wanted to see what she'd do.
Reports reached me before noon.
"She confronted the team."
"She shut down the gossip."
"She's… different."
Different.
That word stayed with me.
When I saw her leaving the office, tired but still standing tall, something twisted inside me — pride, maybe, or something more dangerous.
I told myself it was strategy. That she needed to understand what my world was like. But the truth?
Watching her fight made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in years.
She wasn't just surviving; she was adapting.
And worse — she was making people look at her.
That could be a problem.
Because in my world, attention was a weapon.
And Amara… she didn't even know she'd already drawn blood.