The morning sunlight spilled through the glass doors of Peter & Co Group, glinting off the gold letters above the entrance.
I stood there for a moment, my reflection staring back at me, polished, composed, but burning with the kind of purpose that didn't come from ambition alone.
This was it.
The beginning of my plan.
I inhaled sharply, tugging my blazer sleeve to smooth a nonexistent crease before stepping inside.
The lobby was sleek, all marble floors, muted lights, and that faint citrus scent of money and success.
My heels clicked against the floor, echoing my heartbeat. I'd spent all night imagining this moment.
Peter & Co wasn't just another company.
It was my father's rival, or rather, his obsession.
"Good morning," the receptionist greeted with a bright smile. Her tag read Becca.
"Good morning," I replied, forcing a smile of my own. "I'm here for the internship interview. Elena Benson"
She typed something into her computer, nodding. "Yes, Miss Elena. You can have a seat. HR will call you in shortly."
"Thank you."
I took a seat on the leather couch opposite the glass wall.
From where I sat, I could see the city skyline, tall, sharp buildings that seemed to pierce the sky, just like the people who built them.
I clutched my bag, my mind spinning with the reminder of why I was here.
Last night, my father's voice echoed in my head.
I remembered the smirk that played on Ann's lips, the amusement in Patricia's eyes, the two women who had always underestimated me.
To them, I was the naive daughter who didn't belong in business meetings.
Not anymore.
If this internship was what it took to get close, to gather information, to understand how Peter & Co operated from the inside, then I'd do it.
And I'd do it flawlessly.
I was still rehearsing the answers I'd give HR when the glass doors slid open again.
The air seemed to change with the sound of heavy footsteps.
And then… he walked in.
Tall. Composed. Effortlessly commanding.
Kennedy Peters.
The name whispered through my mind like a secret I wasn't supposed to remember, but did.
For a heartbeat, the world went still.
He wasn't just handsome. He was devastatingly composed, in that quiet, dangerous way that made you want to know what he was thinking, even when you knew you shouldn't. He look handsome for a man in his late 40s
His suit was dark, his tie slightly loosened, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass.
Our eyes met.
It was only for a second, but it felt like he'd looked through me, like he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to.
I froze, heart slamming against my ribs.
His eyes, God, they hadn't changed. Sharp. Controlled. Observant. The kind that didn't just look, they assessed, measured, dissected.
He frowned slightly, as if he recognized me. But then, just as quickly, he looked away.
He didn't stop. Didn't speak. Just kept walking toward the elevator, his phone pressed to his ear.
And yet, the air he left behind felt charged, like a storm that hadn't fully arrived.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. There's no way he'd know me. I kept a low profile unlike patricia. I hardly went to parties and grand openings. Also I had changed my last name
Still, that look…
I shook the thought off and straightened. This wasn't about him. This was about my plan.
Fifteen minutes passed.
I tried to distract myself by flipping through a magazine, but every page blurred.
My mind kept replaying that look, the quiet intensity, the way his gaze lingered before he forced it away.
Then Becca's voice broke my thoughts. "Miss Benson?"
I looked up.
HR manager walked toward me, his tag showed Frank. "The CEO wants to handle this interview personally."
I turned to him, forcing my expression into polite curiosity. "The CEO?"
His eyes flicked to me.
For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his face. Then it was gone.
"Yes," he said evenly. "Follow me."
Inside, I was trembling. But not from fear.
This was perfect. Better than I planned.
I was supposed to meet HR, some faceless recruiter who'd place me in a corner office doing spreadsheets.
But now? The CEO himself wanted to see me.
That meant faster access. Faster infiltration.
Faster revenge.
I followed Frank down a long hallway lined with glass partitions and muted paintings. Every step I took echoed, deliberate, controlled.
He pushed open the door to a large office and gestured for me to enter.
"Wait here," he said. "He'll be with you shortly."
I nodded, offering a small, composed smile. "Thank you."
He gave a brief nod and turned to leave, but paused at the door. His gaze lingered, just for a heartbeat too long.
Then he left.
As the door clicked shut, I allowed myself a small smile.
So this was how it would start.
Inside the enemy's den, under their roof, with a plan only I understood.
I sat down, crossing my legs, pretending to be calm even as adrenaline coursed through me.
But somewhere beneath the excitement, beneath the thrill of revenge, was something else.