"Stop."

Johnson's voice cut through the air like a blade — low and commanding. The woman across from him, Sabrina, his father's idea of a "perfect match," froze mid-laugh, her manicured fingers still reaching for his arm. Her smile faltered, confusion flickering in her eyes.

"You're too close," he said, his tone clipped and unreadable. His dark gaze didn't waver, piercing through her the same way he handled business deals.

Sabrina let out a nervous giggle, trying to mask the sting of rejection. "I was only—"

"I don't do this," Johnson interrupted, leaning back in his seat, his jaw set like stone. The warmth she tried to force into the evening clashed violently against the wall of ice sitting across from her.

Without another word, he rose from his seat. His tall frame drew more attention than he cared for as he walked away, leaving Sabrina frozen in place.

Outside, a sleek black Mercedes-Benz S-Class waited at the curb, its glossy body gleaming beneath the soft city lights. The driver and his assistant moved swiftly — one opening the door, the other standing watch. Johnson slid into the leather interior, his expression unreadable, the scent of polished luxury wrapping around him. A muted thud echoed as the door closed, and within seconds, the car glided into the street, swallowing him from view.

Sabrina sat rigid in her seat, her hand tightening around her designer clutch. Heat burned her cheeks — not from embarrassment alone, but from disbelief. No man had ever dismissed her so cleanly, not when her family name alone made people bend.

For the first time in a long while, Sabrina Jameson felt her pride wounded. But even as the sting lingered, a sharper emotion rose in her chest.

He might have walked away tonight, but Sabrina wasn't backing down.

The Next Day

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm clock dragged Emilia out of sleep. She jolted upright, blinking at the ceiling. 6:00 a.m.

She stretched, yawned, and shuffled to the bathroom. When she came out, she was dressed in the new white blouse, skirt, and heels she had bought specifically for this day. She applied light makeup and studied herself in the mirror.

"I like what I see," she said softly.

Emilia had recently been hired as a programmer — her college major — at Livingston Company. For months after graduating, she had been working as a waitress, waiting and hoping. Then, weeks ago, the email arrived: she had passed the interview and was expected to resume immediately.

She had celebrated with her co-workers, giddy with the thought of finally living the life she had always dreamed of.

A glance at her watch snapped her back to reality.

"Oh no — I'm going to be late on my first day!" she gasped, rushing to the kitchen. She made quick work of toasted bread and coffee, swallowed it down, grabbed her bag, and hurried out of the apartment into a waiting taxi.

"Livingston Company, please," she told the driver.

"Livingston?" he echoed with a low whistle. "That's a big place. You're lucky to be working there."

"Thank you," Emilia replied, smiling shyly. "It's actually my first day."

"Ah, I see." He nodded, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. "I'll get you there."

"Please be fast — I'm almost late."

"Okay, dear."

The vehicle moved steadily — until it didn't. Traffic stretched ahead like a wall, cars barely inching forward. Emilia checked her watch and pressed her lips together. Of course.

When the taxi finally pulled up in front of Livingston Company, Emilia stepped out and stopped.

The building was enormous — a gleaming skyscraper that caught the morning light and held it. She stood there, mouth slightly open.

I can't believe this will be my routine from today, she thought.

Another glance at her watch pulled her back to earth. Three minutes late. She clenched her bag, straightened her blouse, and hurried through the glass doors.

Inside, the lobby hummed with quiet energy. Polished floors gleamed under the light. A group of employees chatted warmly near the far wall. Emilia smoothed her skirt and made her way to the front desk, where a woman in her mid-thirties sat with neatly tied hair and a calm expression.

"Good morning," Emilia said, forcing a polite smile despite her pounding heart. "I'm new here — I just got employed."

The clerk studied her briefly, then nodded. "You must be Emilia Smith?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations and welcome aboard. You'll need to report to the manager first. His office is just down that hall — second door to your left."

"Thank you," Emilia whispered.

She followed the directions, knocked gently on the manager's door, and waited until a deep voice called her in. Inside, a stern-looking man with silver hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose looked up from a stack of papers.

"Are you the new hire?" he asked, without much ceremony.

"Yes, sir. Emilia."

He studied her for a moment, then gave a small approving nod. "Welcome. You'll be working under the Head of Programming. His office is on the fifth floor — Room 507. Take the elevator down the hall."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

She found Room 507 and knocked.

"Come in," a voice said.

A middle-aged man looked up and smiled as she greeted him.

"Emilia, right?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Welcome. I'm Haniel — Mr. Han. Come, let me show you your office. And if you have any problems, you know where to find me."

He led her to a door and pushed it open. "Maya, this is Emilia — she's new and will be sharing the office with you."

"Okay, Mr. Han," Maya replied.

He gestured Emilia toward her desk, then left them to it.

"Welcome," Maya said with a friendly smile.

"Thank you," Emilia replied, settling into her chair.

She had barely turned on her computer when the telephone rang. Maya gestured for her to answer it.

"Hello?" Emilia said.

"Go to the manager's office. He'll give you some files. Bring them to my office." The voice on the other end was brisk and businesslike.

"Okay," Emilia replied, rising from her seat.

She took the elevator, pressed the correct floor, and waited. The doors were about to close when someone stepped in — tall, dressed in a sharp black suit. Emilia was about to get a better look at him when the elevator light flickered.

The man went rigid.

The light flickered again — once, twice — then died completely. Darkness swallowed the small space.

The man crouched to the ground, his breathing unraveling into quiet, broken sobs. Emilia stood frozen for a moment, surprised and confused. Then, without thinking, she lowered herself beside him and placed a hand gently on his back.

"It's okay," she said softly. "You're safe. Nothing's going to happen."

She kept her voice steady, kept patting his back in slow, even strokes. Gradually, his trembling slowed.

Then the light returned.

The man stood, straightened his suit, and wiped his face in one swift motion. Emilia rose beside him — and looked up.

She went completely still.