The rain tapped softly on the windowpane as Zoha stood in front of the tall glass doors of Iqbal Enterprises. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched her resume and appointment letter. Her black shoes were wet, and her coat clung to her small figure. But she didn't care. She had walked through worse storms before—this was nothing.
She tilted her head up, looking at the giant building that reached toward the sky. "This is it," she whispered to herself. "Your new start, Zoha."
Inside, the receptionist greeted her and asked her to wait.
"Mr. Zafar will see you in five minutes," she said politely.
Just his name made Zoha feel nervous. She had heard things—cold-hearted, strict, intimidating. The kind of boss who never smiled. People said he ruled the business world like a king, but never let anyone touch his heart.
And now… she was going to work as his personal assistant.
Five minutes later, the elevator opened to the top floor. Zoha stepped out and walked into the quiet office. The walls were all glass, showing the grey sky outside. The air was cold, just like the man sitting behind the desk.
Zafar Iqbal.
He didn't look up at first. He was busy signing papers. His black suit fit perfectly on his tall, muscular body. His hair was neatly styled, his jaw sharp, his eyes deep and unreadable.
"Sit," he said without looking.
Zoha slowly sat in front of him, her heart beating like a drum.
After a moment, he raised his eyes.
And for a second… everything stopped.
His eyes were cold. Icy. But behind that coldness, there was something broken—something that once burned but now had turned into ashes.
He looked at her face for a few seconds longer than necessary.
"You're Zoha?"
"Yes, sir."
He closed the file in front of him. "You've never worked as a personal assistant before?"
"No, sir. But I'm a fast learner."
"You'll have to be," he said, standing up. He was tall. So tall that Zoha felt small in front of him. "This is not a place for mistakes. I don't give second chances."
His voice was sharp. Final. Cold like the winter wind.
But Zoha didn't break. She had been through worse than harsh words.
"I understand, sir," she replied softly but confidently.
He watched her carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he picked up a small frame from his desk. Inside was a photo of a little boy smiling brightly.
"That's Ezra," he said, almost to himself. "My son."
Something in his voice changed when he said that name. Softer. Lighter.
"I love children," Zoha said gently. "He's beautiful."
Zafar looked at her again—longer this time.
For a moment, silence wrapped around them.
Then he turned away. "You start today. Don't make me regret it."
Zoha nodded.
That day, she learned two things.
One—Zafar Iqbal was colder than ice.
And two—behind that frozen heart was a man who loved his child more than anything else in this world.
And maybe… just maybe, there was still a small part of him that could be warm again.