Chapter Two: Day One
Lara stood outside the office building on Monday morning, staring at her reflection in the glass. Her new blouse hugged her shoulders like it belonged to someone else, and the shoes still pinched her toes.
She whispered to herself, "Don't mess this up."
Then she stepped inside.
---
The fifth floor looked the same—cold, elegant, distant. But today, Lara wasn't a visitor. She had an ID badge now. Her name was on the staff list. She belonged here. Supposedly.
A woman with sharp glasses and a clipboard met her at the front desk.
"You're the new assistant?" she asked without smiling.
"Yes, ma."
"I'm Mrs. Dada, Chief Operations Manager. I don't care what Daniel told you. You report to me first. Understood?"
"Yes, ma."
"Good. Now, come."
---
Mrs. Dada walked briskly through the hall, listing off instructions like bullets:
"You'll manage his calendar, his emails, and his meeting notes. You will not speak unless spoken to during meetings. You will not open any door in his wing unless you're told to. And most importantly—"
She stopped and turned sharply. "You do not ask questions. Ever."
Lara blinked. "Yes, ma."
Mrs. Dada narrowed her eyes. "You look like a curious one. That'll get you fired. Or worse."
With that ominous warning, she led her to a private corner office. Lara stepped in and gasped.
It was beautiful—sleek black furniture, wide windows with a view of the city, and a leather desk setup already waiting. Everything smelled like money.
"This is your workspace," Mrs. Dada said. "Mr. Okoye's office is across the hall. If he calls, you go. If he doesn't, you stay out of his way."
Then she walked off without saying goodbye.
---
Lara sat at her desk and opened the laptop.
Her email pinged with her first message.
> From: Daniel Okoye
Subject: Rule #1
"When I say 'cancel everything,' it means everything. No matter who. No exceptions."
No greeting. No explanation.
Just Rule #1.
Lara blinked, rereading it. What exactly did he mean by—
Her intercom buzzed.
"Come in," said the voice.
---
Daniel's office was even more magnificent than she remembered. Dark wood, smooth lighting, and a scent like old books and leather.
He was standing by the window, hands in his pockets, gazing out at the skyline.
"You're early," he said without turning.
"You said 8:30," she replied.
"I wanted to see if you'd actually obey it. Most people show up at 9, thinking they're the exception."
"I'm not most people," she said, then immediately regretted it.
He turned.
He smiled.
And once again, it wasn't warm.
"That remains to be seen."
---
He handed her a tablet with his schedule. His fingers brushed hers briefly—cold and smooth, like marble.
"Reschedule my lunch with the foreign investor. Move the tech review to Thursday. And cancel the interview with Vogue."
Lara blinked. "Vogue? But I thought—"
His gaze snapped to hers.
"You thought?"
"I mean… Yes, sir."
"I don't care how powerful they are. If I say cancel everything, you cancel everything."
Rule #1.
She nodded quickly.
He returned to his desk and tapped something on his screen. "I expect absolute loyalty, Lara. Not blind obedience—but the kind of loyalty that knows when silence is more valuable than truth."
Her chest tightened. "I understand."
"Do you?"
Before she could answer, the intercom buzzed again.
"Sir," a voice said, "they're waiting for you in Conference Room A."
"Let them wait," he replied smoothly.
He stood and picked up a file. Then, to Lara's surprise, he walked over to her and handed it directly into her hands.
"Take this to my apartment. The driver will know where to go. Leave it on the black desk. Don't open it. Don't snoop. And don't stay longer than ten minutes."
She opened her mouth.
He leaned closer.
"I'm trusting you. Don't break that trust."
Then he turned and left.
---
Lara stood frozen for a full minute.
His apartment? On her first day?
Her mind screamed all the things that could go wrong. But she obeyed. Again.
---
The car was sleek. The driver silent.
They reached the apartment building in Victoria Island in under twenty minutes. The building had no name, no visible security—just a private elevator that required a thumbprint.
The driver typed in a code.
When she stepped out, her breath caught.
Daniel's apartment was… unlike anything she'd imagined.
Walls made of glass and stone. Furniture like art. Plants growing in curved glass tubes. It didn't look lived-in. It looked curated.
She found the black desk near the corner window, just like he'd said. Gently, she placed the file on top of it.
And then she heard it.
A sound.
A faint click from one of the doors down the hall.
She froze.
Her fingers itched.
Do not open any doors. That was what they'd all said.
But she couldn't help it.
She moved toward the hallway.
One door was slightly open.
Just slightly.
A room filled with pictures.
Photos. All of women. Printed. Framed. Pinned.
Some smiling. Some not.
In the middle, one was circled in red ink.
Her.
Lara.
She gasped—and the door behind her creaked wider.
A cold breeze. Or something more?
She spun and left.
---
Back at the office, she sat quietly at her desk, hands trembling.
Daniel walked in minutes later, looking
fresh and casual.
"How was the ride?"
"Fine," she lied.
He smiled.
"Good."
Then he leaned over her desk and whispered, "Rule #2—stay out of places you weren't invited into."
Her blood turned to ice.