(Mariyam's POV)
The 24th floor of the Ais_$ Co. tower hummed with a different energy than the silent cathedral above. Here, the air crackled with the static of ambition, the clatter of keyboards, and the hushed, urgent phone calls of people who were climbing. Mariyam Lawal sat at her desk outside the office of the Director of Strategic Communications, a position she viewed not as a job, but as a strategically chosen observation post.
She was a student of power. She understood its flows and eddies, who had it, who wanted it, and who was about to lose it. She had watched with clinical interest as Adams Dared had first appeared—a ghost from the business pages, his expensive suit hanging a little too loose, a telltale sign of a recent fall. She had expected the usual trajectory: a few weeks of desperate effort followed by a quiet dismissal. The corporate world had no memory, but it had a ruthless immune system for rejecting damaged goods.
But Dared hadn't been dismissed.
Instead, a curious ripple had moved through the power structure. He'd been summoned to the 25th floor. Not just once, but repeatedly. Rumor had it that Hajiya Dr. Aisha herself had assigned him the thorny "Eagle" acquisition file. And then, the ultimate signal: he'd been invited to the high-level meeting with Legal and PR. He hadn't just survived it; he'd spoken, and the room, after a wave of initial skepticism, had fallen silent. He hadn't defended his ideas; he'd dismantled objections with a quiet, brutal logic that left no room for argument.
Mariyam had made a point of "accidentally" bumping into him by the coffee machine that morning.
"Mr. Dared, good morning," she'd said, her voice a carefully calibrated blend of professional respect and warm approachability. "I heard the Eagle meeting was quite a success. The director was impressed."
He'd looked up from the coffee machine, his eyes—a surprisingly warm brown—registering her for a second. They held a depth she hadn't anticipated, a stillness that spoke of recent storms weathered.
"Thank you, Mariyam," he'd said, his voice a low baritone that was both weary and focused. "Just trying to contribute."
Then he'd given her a small, polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, taken his coffee, and walked away. No lingering small talk. No attempt to ingratiate himself. He moved through the office with a singular purpose, a man on a mission, seemingly oblivious to the curious glances and whispered speculations that followed him.
And that was the most intriguing thing of all. His obliviousness.
Most men in the office, especially those on the way up or desperate to cling on, were acutely aware of her. They noticed her perfectly tailored dresses, her carefully applied lipstick, the subtle scent of her perfume. They sought her opinion, her approval, mistaking her strategic friendliness for something more. It was a game she excelled at, using their vanity as a lever.
Adams Dared was different. He looked through her, or rather, he looked past her, his mind clearly occupied with larger chess moves. He treated her with a detached, impersonal courtesy that was, in its own way, a form of disrespect. It pricked at her pride.
Watching him now through the glass wall of his small office, she saw him hunched over his laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration. He wasn't just doing a job; he was consumed by it. There was a raw intensity to him, a magnetic pull of a man rebuilding himself from the ground up. He wasn't a polished, pre-packaged executive. He was a story. A story of ruin and resurrection. And Mariyam had always been a sucker for a good story, especially one she could potentially… influence.
A dangerous, thrilling thought began to form in her mind. Hajiya Dr. Aisha had seen his professional potential. But Mariyam saw something else. She saw a man who was emotionally isolated, likely estranged from the family and lifestyle he'd once known. A man whose wife, from what little she could gather, was a quiet, background figure. A man who was vulnerable.
And a vulnerable man of talent, even a damaged one, was an opportunity. An alliance with him, a personal alliance, could be a faster track to the power she craved than any promotion. She wouldn't be just a secretary anymore. She could be a confidante. A partner. The power behind the throne.
She picked up a file that needed his signature—a trivial excuse—and walked towards his office. She paused at the door, not knocking immediately, and adjusted the neckline of her blouse just so. She practiced a smile in the reflection of the glass: warm, slightly admiring, but professional.
Then, she knocked and entered, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor.
"Mr. Dared? Sorry to interrupt. Just need a signature on these vendor NDAs when you have a moment."
He looked up, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something other than work-focused detachment in his eyes. A faint weariness, perhaps. A human moment.
She placed the file on his desk, letting her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary. "You've been working so hard," she said, her voice softening with a hint of personal concern. "The whole floor has noticed. Don't forget to come up for air."
She held his gaze for a heartbeat, letting the unspoken invitation hang in the air between them—an invitation to see her not as staff, but as an ally. Then, she turned and walked out, leaving behind the faintest trace of her perfume.
It was a small seed. But Mariyam was a patient gardener. She had noticed him. Now, it was only a matter of time before she made sure he noticed her.