Ayla's POV
The elevator dings open onto the executive floor quieter, colder, the kind of place that smells like power and polished lies.
My heels click against the marble as I walk out, trying to steady my heartbeat. Every corner gleams, and every sound feels too loud. Everything seems coordinated except my heart, which feels like it's fighting a war.
The plaque reads EXECUTIVE SECRETARY'S OFFICE.
I knock once.
"Come in," says a man in a calm and polite voice. He looks like a man in his thirties sharp suit, sharper eyes the kind of man who's learned how to survive beside a boss like Elena.
"You must be Miss Davul," he says, rising to greet me with a practiced smile. "I'm Raymond Cole, Ms. Morgan's executive secretary."
His handshake is firm but polite. He gestures toward the chair across from him.
"I've been expecting you," he says.
Of course he has.
He opens a sleek folder and slides it across the desk. "Ms. Morgan's schedule. Preferences. Contact list… You'll be working closely with me."
The folder feels heavier than it looks. Inside, her name is everywhere printed bold across every header: ELENA MORGAN, GENERAL MANAGER.
I stare a moment too long, my stomach tightening as memories flash in my mind the way she used to look at me, and her voice that could melt and destroy at the same time.
I swallow hard and shut the folder before the memories swallow me instead.
"She likes her coffee black, no sugar," Raymond explains, scanning his tablet. "Always on her desk by nine. Another at noon. Every three hours you send a cup to her table, whether she drinks it or not. Your job is to make sure it's there. Her calls are private. Never interrupt unless it's urgent. She hates late reports, slow replies, and don't use perfume stronger than hers."
That earns a quiet laugh from him a nervous one. I smile before I can stop myself.
"She's always been like that," I mutter softly.
Raymond glances up, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "You know her?"
I hesitate, then lie. "Just… by reputation."
He studies me for a second, then shrugs. "You'll learn fast. She notices everything."
That's what I'm truly afraid of.
Raymond hands me a sleek tablet her color-coded calendar, meetings stacked over meetings, a life too tightly scheduled to breathe.
"This," he says, "is your world now."
"Your desk's over there for now until she gives new orders," he adds, pointing toward a corner seat.
"Thank you," I say, heading over.
Another corner… Seven years ago in high school, it was a corner seat beside hers.
Now it's another corner just closer to her.
"Guess her corners never really end for me," I whisper as I pull out the chair.
...
By noon, I've learned that everyone in this building moves like ghosts when Elena Morgan walks by.
Whispers scatter before her heels even click down the hall. Staff lower their eyes, typing faster, talking softer, existing smaller.
It's like she drags gravity with her, and we all bend around it.
I'm still memorizing her meeting times when Raymond nudges my arm. "Noon coffee. Twelve sharp."
I nod, heading toward the break area.
The espresso machine hums a low, steady sound that matches my pulse.
By the time I reach her door, my palms are slick with sweat.
The nameplate glints gold GENERAL MANAGER.
I knock softly, but there's no answer.
I push the door open an inch just enough to see her standing by the window, phone pressed to her ear, light pouring over her in that same impossible way.
White blouse, long trousers confidence stitched into every inch of her frame.
Her voice is low and steady. The kind that commands, not interrupts.
"Yes, tell them to move the conference an hour earlier… No excuses."
She turns slightly, still on the phone. Our eyes meet for half a second.
That's all it takes for everything inside me to twist, collapse, and catch fire.
I step in quietly, tray in hand, movements careful as I near her desk. But just as I do, my heel catches the edge of the rug.
Barely just enough. My ankle buckles, and the tray suddenly tilts.
"No…" I gasp, flailing as the cup wobbles dangerously and me, tipping right with it.
Before either of us can hit the floor, she's there. Fast and precise.
She crosses from the window in one swift motion. She tosses her phone aside. One hand catches the tray, and the other closes firmly around my waist.
Silence slams into the room.
Her fingers stay there warm and sure, anchoring my waist.
Our faces are too close… close enough to see the faint flecks of gold in her eyes. Her eyes flick down to my lips, maybe my neck I can't tell. But I feel it.
She swallows hard. I see the movement of her throat, then the sudden tightness in her jaw.
Still, she hasn't released my waist, and I don't move.
The speakerphone crackles behind us.
"Hello, ma'am? Are you there?"
Neither of us moves.
"Are you okay?" she asks finally, her voice low, husky, her breath brushing my cheek.
I nod, barely.
Her hand is still wrapped around me.
"Ma'am?" the voice calls again, breaking the spell.
Like a switch, she steps back smooth, composed, like she hasn't just caught me like something breakable.
She sets the tray down. No word. No glance.
I stand there, still processing what just happened, while she picks up the phone as if nothing happened.
"Yes, as I was saying…" Her tone is calm, controlled.
But my heart won't stop racing.
And her touch still lingers like a fingerprint burned into my skin.
I steady my hands, fix the tray on her desk. "I'll be at my seat if you need anything, ma'am."
She gives a small nod nothing more.
I turn, heels clicking softly on the polished floor, trying to walk normally, but my legs refuse to cooperate like I didn't just fall right back into everything I swore I'd escaped.
The door closes behind me with a quiet click.
Only then do I breathe.
Even in the silence of the hall, her touch hums under my skin.
And for the first time since stepping back into her world, I'm not just nervous, I'm terrified.
Because if serving her coffee could lead to this, then what will happen when I have to stand beside her in meetings or in her office?
"No, Ayla… you're not doing this. You're quitting this job before your heart files an official resignation," I mutter, exhaling as my heels click down the hallway.