Chapter 1: The Accidental Crash
Amara wiped her sweaty palms on the hem of her jeans and took a shaky breath. Delivering packages wasn't glamorous, but it paid her rent—and for a student like her, that was enough. Her backpack, stuffed with parcels, tipped slightly as she walked along the crowded street.
Her eyes landed on a sleek black sedan parked perfectly in a tiny gap between two concrete pillars. Her stomach sank. The license plate looked expensive. Way out of my budget, she muttered, trying to carefully step past it.
Fate, however, had other plans.
A miscalculated step sent her bag toppling against the car with a loud thunk. Amara froze. Her heart raced as she leaned closer. A long, jagged scratch ran across the shiny black surface.
"Oh no… no, no, no," she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth.
Before she could think of a plan, a deep, calm voice cut through the air: Did you hurt?
Amara spun around. A man stood there, impossibly tall, dressed in a crisp suit that screamed wealth. His gray eyes seemed to pierce right through her, sharp and calculating.
You—what did you do? he asked, his voice steady, controlled… terrifying.
I-I didn't mean to! I was delivering a package! I swear! (she stammered). Her voice shook. I didn't… I didn't touch anything.
The man stepped closer. Amara instinctively moved back, but her foot caught the strap of her bag. Another stumble. Another thunk. She hit the car fully this time. (Perfect) she muttered under her breath.
The man stared at the damage, then at her. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he exhaled slowly, almost amused or maybe incredulous.
You're going to pay for this, he said, low and calm. The repairs won't be cheap.
I… I don't have that kind of money, Amara admitted, panic rising. I can't…
His gray eyes narrowed. You will.
Amara's stomach dropped. She frantically looked around. There had to be a solution. Maybe… if I run—no. Too late.
Stop thinking of excuses, he said, his gaze locking onto hers. I have a better idea.
Amara blinked. Better… idea?
He straightened, adjusting his cuff. You work for me. Consider it repayment.
Her jaw dropped. Wait… what?
You heard me, he said. You'll assist me in my office. Work hard, and the debt disappears.
Her mind raced. Work for him? Her stomach twisted. Could she survive in his world?
I… I don't know…she stammered.
I don't care if you don't know, he said to her show up at my office tomorrow. 9 AM sharp. Don't be late. And don't ruin anything else before then."
Amara nodded mutely, too stunned to speak. She watched him walk away, the black sedan gleaming behind him like a warning. The next morning, Amara stood before the glass towers of Adrian Corp, clutching her folded uniform like a life preserver. Never in her life had she imagined stepping inside a billionaire's office but here she was.
Amara.
She turned. Adrian leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Closer up, he was even more intimidating.
Good morning, she whispered.
You look nervous.
I… I am.
You should be, he said lightly, a hint of amusement on his lips. Welcome to your first day.
Inside, the office was sleek and minimalistic, sunlight spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows. One orchid on the desk was the only decoration. Sit, Adrian said, pointing to a chair.
Amara perched on the edge. He watched silently for a moment, then leaned back.
First rule: don't break anything. Second rule: don't embarrass me. Third rule... He paused, smirking faintly…we'll see how you do.
She forced a small smile. Her stomach twisted between dread and something else curiosity, maybe excitement.
He handed her a tablet. Spreadsheets, emails, and appointments. Her head spun. This is nothing like university life.
I… I can do this, she whispered, more for herself than him.
Adrian's smirk widened slightly. We'll see.
By lunch, Amara had fumbled with coffee, misfiled documents, and even sent an email to the wrong client. Yet somehow, she survived. Adrian watched, correcting quietly, occasionally brushing against her hand as he guided her. Each touch sent a flutter through her chest, though she didn't dare think too much about it.
As she packed to leave, Adrian finally spoke: You did okay today, better than I expected. R-really?...she asked, blinking.
He nodded, turning to leave. Amara felt an unfamiliar warmth in her chest. Could she survive this world? Would she even want to?
Outside, the city buzzed around her. Somewhere, that black sedan gleamed in the sunlight, as if it knew her life had just begun a journey she could never have imagined.
Chapter 2: The Billionaire's Deal
Amara barely slept that night.
Her mind replayed the image of the scratch on the car, Adrian Blackwood's cold gray eyes, and the way he had spoken as if her entire future were a business transaction. By morning, her nerves were frayed, but backing out wasn't an option. She didn't have the money—and she definitely didn't have a choice.
The office building loomed over her as she arrived, tall and glassy, reflecting the morning sun like it was mocking her. She paused at the entrance, adjusting her clothes for the fifth time.
You can do this. Just don't mess up.
Inside, everything smelled like polish and money. Employees moved with purpose, heels clicking, keyboards tapping. No one looked lost. No one looked like her. "Amara."
Her heart jumped.
Adrian stood a few feet away, dressed sharply in a dark suit that screamed authority. He didn't smile. He rarely seemed to.
"You're late," he said, glancing at his watch.
She froze. "I—I'm sorry! I though"
"You thought wrong," he interrupted calmly. "Follow me."
She hurried after him, nearly tripping over her own feet. He led her into his office and gestured to a desk positioned slightly away from his own.
"This is where you'll work," he said. "You'll assist with scheduling, emails, and basic tasks. Make mistakes, and you redo them. Make costly mistakes, and we extend your contract."
Her stomach twisted. "C-contract?"
"You didn't think this would be easy, did you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "This is a debt. Debts must be paid."
She nodded quickly. "I understand."
"Good." He handed her a tablet. "Start by organizing today's meetings. Alphabetical order. If I see a single error, you start over."
Amara stared at the screen, fingers trembling. The names blurred together. Every second felt like pressure crushing her chest.
Halfway through, she accidentally deleted a meeting.
Her breath caught.
"Oh no… no, no—"
Adrian's shadow fell over her desk. He glanced at the screen, then at her pale face.
"You panicked," he said flatly.
"I'm sorry! I can fix it, I swear—"
"Calm down," he said, surprisingly quiet. "Panic causes more damage than mistakes."
She looked up, shocked.
He restored the file with a few taps. "Continue."
As he walked away, Amara exhaled shakily. Her heart was still racing, but something else stirred beneath the fear.
He was strict. Cold. Intimidating.
But he hadn't fired her.
And somehow, that made her want to try harder than she ever had before.
Chapter 3 – First Day Disaster
If Amara thought the worst part of her first day was over, she was painfully wrong.
By midmorning, the office felt like a battlefield. Phones rang endlessly, emails piled up, and everyone moved with terrifying efficiency. Everyone except her.
Her first mistake came with the printer.
She had pressed the wrong setting, and instead of one copy, the machine spat out twenty. Panic surged as papers slid onto the floor.
"Oh—oh no," she whispered, scrambling to pick them up.
A woman nearby sighed. "New girl," she muttered under her breath.
Amara pretended not to hear, but the words stung.
Her second mistake was worse.
She carried a tray of coffee toward Adrian's office, reminding herself to walk slowly. Steady. Careful. Don't trip. She tripped.
The tray tilted, and coffee sloshed dangerously close to the documents on Adrian's desk. She gasped and froze, heart hammering.
Before disaster fully struck, a hand steadied the tray.
"Enough," Adrian said firmly.
He took the tray from her and set it aside, then examined the desk. A few drops of coffee had stained the corner of a file.
"I'm so sorry," Amara blurted out, eyes wide. "I wasn't paying attention—"
"I can see that," he replied.
Her chest tightened, waiting for the explosion.
But it never came.
Instead, he grabbed a cloth and wiped the file clean. "Mistakes happen," he said. "Repeating them is the problem."
She blinked. "Y-you're not angry?"
"I'm annoyed," he corrected. "There's a difference."
Relief flooded her so fast she nearly laughed.
The rest of the day wasn't much better. She misfiled folders, answered a call meant for someone else, and accidentally sent an unfinished email—thankfully caught before it reached the client.
Whispers followed her everywhere.
"She won't last." "How did she even get hired?" "Mr. Blackwood hates incompetence."
By evening, Amara's feet ached and her confidence hung by a thread. She packed her bag slowly, convinced she'd be dismissed tomorrow.
As she reached the door, Adrian spoke behind her.
"You survived your first day," he said.
She turned, surprised. "Barely," she admitted.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "That's still survival. Be early tomorrow."
As she left the building, exhaustion weighed on her—but so did something else.
Hope. She hadn't failed. And somehow, that felt like a small victory worth fighting for.