ARIELLE
Manhattan's glass towers often seem like emblems of success, but to me, they felt more like gravestones. The massive skyscraper bearing the name Cross Global Holdings was the one that stood out in my mind. It looked cold, sharp, almost as if it were keeping an eye on the entire city.
I adjusted the collar of my white blouse and pulled my blazer in a little tighter. I had my dark, curly hair pulled back so tightly it was uncomfortable, but I had to nail this look. I needed to be the "perfectly ordinary" junior legal assistant, not Arielle Moreau, the girl whose father had died in a prison cell because of the man who owned this building.
"Deep breaths, Ari," I murmured to myself, feeling my heart pound against my ribs like a bird trapped in a cage.
As I stepped through the revolving doors, the lobby hit me with the scent of pricey coffee and freshly polished floors. People in suits rushed around as if they were in a race, their shoes clicking sharply on the marble. I approached the security desk.
"Arielle Moreau," I said, managing to keep my voice steady even though my hands were shaking in my pockets. "I’m starting today in the legal department."
The guard barely glanced at me; he just checked something on his screen, handed me a plastic badge, and pointed toward the elevators. "Floor forty-two. Don’t get lost."
"Thanks," I said, offering a polite smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
As the elevator shot upward, my ears popped with the pressure. I caught my reflection in the shiny metal doors, my brown eyes looked composed, but inside, I was screaming. Thoughts of my mother, Elena, who had gone quiet after the scandal, and Victor Hale, the man who had given me this shot at revenge, raced through my mind.
Stay focused, I reminded myself. Gather evidence. Expose him. Get justice.
The doors slid open, and a woman with a sharp bob and a headset was waiting.
"You’re two minutes late, Moreau," she stated without a greeting. "I'm Sarah. Follow me."
"I’m sorry, the security line...."
"I don’t need excuses, I need results," she snapped, moving quickly. I had to hurry to keep up with her. "This is the legal floor. We handle mergers, contracts, anything to keep Julian Cross out of court. You’ll be at the back desk. Your job is to file, research, and keep quiet. Got it?"
"Got it," I replied.
She dumped a massive stack of folders on a small desk in the corner. "Start with these. They need to be digitized and cross-referenced by lunch."
For the next few hours, I buried myself in the work. I leaned on my legal know-how, which I'd honed through school, to fly through the files faster than expected. I felt like a ghost. I watched my coworkers gossip around the water cooler and heard how they spoke about their boss.
"He fired three people on the top floor this morning, just for a typo in their reports," one guy whispered.
"He's a machine," a woman replied. "I don’t think he even sleeps."
That was Julian Cross, the man who crushed my father like an insect. A wave of unfiltered anger surged through me. I fished out the small, encrypted flash drive Victor had given me. I just needed to get close to the main servers.
Around 11:00 AM, Sarah reappeared, looking frantic.
"Moreau! Have you finished those files?"
"Yes, I wrapped them up ten minutes ago," I said, standing up.
She looked taken aback, then relieved. "Good. The senior associate for the 11:30 briefing just had a panic attack in the bathroom. I need someone to take these physical copies to the executive conference room. You won't say a word. Don’t make eye contact, just drop them on the table and leave."
My heart raced, this was it. The inner sanctum.
"I can do that," I said, forcing my face into a mask of indifference.
I grabbed the files and headed toward the private elevators that led to the penthouse level. The air felt different up here, heavier and more luxurious. The hallway was adorned with dark wood and original paintings. It had the vibe of a fortress.
Reaching the double doors of the conference room, I could hear a deep, commanding voice from inside. It was smooth yet felt sharp enough to cut through stone.
Just go in, drop the files, and get out, I told myself.
I quietly pushed the door open. The room was expansive, offering a view of the entire New York skyline. A group of men in grey suits sat around a long table, looking uneasy.
I walked along the wall, keeping my head down like I was told. I found the gap at the head of the table where the files belonged and leaned over to set them down, my fingers brushing against the polished wood.
"You’re not the usual assistant," a deep voice remarked.
The sound was so close it raised the hairs on my arms. I froze; I wasn’t supposed to draw attention.
"The regular associate was unavailable, sir," I said to the table, my voice slightly trembling.
"Look at me when I speak to you."
It wasn’t a question; it was a command.
I slowly straightened up and lifted my chin. I anticipated seeing him at the far end of the room, seated behind a desk. What I didn’t expect was to find him standing right there, leaning against the edge of the table, just a couple of feet away.
Julian Cross was taller than in the pictures. His broad shoulders blocked the sunlight streaming through the window. His dark hair contrasted with his piercing steel-grey eyes that seemed to see right through me.
The room fell silent. I could sense the gaze of every executive on me, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him. He wasn’t just some monster in a suit; he was the most striking, intimidating man I’d ever encountered. And he was studying me like I was some kind of puzzle he wanted to solve.
"What’s your name?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"Arielle," I whispered, the lie heavy in my stomach.
"Arielle," he said again, testing the weight of it.
