Chapter 1 001
Rhea's POV
I snatched my bag and coffee from the kitchen table, nearly spilling the hot liquid down my blouse in a haste. The door slammed behind me as I bolted out of my apartment.
My breath hitched in my chest—partly from the sprint, and partly from the nagging anxiety that always flared up when my routine was shattered.
Harlan, my boss, had sent a "code red" text for an impromptu 7:30 AM meeting. As his secretary, if I wasn't there, the meeting basically didn't exist.
If you had told my nineteen-year-old self that I'd be a 9-5 secretary, she would have laughed in your face.
Back then, I was going to be the mogul, the visionary, the one holding the briefcase. But life has a funny way of throwing a curveball and then hitting you with the bat.
From the accident that took my sister's life, to the bankruptcy that drained my parents' spirit, to him.
The breakup. It's been three years, but the betrayal was still a fresh bruise. I loved him for five years—gave him every secret, every dream, every ounce of my heart—only for him to tear it all down in a single night.
Tears pricked at my eyes just thinking about it, but I blinked them away, forcing my mind elsewhere. That's my survival tactic: keep moving, distract, and don't drown in the darkness.
I flagged down a cab at the terminal and slid into the back seat, the vinyl cold against my legs.
"Downtown office district, please. Be quick as you can," I said to the driver, who nodded without a word.
My phone buzzed almost immediately. It was Lisa, my office bestie.
Lisa: "Girl, where are you? Harlan is waiting for you. We are all waiting."
I typed back furiously: "I'll be there soon."
Then I shoved the phone away and leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window.
What could possibly be so urgent that Harlan called us this early? He wasn't the type to pull stunts like that.
Speaking of Harlan, I'd always dreaded the 9-to-5 grind because of the stereotypes: soul-crushing routines, micromanaging bosses who treated you like dirt. But Harlan? He was a gem.
He respected us, valued our time and effort, always putting his employees first. He gives us bonuses for hard work, flexible hours when life gets messy, and he made the job bearable, even enjoyable sometimes.
This emergency meeting felt so off, so unlike him.
My stomach twisted with unease. Was the company in trouble? Layoffs? God, I hoped not. I couldn't handle another upheaval.
The cab finally pulled up to the sleek glass tower that housed our firm. I paid the driver, mumbled a quick "Thanks," and hopped out.
But something was wrong. The security guards who usually flanked the entrance were nowhere in sight. No friendly nods, no ID checks.
My pulse quickened. I hurried through the revolving doors, only to find the reception desk deserted too.
Papers were scattered, and chair pushed back like whoever was there had left in a rush.
I yanked out my phone again and shot Lisa a text: "Where's everyone?"
Her reply pinged back seconds later: "The emergency conference room. Hurry up."
I dashed to the elevators, my mind racing.
What the hell was going on? A fire? A break-in? Or worse—had we lost someone?
The last time we'd all been summoned to the emergency room, it had been to honor a fallen colleague.
I prayed this wasn't that again.
The elevator doors slid open with a ding, and I jabbed the button for the fifth floor. That one-minute ride felt like an eternity, the soft hum of the machinery mocking my growing anxiety.
I tapped my foot, willing it to go faster.
Finally, it deposited me in the hallway. I power-walked toward the conference room, my bag bouncing against my hip.
Through the glass doors of the conference room, I saw them. My coworkers weren't chatting or sipping lattes; they were standing rigidly, like soldiers awaiting an inspection.
I pushed the door open, and every head swiveled toward me. Heat crawled up my spine, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. I offered a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry, everyone."
"Rhea, you're here, finally," Harlan said with a hint of exasperation, rising from his seat at the head of the room. He looked older today, lines etched deeper around his eyes.
I hurried over to him, clutching my bag. "I'm so sorry for my tardiness, sir. I got the message at 5 a.m.—I wasn't prepared for it."
He just smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that warm, fatherly way.
"That's fine, Rhea." He brushed it off and turned to the rest of the team while I dug into my bag for my iPad, ready to jot down notes like always. But he stopped me.
"There's no need for that, Rhea," he said without even glancing my way, his voice gentle but firm.
Okay... I thought, brows furrowing as I slid the iPad back in. What was this about?
Harlan cleared his throat and clasped his hands over his stomach. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on each of us.
"I've gathered you all here because I wanted to say... thank you. I have cherished every moment of building this company with you. You aren't just employees; you're the heartbeat of this dream."
"Woohoo! We love you too, Harlan!" Matt, our resident goofball from marketing, yelled from the back.
The tension broke for a second as a ripple of chuckles went through the room. Even Harlan laughed, though it sounded a bit hollow.
"Well," he continued, his voice dropping an octave. "I'm getting old. My heart is starting to argue with me, and my doctor says it's a fight I won't win. It's time to retire."
He paused for a second, then continued.
"As you know, I never had children. This company is my legacy, and I want to spend my remaining years with my wife and our spoiled dog, knowing that this place is in good hands. I'm handing the company over to someone capable of taking it to the next level."
My stomach dropped. Distorted didn't even cover it, I felt a pang of loss already.
Harlan had been my rock in this job, the one who saw potential in me when I was at my lowest.
He held up a hand to quiet us.
"The new CEO and owner will be here any moment from now," Harlan warned, his expression turning grave.
"I must advise you: be on your best behavior. He is... different. He is not like me. He is brilliant, but he is formidable. I urge you all to be patient as you adjust to him.
The way he said "formidable" sent a chill down my spine. Harlan, a man who feared no one, sounded almost intimidated.
"So, you're really leaving us, sir?" Cynthia, one of the cleaning staff, piped up from the back. Her voice cracked a little; she looked genuinely heartbroken. Hell, we all did.
Harlan's smile turned bittersweet as he nodded.
"Yes, Cynthia. It's time."
The room burst into mumbles and grumbles, a wave of discontent rolling through. People shifted uncomfortably, whispering to each other.
"Do I get to keep my position?" I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper, but somehow he heard me over the din.
Tears were threatening again; I swallowed hard to keep them at bay.
He turned to me, and his expression softened.
"I don't know that for certain, Rhea. Mr. Alvarez is... brooding. Picky. He likes his own systems. But I've spent the last month advocating for you. I told him you are indispensable. He has agreed to keep you as his personal assistant—at least for the transition."
The world narrowed to that one name: Alvarez.
It's a common name. Thousands of people have it. But hearing it made the air in the room suddenly become too thick to breathe.
My lungs felt like they were filled with cotton.
"Alvarez?" I whispered.
Before Harlan could answer, the double doors swung open. Two men in black suits stood with hostile attention, flanking the entrance. Behind them, the third man walked in.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. It wasn't just authority; it was a vacuum, sucking the oxygen out of space.
He was taller than I remembered, his eyes colder, and his aura darker.
"Ah! Mr. Alvarez is here," Harlan announced.
I couldn't move. I couldn't blink. My eyes locked onto him, and for a split second, the world fell away.
A high-pitched ringing started in my ears, drowning out the room until all I could see was the man who had once been my entire world looking at me like I was a shadow on the wall.
His gaze swept over me, and I felt the familiar electricity of a soul-deep recognition.
But when I looked closer, his eyes refused to recognize me. They held nothing but a vast, frozen emptiness.
"Everyone," Harlan said, his voice echoing in the stifling silence. "Your new boss. Alejandro Tommasi Alvarez."
He didn't look at the staff. He didn't acknowledge the pale, panicked faces of the team or the heavy, stunned silence that filled the room.
He simply looked at his expensive watch, then finally let his gaze drop to Harlan.
"You're three minutes behind schedule, Harlan,"Alejandro said.
His voice wasn't just a rasp; it was a blade. It was the sound of a man who dealt in numbers and collateral, not people.
His gaze found mine again, and my heart stopped.
Five years of history, and the haunting image of his back as he left me—it all surged up at once, the memory's cold fingers tightening around my throat.
I felt the floor tilt beneath my heels, the room suddenly too small to hold both our ghosts.
I waited for the flicker. I waited for the widening of his pupils, the tightening of his jaw, some sign that he remembered the girl he'd promised the world to.
Instead, his eyes slid over my face with the clinical indifference of a man reading a blank spreadsheet.
"I don't care for crowds, and I have no interest in fake pleasantries," Alejandro announced, his tone cutting through the suffocating air.
"The board of directors is expecting a projection report by noon. If you are not at your desk contributing to that goal within the next 120 seconds, consider your transition period over."
The silence that followed was heavy with dread.
"Rhea," he called. My name sounded foreign in his mouth. It hurt.
He didn't look at me as he spoke; he was already turning toward the executive office.
"My coffee. Black. No sugar. Have it on my desk before I sit down. If you're as 'indispensable' as I've been told, you'll know better than to make me ask twice."
He walked away without a backward glance, his bodyguards trailing him like shadows.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, realizing with a sickening jolt that I wasn't even a memory to him. I was just a line of data on a payroll: functional, replaceable, and completely invisible.