I built my empire from the ground up. Pierce Realty Group is more than a company—it’s an extension of my will, a global force in luxury real estate. I don’t just own buildings; I own entire districts, half the city. Governments and law enforcement fall in line because they understand the unspoken rule: my word is final. Power isn’t just about money—it’s about control, and I have both.

My time is invaluable. Every second wasted is a deal lost, a competitor gaining an inch they shouldn’t have. That’s why I don’t tolerate inefficiency. Everyone in my orbit is the best in their field, handpicked for their intelligence, loyalty, and ability to anticipate what I need before I say it. My assistant? That position is nearly impossible to obtain. The expectations are relentless, the pressure constant. Most don’t last a week.

Yet today, an application caught my attention.

I scanned through the file—young, beautiful, overqualified, yet she wanted this job. Most people crave the prestige, the power that comes with working for me. But there was something about her credentials, her background, that felt different. A perfect résumé means nothing to me unless the person behind it has the drive to survive in my world.

I leaned back in my chair, watching the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. Below, people moved like ants, unaware that their livelihoods depended on decisions I made in mere seconds. That level of control, of influence, is addictive.

A soft knock at the door pulled my attention back. My receptionist stepped inside, her expression carefully neutral. “She’s here.”

I glanced at the clock. Right on time. Good.

“Send her in.”

I watched as the door opened, and for the first time, I laid eyes on her. Calm. Poised. Beautiful, just as her file suggested—but that wasn’t enough. Looks meant nothing in my world if she didn’t have the mind to match.

Most crack under pressure.

I smirked, fingers tapping against my desk.

Let’s see if she’s any different. Time to interview her.