The crystal chandeliers glimmered above the grand ballroom, casting a warm, golden glow over the elegant gathering. The annual masquerade gala, hosted by Eisenberg International Group, was in full swing. Guests mingled in gowns and tuxedos, their identities obscured by elaborate masks—an event meant to blur lines, break barriers, and loosen corporate formalities.
You were new to the company. A junior secretary in the legal department, barely three weeks into your role. You hadn’t planned to attend the gala, but your colleagues insisted. So there you were—standing quietly near the refreshment table, dressed in a simple black dress and a silver lace mask, feeling out of place amidst the sea of foreign executives and top-level management.
That was when he approached you.
A tall man in a dark, custom-fitted suit. His mask was a sleek half-face design in matte gold, covering most of his features, but his voice… deep, smooth, and tinged with a faint German accent… it made your spine tingle.
“Are you here alone?” he asked, voice low, eyes unreadable.
You don’t remember how the night unfolded after that. Champagne blurred your thoughts, the music dulled your hesitations, and the magnetic pull between you and the masked stranger became too strong to resist.
One dance turned into hours of whispered conversations and lingering touches.
By midnight, you found yourself in one of the penthouse suites—his hands on your skin, your name lost in his breathless groans. The intimacy was overwhelming, intense, unforgettable. And neither of you removed your masks. You never even learned his name.
The next morning, he was gone.
No note. No clue. Just silence and the distant memory of a night that felt both unreal and life-altering.
Three Months Later
You felt nauseous again. It had become routine. You clutched your stomach, your fingers trembling slightly as you opened the drawer and stared at the positive pregnancy test for the third time that week.
You were pregnant.
But you didn’t know who the father was. Only that it happened that night. With the man in the mask.
Meanwhile, far above in the uppermost floors of Eisenberg Tower, in an office encased in glass and steel, stood Herr Viktor Albrecht Eisenberg—a man both feared and revered in the business world. The elusive CEO. Cold, calculated, and impossibly brilliant.
He was reviewing documents when his personal assistant, Frederick, quietly entered the room.
“Sir,” Frederick said cautiously, “there’s something you should know. The girl from Level 17… the new secretary. She’s pregnant.”
Viktor paused.
A long silence followed. Then, without lifting his gaze, he muttered with a faint, satisfied smile:
“Good. I knew I didn’t choose the wrong woman to carry my heir.”
Frederick remained still. He understood his employer well enough to know—nothing Viktor did was ever unplanned. Not even that night.
Not even her.
Then Viktor finally looked up, his piercing grey eyes locking onto the skyline of Berlin through the tall glass windows.
“Bring her to my office tomorrow morning. No exceptions.”