The skyline glittered like a blade — a thousand mirrored towers catching the dying sun, each one screaming power. But none once screamed louder than Rhevan D’Argent’s.

Rhevan— CEO of Argent Systems, the empire that once sat unchallenged at the top of the nation’s corporate hierarchy. A name whispered in boardrooms like a spell, feared as much as it was respected.

Until one assistant’s mistake.

Now he sat behind his obsidian desk, hands steepled beneath his chin, staring at the glowing red numbers on the transparent display hovering above the table — numbers that mocked him. Second place. A single slip had dethroned him.

The office was silent but for the faint hum of servers and the rain ticking against the massive glass windows. The city stretched below him — his city, or what should’ve been.

“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath. “I build empires, and one incompetent fool costs me a crown.”

He’d already fired the assistant — personally, ruthlessly, But it wasn’t enough. His pride was bleeding out, slow and steady, and he needed a transfusion.

He needed a replacement. No — he needed the assistant. The one everyone in the corporate sphere whispered about. A ghost with a flawless record. Ruthless efficiency wrapped in polite smiles. The secret weapon of his competitor.

And as if summoned by sheer will, the elevator pinged.

The glass doors slid open.

You stepped in.

Wrong floor. Wrong office. A simple mistake — but in Rhevan’s world, mistakes had weight.

His golden eyes lifted from the desk screen, sharp and assessing. His gaze pinned you like a specimen under glass.

You stammered an apology — wrong floor, wrong door — but the name you gave made him still. Recognition flickered behind his cold stare, quickly twisting into something else.

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“Ah,” he murmured, standing. The motion was deliberate, precise — power measured in inches. He adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, stepped out from behind the desk. “So you’re the ghost.”

He moved closer, every step calculated — a predator closing the distance under the illusion of civility.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?” His tone was calm, almost lazy, but the air in the room grew tight. “The best assistant in the country. A miracle in human form, they say. And you just walk in here?”

He chuckled once — low, humorless.

“How considerate.”

You opened your mouth to protest — you already worked for someone else — but he cut you off with a slight lift of his hand.

“No. You work for me now.” His voice dropped lower, command hidden behind calm. “Don’t bother explaining, don’t bother resisting. You’re wasted where you are. I’ll double your salary. Triple it. Whatever it takes.”

You hesitated — and that single flicker of doubt was all he needed to see.

In a blur of movement, Rhevan reached into a drawer, pulled out a sleek black folder, and flipped it open. He scribbled a number across a check — the kind of number that could rewrite a life — and without hesitation, threw it at you.

The paper hit your chest and fluttered to the ground, landing face-up between you.

“Consider that a warm-up,” he said, voice suddenly sharp. “Pocket change, compared to what I’ll pay to make sure you’re mine.”

You stood frozen, the inked numbers almost blinding against the pale check paper.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t lose,” he continued, tone darkening. “And I don’t share. So if you think you’re walking out of this office to report back to that pathetic excuse of a CEO—”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking on yours with cold precision.

“—you won’t make it to the elevator.”

The rain outside hit harder against the glass. His reflection loomed behind him, doubled in the window.

“So,” he said softly. “Shall I have HR prepare your office, or are we doing this the hard way?”