Selena's wedding day wasn't a fairytale—it was a nightmare. A single gunshot ended her life, but it couldn't erase her story. Her path to that moment began three years earlier when she was a quiet, unnoticed intern. A chance encounter with the enigmatic billionaire Damien Roth, everything changed. He saw something in her no one else did, and his attention ignited a fragile hope for a life she'd only dreamed of. But when Selena stepped into the light, she felt a cold shadow of her sister, Cassandra, a rival who wanted everything she had.
View More“Selena!” she shrieked, not even a hello. “The charity gala is mandatory for interns!”
I groaned. “Ugh… the gala.”
“Yes, the gala!” she repeated, almost breathless. “It’s tonight. And guess who didn’t check their email?”
She had a point. The gala was supposedly a big deal. Interns rarely got invitations. This year? “Interns included,” the invite had said. Shocking.
At first, I’d thought it was a mistake.
But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense this was my chance. A golden ticket. The kind of night where you could network, dazzle, and maybe just maybe secure your future.
“You know what?” I said, sitting up straighter. “I’m in. I can't wait for this gala.”
There was a pause.
“Wait...you? Miss ‘this is just a corporate circus’? Miss ‘I’d rather eat my degree than schmooze with old rich men?”
“I know what I said,” I laughed. “But this is different. The elites will be there. The CEO. We make the right impression we might not be interns for long.”
Alia paused. Then, screamed so loud I dropped the phone.
I’ve been waiting my whole life for this!” she shouted. And then she hung up.
Still confused by her emotional explosion, I shook my head, laughing under my breath as i stood. My first day as an intern at Roth Enterprise felt like slipping into a perfectly tailored grey suit that didn’t belong to me. Cold, structured, suffocating. The kind of place where everyone speaks in buzzwords and looks like they were printed from the same blueprint.
I was fresh out of uni, armed with a paper degree and big dreams, walking into a skyscraper that could swallow me whole. My older sister Cassandra had been here for five years, buried somewhere in Marketing. Still, despite all that time, she'd never met the CEO.
A car horn blared outside.
It was Alia.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go shopping alone, did you?” she grinned. “Hop in we’ve got glam to do.”
The mall was an hour away. First stop: mani-pedis and massages. Pure bliss. For a moment, I forgot about the pressure, the politics, and Cassandra’s tantrum.
“This,” Alia purred, lounging in the chair, “is the life.”
But then came the hard part dress shopping. Gowns glimmered under the boutique lights, but our wallets were weeping.
“We are so broke,” Alia whispered, staring at a price tag like it insulted her.
“You dragged me here!” I snapped. “We could’ve worn what we had.”
“And stay broke forever?” she scoffed. “No way. What about asking Cassandra for money?”
“No.”
“But.....”
“No, Alia.”
She frowned. “Weird. You’re her sister.”
“Let’s just go,” I muttered.
When i got home, I headed straight for the mailbox. Inside was a sleek envelope my invitation. Cassandra’s was there too.
I knocked on her door and handed it to her.
She stared at the card like it was mocking her.
“Wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “You got invited?”
“Yeah,” I replied casually. “All interns were. It’s a company gala.”
The shift in her expression was instant shock, followed by something colder.
“Selena, I’ve worked my ass off for five years to get into this room. And they’re just handing invites to interns now?”
“It’s for charity, Cass,” I said, trying to calm her down. “Everyone’s included.”
She rolled her eyes and slammed the door in my face.
Typical Cassandra always the star, always the storm. She had the looks, the wardrobe, the attitude. The perfect older sister. But tonight? Tonight, she had no idea I was about to steal the spotlight.
Later that night, I tried to shake the day off with a hot shower. It was quiet until I heard a knock at the front door.
“I got it!” Cassandra shouted.
Emma.
Her best friend since sophomore year, and the only person as obsessed with Roth Enterprise as Cassandra.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Cassandra said.
“I rushed here the moment I got the invite,” Emma gushed. “The elites are gonna be there. Our time to shine, Cass!”
“But did you see?” Cassandra whispered. “The invite said interns included.”
“I did.” Emma raised a brow. “Honestly? Bet one of them’s sleeping with the CEO.”
Cassandra laughed bitterly. “You might be onto something.”
“I mean, why else would interns be invited? Maybe he’s bringing her to show her off.”
Emma paused. “You don’t think it’s… Selena, do you?”
Cassandra scoffed. “No way. She hates dressing up. She’ll probably wear some boring old outfit. I might actually have to lend her something.”
They laughed.
I listened.
Then I walked away.
Back in my room, my phone rang again. Alia.
“What are we doing about your gown?” she asked.
I sighed. “I’ll wear something from my closet.”
“That’s depressing. What about the box your grandma left you?”
My chest tightened. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Selena,” she said gently. “She gave you that for a reason.”
I hesitated. Then walked to my wardrobe and pulled it out.
The old box. Tied with a fading ribbon. On top, a photo of us. She'd always say I'd wear this one day, when i was ready.
I lifted the lid and gasped.
Inside was the gown. Royal blue, laced with stones. Elegant, bold, unforgettable.
The gown my grandmother wore the night she was named Lady of Ashworth. The same night my grandfather proposed.
Alia’s voice was soft. “That’s the one. Wear it. Who knows you might meet your own prince charming.”
I smiled.
Maybe I would.
When I finally arrived at the gala, everything stopped. The building shimmered with gold and glass. Crystal chandeliers dripped light like rain. Champagne flowed like water.
The elites were here. Power, money, status coiled into tailored suits and whispered conversations.
And me? I stepped into the room like I belonged.
For a second, everything became stilled.
I felt it—eyes on me. A flicker of something that didn’t belong in a room full of champagne smiles and designer masks.
In a far corner, near the staircase draped in white roses, stood a man in black. Still. Unblinking. Watching me like he knew something I didn’t.
I blinked.
He was gone.
I laughed it off, brushing a hand over my dress. Just nerves. Right?
But something in my chest whispered no.
What I didn’t know was that tonight…
Someone had already decided my fate.
And I had just walked straight into it.
But what I didn’t know was that tonight… this room would change everything.
Forever.
The office was almost unrecognizable at night. The humming of printers and footsteps that filled the air during the day were gone, replaced by a silence so heavy it seemed to press against the walls. Only a few lights remained on, pools of gold against the endless glass windows overlooking the city. Richard and I were the only ones left. I had told myself I’d stay late to finish paperwork, but deep down, I knew it was more than that. Something about him pulled me in not just his authority or presence, but the fragments of vulnerability I’d seen cracking through his usual control. “He was… an alcoholic. The kind that leaves scars you can’t see. He’d come home drunk and… lash out. Sometimes words, sometimes worse.” My throat tightened. “Cassandra took the worst of it. She always stood between us. She became my shield. She worked herself raw just to make sure I could be more than just another broken piece of that house.” Richard’s brow furrowed, but before I could go on, he interrupt
The buzz around the company shifted that week, and at the center of it all was Cassandra Monroe. Her picture had appeared in a business column standing beside Damien Roth at a charity gala, her flawless smile perfectly timed for the cameras. It didn’t matter that Damien’s expression was unreadable; the press didn’t care. The headlines wrote themselves. The Rising Monroe and Roth Enterprise’s Enigmatic Heir. Cassandra soaked it up. Every time I passed her in the hallway, she was surrounded by whispers and stares. Her smirk seemed permanent now, sharpened by the glow of attention. She wanted everyone to believe Damien Roth was hers or that he would be soon. And maybe she even believed it herself. Meanwhile, I sat quietly behind my laptop at night, scrolling through Roth Enterprise’s project forums. Damien’s comments were sparse, but they always drew my eyes. When he posted an observation, it was clear, precise, like cutting glass. I responded when it made sense, careful not to ove
By Wednesday, I was already feeling the weight of the week. Working under Richard Morgan was like standing in a storm you had to keep steady or you’d be swept away. Every day was charts, numbers, edits, rewrites. I was learning, yes, but I was also drained. That afternoon, the cafeteria felt like an escape. The noise, the chatter, the smell of food it reminded me I was still human. “Selena Monroe!” I turned and spotted Alia waving me over with her usual bright smile. She had a tray so full of food it was almost comical. “You’re alive,” she teased as I sat down. “I was starting to think Richard had locked you in his office for good.” I laughed weakly. “Almost. I think I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like.” “Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you can survive Morgan’s standards, you can survive anything.” Her confidence in me was comforting, but then her tone shifted. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “By the way… I heard Cassandra talking.” My stomach tightened. “What
The hum of the office on Monday morning felt different. There was the usual shuffle of papers, the steady rhythm of keyboards, the muted chime of phones but for me, everything carried an undertone of anticipation. Richard D. Morgan had assigned me to a project directly under him. The thought alone was enough to make my pulse stumble every few minutes. I adjusted my blazer for what felt like the tenth time as I entered the sleek, glass-walled floor where Richard’s division operated. Here, the air felt colder, sharper, as though success itself demanded precision. People walked briskly, not a step wasted, their conversations clipped and professional. Richard’s office sat at the far end, large but not ostentatious. Unlike Damien’s top-floor penthouse suite with its panoramic view, Richard’s space was structured, functional, lined with shelves of reports and thick binders. The man himself stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled neatly at his elbows, reviewing a file. His stern profile sof
I couldn’t bring myself to respond to Damien. What will i even say to him…I'm just an intern having fantasies. The weekend went by and it was Monday. The birds chiming as usual. A quick reminder of what Richard D Morgan my new supervisor said to me.“I’ll be assigning you to a new project,” he said suddenly. My stomach flipped. “Wait, what, why?” “Because you impressed me. And because I need someone I can trust. Cassandra tells me you’re diligent, careful, and not easily intimidated.” Cassandra talks about me? “What’s the project?” I asked cautiously. His eyes met mine, steady and unreadable. “You’ll be working with me. Directly.” I nearly choked on a cherry tomato. “With…you? Like, shadowing you?” “Not shadowing. Collaborating,” he corrected. “Yes, that’s the word.” “But I’m just an intern…” “You won’t be after today.” My head spun. “Does Cassandra know?” “She will.” That was how it began: my unexpected assignment to work directly under Richard D. Morgan, the man whose
The weekend was too quiet. For most people, quiet meant peace. For Selena, it was dangerous. Quiet meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering. No matter how many times she tried to distract herself washing dishes, rearranging the bookshelf, watering her plants her mind kept circling back. Cassandra’s voice from earlier in the week still clung to her, sharp and cold. "That’s why he’ll never really see you." It wasn’t the words that hurt most. It was the way Cassandra had said them. Like a fact carved in stone. Like she wasn’t just predicting the future she was promising it. Selena pressed her lips together and kept dusting the shelf. But under Cassandra’s voice, another memory pushed its way forward. The one from the washroom. The flicker of the light. The blur in the mirror. That prickling on the back of her neck that said she wasn’t alone. She had told herself it was nothing just her imagination. But the truth was, she still didn’t believe herself. By late morning, she
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