CHAPTER 1: JOB INTERVIEW

*CAMILLE POV*

“If he asks you why you’re applying for a job below your qualification, do not try to act smart. Just look him dead in the eye and lie like your life depends on it. Because honestly? It kind of does.”

That was the last piece of advice Damian gave me before I took the fake identity from him and walked to the Alder Global Tower.

Now, standing on the eighty-second floor, with my feet hurting from the cheap three-inch heels I got on sale, I realized two things. First, Damian was completely right. Second, no amount of advice could have prepared me for the icy, terrifying person that Silvan Alder was.

The air up here was too cold, and the smell of cologne that costs probably more than my entire apartment rent was everywhere. It was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.

I adjusted the collar of my navy jacket. It was a bit too tight around my shoulders, but it was the only work outfit I had that didn't look cheap. My heart was beating like crazy.

“Just stay calm, you are not Camille Bernerd, but Camille Martin. An ambitious twenty-three-year-old girl who just really, really wants to work for the biggest corporate empire in Verona City.”

I was carrying a forged document, which Damian had made for me.

The man who orchestrated the takeover that swallowed my father’s life work was sitting right behind the heavy doors down the hallway: Silvan Alder.

I hated him, just hearing his name made me angry. I didn't care about the pay, I just wanted to bring him and his company down.

“Miss Camille?”

I jolted slightly. A huge guy built like a wall stepped out from around the corner. He wore a tight dark suit that fit his massive shoulders perfectly, had short hair, and gave me a sharp look like he was checking if I had a weapon.

“Mr. Alder will see you now,” he said, inviting me in.

“Thank you,” I offered a polite smile that looked more like a nervous twitch. Standing up, I smoothed my skirt and walked past him.

The hall was nice, but Silvan's office was crazy. One whole wall was made of glass, giving a massive view of the city and the snowy mountains. It had black marble floors, a huge mahogany desk, and barely any personal stuff. It didn't feel like a normal office, but it was impressive.

Silvan Alder was sitting behind the desk typing fast on his laptop, not even looking up as I walked in.

At thirty-three, Silvan was unfortunately, the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. He had thick dark hair, a sharp and defined jaw line, broad shoulders that fit perfectly on the custom black suit he wore. But he felt dangerous. You could feel this strong aura in the room, and just tell he was in absolute control.

“Sit,” he instructed, his fingers still typing away.

I walked over to the leather chair across his desk, sitting down and placing my hands on my laps.

He finally closed his laptop and looked at me. I froze. His gray eyes were cold, like a villain in a movie, but really intense.

“Camille Martin,” he said, reading off a piece of paper. “Twenty-three years old. Top of your class at Verona International Business. Two years at a mid-tier logistics firm in Geneva. Outstanding references. A completely flawless record.”

“Yes, Mr. Alder,” I said, nodding and trying to keep my voice steady despite the rapid beat in my chest.“I believe I'm a great fit for your team.”

He leaned back and put his fingers together under his chin. A tiny, dangerous curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, which didn't look like a friendly smile— It was the smile of a cat watching a mouse run into a corner.

“That's the problem,” he said softly. “Your resume is too good. A woman with your grades and analytical skills doesn't apply to be a personal assistant. You apply for a high-paying analyst job where you can make six figures within two years. So tell me... why are you here?”

Why am I here?

I gripped the hem of my skirt under the table. Damian had warned me about this question.

“I like being where the action is,” I answered, looking him dead in the eye. “Analysts just look at old numbers. A personal assistant works directly with the person making the decisions. I want to see how real power operates.”

He didn't say a word. He just stared at me. The silence went for ten seconds. I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner and my heartbeat, panicking was not an option right now. Even when the memory of the girl that walked out of Silvan's office with red eyes from crying crossed my mind, I tried to remain calm.

But I couldn't break. If I broke, my dad’s memory remained tarnished forever.

“Real power?” he broke the silence, leaning more closer. “Or direct access?”

A cold drop of sweat traced down from my hair, but I kept a composed posture.

“Access is useless if you don't know what to do with it, Mr. Alder,” I responded, letting a bit of attitude slip into my tone. “And if you just want someone who brings you cold coffee and cries every time you raise your voice, you should probably hire someone else.”

He looked surprised for a split second before hiding it, slowly leaning forward, resting his forearms on the desk, getting closer. I could smell his cologne—expensive cedarwood and tobacco. It smelled good, which made me even angrier.

He studied my face like a complex puzzle he was trying to solve. He knew I was hiding something, but didn't know what yet.

“You've got a lot of nerve,” he murmured.

“I call it competence, sir.”

“Is that what it is?” Silvan tapped on the desk twice, his gray eyes never leaving mine. “Most people who come into this room are terrified. They tell me what they think I want to hear. You, on the other hand, are looking at me like you want to fight.”

I scoffed inwardly, “I don't want to fight you, Mr. Alder, I just want the job.”

He didn't say anything for another long moment. Then, he pulled my printed resume, wrote a single word across the top in blue ink.

“You start Monday,” he said flatly. “7:00am in the morning. If you are one minute late, do not bother coming. You'll be fired before you reach your desk.”

My goodness! This had worked easier than I planned. I had expected another ten minutes of brutal questioning. I'd prepared answers for my family history, my previous address, and high school grades—everything.

“I won't be late,” I said, keeping my cool. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Don't thank me yet,” he retorted, looking all serious again.

“Now, about your pay,” he rested his hand on the desk. “The base salary for my primary executive assistant is 20,000 dollars monthly. Plus full health benefits, a company card, and performance bonuses paid quarterly at my discretion.”

I almost choked on my own spit. 20,000 dollars?!

If added up for a year, that was more than my dad earned. It was enough to pay off my apartment rent, buy a car, pay off debts and still have a decent amount for savings.

Okay, okay, I knew I had boasted of not caring about the salary, but this was too much!

I tried to keep a straight face. I needed to act like a smart business graduate, not a broke girl who couldn't pay her rent.

“That... is very generous, Mr. Alder!,” I said, hiding my excitement.

“It's not generous, Miss Camille. It's the price for your full time,” he rebutted, staring right at me. “When I call, you answer, when I travel, you come along. Apparently you belong to Alder Global for the time you'll be working here, so If that salary doesn't buy your complete loyalty, then nothing will.”

Loyalty to you? Never.

“Understood, sir,” I said with a nod.

He stood up, at 6’3”, he completely towered over me. He buttoned his black jacket and walked around the desk, stopping right in front of me.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to lean back, but I forced myself to stand up and face him.

“You came into my office expecting to play a game, sweetheart,” he whispered, his deep voice giving me goosebumps. “But listen to me carefully. In my world, if you strip for the devil, You give up your soul.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile right back at him. “Good thing I didn't bring my soul to work today, Mr. Alder.”

A tiny hint of a smile flashed in his gray eyes. He didn't say anything else. He just pointed toward the door. “Monday. 7:00 AM.”

I turned around, keeping my head held high, and walked out of his office, though my knees felt like jelly. My heels clicked against the polished floor, until the heavy doors finally shut behind me.

Sweetheart? The nerve.

The huge guard from earlier was leaning against the wall outside, with his arms crossed over his massive chest. He smirked as I passed.

“Good luck, Miss Camille,” he said, “You’ll need it.”

I ignored him and walked straight to the elevator, pushing the button and stepping inside. The second the doors closed, I let out a huge breath. My hands were shaking so much I could barely pull out my phone.

I quickly texted Damian: I got the job. 20,000 dollars salary.

He texted right back: Are you sure about this? Money aside, once you're in, it's hard to get out. Silvan Alder is cunning.

I looked at my reflection in the elevator doors. My face was a bit red, but my eyes were steady. I thought about my dad in that cold hospital room, the debt letters, and the bad things the news said about us.

Silvan Alder must have thought he was pulling me into his trap, he thought I was just another weak girl he could scare into submission, but he had no idea what he was in for.

I typed back to Damian: Let him try.