CHAPTER TWO: FIRST DAY

Walking from Alder Tower to the subway station felt like running a marathon in high heels. My legs were trembling, and my toes were completely numb inside these cheap pumps.

I took the crowded train back to the East Side, holding onto the yellow metal bar while the carriage rattled against the tracks. Down here, far away from the sparkling glass towers of the Alder District, the air smelled like damp brick, rain, and old coffee. This was my reality. Not some private luxury suites or a penthouse but a cramped two-bedroom apartment above a noisy laundry shop.

When I unlocked the front door of our tiny apartment, the smell of burnt toast hit my nose immediately.

"Cammy?" Mia’s voice called out from the kitchen.

A second later, she popped her head around the wall. She had a wooden spatula in one hand, her phone shoved between her ear and her shoulder, and she was wearing an oversized yellow sweater that looked like it had been through ten different thrift stores.

Mia had been my die-hard bestie since high school. She was a freelance graphic designer, who always wore oversized thrift-store sweaters, and was the only person besides Damian who knew the truth about why I was using a fake name.

She took one look at my face and frowned. "Tell me you didn't throw up on his shoes."

"I didn't throw up," I said, leaning against the door frame to kick off these cheap black pumps. The relief was so fast I almost let out a moan. "And I didn't get kicked out either."

Mia looked surprised, she quickly dropped the phone onto the small counter and hurried to me. “Tell me you're serious?"

I rolled my eyes at her, "I start Monday," I answered, dropping my bag onto the floor. "Seven in the morning."

"Oh my god!" She screamed, running across the small living room, before coming back and throwing her arms around my neck. "You actually did it! You got the job!"

She squeezed me so hard, I felt my ribs crack. I couldn't help but laugh a little, wrapping my arms around her back.

"Okay, okay, let me breathe," I said, pulling away and leaning back against the wall. "My feet are literally bleeding, Mia."

"Who cares about your feet, you got past the ice dragon!" Mia pulled me over to the worn-out gray sofa and shoved me down onto the cushions. "Tell me everything. Right now. Did he scream at you? Did he do that scary glare thing people talk about on T*****r?"

"He didn't scream," I said, rubbing the back of my raw heels. "It was worse. He just sits there, looking at you like he already knows every single bad thing you've ever done in your life."

"Is he really that scary?"

"He's worse than the news says," I muttered, looking down at my swollen toes. "He has these gray eyes that don't even look real. I swear to god, Mia, when I told him why I wanted the job, he stared at me for ten seconds without blinking. I thought I was going to throw up my coffee right on his black wood desk."

Mia leaned in closer, folding her legs on the sofa. "But he hired you?"

"He wrote my start date on my paper and told me if I'm one minute late on Monday, he'll fire me before I even hit my desk."

"What an asshole," she said, shaking her head.

"Oh, but wait," I said, holding up a finger smiling teasingly. "You haven't even heard the best part. When he brought up compensation, I almost swallowed my own tongue.”

Mia’s eyebrows shot up. "What did he offer? Tell me?"

I laughed lightly at her reaction, she was such a drama queen who likes gossip.

"Two hundred and forty thousand Swiss francs. Annually." I spelled out the ‘annually’ getting a gasp from her.

She stared at me, her mouth slightly open, and the wooden spatula in her hand slipping, falling onto the rug. "Two hundred and... what? Two hundred and forty thousand?!”

"I know!" I squeaked, grabbing a throw pillow and shoving my face into it.

"That's more money than my dad made at the peak of his career! I could pay off our rent for five years, buy a car, pay my debts and still eat something other than potato pancakes"

"Girl, two hundred and forty Swiss francs?!" Mia practically shrieked, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. "Did you sign a contract or sell an organ? Tell me right now! I will fake a degree and apply tomorrow!”

“Trust me, you don't want to," I chuckled.

“There's a massive catch.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “He looked me dead in the eye and said the salary isn't generosity. No, no. It's the price of absolute availability.” I rolled my eyes, talking in a mocking tone. “So apparently, I belong to Alder Global 24/7. He calls, I answer. He travels, I pack. How lovely.”

“Basically, the man bought my soul for two hundred and forty thousand francs.” I scoffed, earning a laugh from Mia who seemed to be enjoying my facial expression.

“Well, damn. On one hand, he owns you. On the other hand...” She paused, grinning. “You can finally afford butter that isn't on sale.”

I glared at her.

“Girl, it's obvious you're being exploited, but at least you're financially comfortable now.” she said, grinning harder as though I didn't get her first remark.

"I knew I said I didn't go there for the salary," I muttered, leaning my head against the back of the couch, "but damn... my soul was definitely sweating for a second.”

But then her face softened, the excited smile slowly disappearing. She reached over and grabbed both of my hands. "Cam... Are you sure you want to do this?"

"We already talked about this, Mia."

"I know, I know," she said quietly, her thumb rubbing the back of my hand. "Cammy, I'm serious. Be careful. My brother works in corporate law, remember? He was telling me about Alder Global last week. He said Silvan Alder isn't just a regular rich CEO, and the rumors about Silvan are insane. People say he ruined his own cousins just to get full control of Alder Global. He doesn't have a heart, he has an expensive calculator in his chest.”

"I don't care about his heart,” I said softly, looking at the faded photo of my father sitting on our tiny wooden dining table. ‘‘I just need his encrypted vault key. Once I get the proof that clears my dad's name, I’m out of there.”

"Cam, listen to me," Mia insisted, her voice getting serious. "If he catches you poking around his office or looking for files, he won't just fire you. He'll put you in jail, or worse. You're using a fake name, fake papers from Damian, everything. If Silvan Alder finds out who you really are..."

"He won't find out," I cut in. "He took everything from my dad, Mia," I said, feeling my chest tightening as I looked at the picture.

Mia looked at the photo, then back at me. She let out a long, heavy sigh. "I know. I just... I don't want him to hurt you too."

"He won't," I said, turning back to her with a tight smile.

Mia stared at me for a long moment, then slowly shook her head, a tiny smirk touching her lips. "You're totally crazy, you know that?"

"I know."

"And your shoes smell like dirty harbor water."

I snorted, leaning my head back against the sofa cushions. "They were ten francs on clearance. Cut me some slack."

"Come on," Mia said, sliding off the couch and grabbing my arm to pull me up. "Let's go throw those awful shoes in the trash and eat burnt toast. You have two days to learn how to survive the devil.”

*************

Monday morning arrived earlier than I expected, even though I’d spent the whole anxious weekend praying for it to hurry up. But now here I am, ughhh!

At 6:30 AM, the sun was just barely peeking over the Zurich hills, casting a cold gray light over Verona City. I was already standing outside Alder Global Tower, clutching a paper cup of black coffee. I was wearing a black pencil skirt, a white button-up shirt, and flat shoes this time. I wasn't going to let blistered feet slow me down on my first day.

I swiped my new security badge at the sleek glass turnstiles. Beep. The green light flashed, and the heavy barrier swung open.

Welcome to the lion's den, Camille.

When I stepped off the elevator on the eighty-second floor at precisely 6:48 AM, the entire executive floor was dead silent, with the lights dimmed, and the massive desks were completely bare. I thought I was the first one here, which was a relief, because I didn't want to run into his scary security chief yet.

But guess I was wrong.

As I walked past Silvan’s corner office, I saw a flicker of bright light cutting through the gap in the blinds. The heavy glass door was open just an inch.

I stopped slightly, my breath hitching in my throat, and for a second, I felt sick in my stomach. I edged closer to the wall, pressing my shoulder against the cold frame, and peered through the gap in the blinds.

Silvan was standing near the giant window, looking out over the city. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, muscular forearms covered in dark hair. He was holding a glass of dark liquid, looking less like a corporate deity and more like a man carrying a heavy, dangerous secret. (The secret of destroying my father and his other victims) I thought.

Without turning around, his deep voice echoed through the silence.

“If you're going to spy on me, Miss Camille, at least have the courtesy to bring me a fresh coffee.”

I was taken aback. How the hell did he hear me? The carpet is literally three inches thick!

I cleared my throat, pushed the glass door open, and stepped inside. “Good morning, Mr. Alder. You're early.”

He turned around slowly. The cold gray morning light hitting his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the dark circles under his gray eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept a single minute.

“I don't sleep, Miss Camille,” he says abruptly, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Sleep is for people who don't have an empire to run. And you are twelve minutes early.”

Now I'm even more certain he is a vampire or something. How did he read my thoughts? Who the hell doesn't sleep?

“Punctuality is a virtue, sir.”

“Not when it interrupts my thoughts," he replied smoothly, walking toward his desk. He set his glass down softly. ‘‘Your desk is right outside my door. On it, you will find three thick black binders. Those are the agenda items, financial reports, and board member profiles for the upcoming Alder Global summit. I need them organized, cross-referenced, and summarized on my desk by 9:00 AM.”

I almost shouted. “That's over five hundred pages of data, Mr. Alder! That will take at least five hours.”

He leaned against the edge of his massive desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His gray eyes locked onto mine, filled with a dangerous, challenging spark.

‘‘Then I suggest you stop standing in my doorway complaining and get to work,” he retorted, smirking. “Unless, of course, you realize you aren't built for direct execution after all?”

The sarcastic edge in his voice lit a sudden fire in my chest. He was testing me, he just wanted me to fail so he could watch me cry and fire me before lunch.

“I'll have it ready by 8:45, sir,” I said, through gritted teeth, giving him my professional smile, before walking out straight to my new desk.

Before I could even pull out my chair to sit, I heard the sharp clack-clack-clack of high heels coming through the hallway.

I looked up to see a woman in her late thirties strutting toward my desk, holding a stack of leather folders against her chest. She was wearing a beige designer blazer, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun so neat it looked painful, and her dark red lipstick which stood out.

This was Brenda, the senior administrative coordinator for the entire executive floor. I’d seen her profile in the onboarding files Damian whipped up for me. She’d been at Alder Global for eight years and practically ran the floor until Silvan personally brought in an assistant seat right outside his door.

She stopped in front of my desk and slowly looked me up and down, from my flat shoes to my messy ponytail. The way she looked at me made me feel like I was something she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

“So…," she started, her voice dripping with this fake sweetness. "You're the new girl.”

“Camille," I said, putting on my best professional smile and standing up. "Good morning."

Brenda didn't offer a hand. Instead, she let out a quiet, condescending chuckle, setting her heavy folders on the corner of my desk loudly.

"Twenty-three, right?" She asked, tilting her head. "I saw your file when HR processed your badge. Frankly, everyone on the floor is shocked Mr. Alder didn't laugh you out of the room. Usually, he doesn't even look at applicants unless they have at least ten years of corporate experience in Zurich or London.”

"And not to say you're very young too." Her stare on me was so malicious.

I tried to sound polite. "Mr. Alder felt my qualifications were sufficient."

"Did he?" Brenda leaned in a bit, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Or did you just get lucky because he needed someone desperate enough to handle the summit workload on short notice?” Now her voice sounded serious, more like a warning “Listen to me carefully, little girl. This isn't some college internship. If you mess up his schedule, or make his tea wrong, or try any funny act on him, you won't just get fired. I…personally will make sure you never get a job in this city again.”

Seriously! I got the sudden urge to roll my eyes and laugh, why does it feel like a Thai drama?

Two other colleagues walking past my desk slowed down, whispering to each other and smirking as they watched Brenda chew me out.

I was twenty-three, wearing cheap flat shoes and a second-hand blazer, surrounded by women in thousand-dollar suits who had been climbing the corporate ladder for a decade. To them, I was just an inexperienced kid who didn't belong on the eighty-second floor.

If only you knew why I'm really here, I thought, my hands tightening into fists under my desk.

"I'll keep that in mind, Brenda," I said, keeping my voice dead even. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get these files ready."

Brenda stared at me for long, clearly annoyed that I hadn't burst into tears like the last girl. She let out a sharp humph, turned on her heel, and marched away, her high heels clicking aggressively against the floor.

What a bitch!

I took a deep breath and sat back down, pulling up Silvan's schedule on my computer monitor. My phone buzzed on the desk.

It was a text from Mia: Did you survive the morning or should I start planning your funeral?

I looked back toward the heavy glass door of Julian’s office, seeing his dark silhouette through the blinds.

I typed back: Survived the morning. But his senior secretary wants to kill me, and he wants his tea hot at 1:00 PM.

Mia replied instantly: Don't poison his tea, Cammy! We need the vault key first!

I laughed quietly before setting my phone down and getting back at work.