Chapter 2: The Weight of Signature.

She left his office and headed home, disappointment weighing heavily on her.

Sherry Hart woke up to the muted gray of dawn filtering through her bedroom window. The weight of yesterday still pressed heavily on her chest.

Her meeting with Enzo Blackwood played on a relentless loop in her mind his cold gaze, the audacious curve of his lips as he delivered his dismissive desire.

Sherry groaned softly, pressing a hand to her forehead.

She had stood firm, refusing to cower under his arrogance, but that didn’t change the harsh reality: Margo Fashion House was days away from collapse.

Suppliers threatened to cut ties, employees whispered anxiously about layoffs, and the media was already sniffing around for a juicy business failure story.

Margo Hart's eyes narrowed rapidly as she gazed at daughter Sherry's tense face above a steaming plate. Softly clinking delicate cups filled the silence between them.

“You look like you barely slept,” Margo said gently, pouring another cup of tea.

“I didn’t,” Sherry admitted, staring blankly at her untouched plate of toast.

Margo spoke softly pouring another cup of tea saying you look like you barely slept last night somehow.

“Sherry, you’re carrying too much on your shoulders. I know you want to save the company, but risking everything on a deal with a man like Enzo Blackwood?” She shook her head. “That’s dangerous.”

“What choice do I have, Mom?” Sherry’s voice cracked slightly.

Margo’s expression softened. “I know you’re trying to protect all of us. But remember, pride can be costly. Don’t let it blind you.”

Later that morning Sherry stood before sleek glass doors at Blackwood Industries headquarters situated downtown. A massive structure loomed ominously overhead somewhat like a fortress under dark winter skies.

Her nerves danced wildly beneath a seemingly composed exterior she steeled herself with a deep breath inward slowly.

“You’re not here to beg,” she whispered under her breath.

“You’re here to win.”

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent but suffocating. She whispered under her breath you're not around begging for anything. You're here for victory now. The elevator ride upstairs was silently oppressive.

“Mr. Blackwood is expecting you,” she said, leading Sherry down the pristine hallway.

As the massive double doors to Enzo’s office opened, Sherry squared her shoulders, determined not to show weakness. Enzo stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the skyline. The air seemed to thicken as he turned, his dark eyes locking onto hers with unsettling precision.

“Miss Hart,” he greeted smoothly, gesturing toward the leather chair opposite his desk. “I trust you’ve had time to consider my proposal.”

Sherry sat down, meeting his gaze head-on.

“I’m here to accept because I have no choice.”

A faint, amused smile tugged at his lips. “choice?” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“You don't exactly have a choice.”

“Maybe not,” Sherry admitted.

“Why would you need me as your assistant?” she demanded.

“Let’s just say I prefer to monitor my investments closely,” he said in a calm tone. My investments,” he replied coolly.

Sherry quickly looked up. “You can't be serious.”

Enzo slid a thick document across the desk. “My terms. Read them carefully.”

Sherry hesitated before picking up the contract. Sherry’s grip on the contract tightened. The terms were outrageous, but walking away wasn’t an option. Not if she wanted to save her father’s legacy.

Her eyes skimmed the pages, each clause more daunting than the last. Exclusive control over key decisions.

She has served as his assistant reporting directly under him for some time now in a somewhat secretive manner.

“Sign it, Miss Hart,” Enzo said, his voice low and commanding. “Or walk away and watch everything crumble.”

The challenge hung in the air, daring her to make a choice.

Enzo uttered signing it to Miss Hart his voice extremely low sounding remarkably commanding somehow. Or walk away slowly and witness everything crumble around her.

Darkness hung ominously in the air daring her to make a decision.

Sherry's heart raced rapidly beneath her chest and her resolve hardened into unyielding determination. Her resolve became unshakeably firm suddenly blocking his view.

Sherry’s fingers tightened around the pen. There would be no turning back five years when the ink touch the paper. Five years of working under Enzo Blackwood, enduring his calculated coldness and razor-sharp expectations.

She inhaled slowly. Margo Fashion House needed saving. Her father’s legacy depended on it.

With a steady hand, she signed.

The scratch of the pen against the contract felt deafening in the silent office. When she lifted her gaze, Enzo’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

"Smart choice," he murmured, retrieving the document with an air of finality. He tapped a finger against the paper.

"Welcome to Blackwood Industries, Miss Hart. Your tenure as my assistant begins Tomorrow but you will get brief now."

Sherry swallowed, bracing herself. "What now?"

Enzo leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Now, you learn what it means to work for me."

But what choice did she have?

Before she could respond, he pressed a button on his desk.

Sherry’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he said smoothly.

He tapped the contract. “You’ll start fully tomorrow remember. Seven a.m. sharp. I don’t tolerate lateness.”

Sherry bristled. “You expect me to be here before dawn?”

“I expect you to follow my instructions without question,” he corrected, his tone final. “That’s what a personal assistant does.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought.

“Urh.” She pushed back her chair and stood.

At that moment the glossy sliding doors parted, and a high, smartly dressed man walked in.

"Miss Hart, meet Ethan Reynolds, my Chief Operating Officer," Enzo introduced smoothly.

"Ethan, brief her on her responsibilities. She starts tomorrow."

Sherry barely had time to process before Ethan gestured for her to follow him. Her heart pounded as she stood, throwing one last glance at Enzo. His face was impassive, but she understood that this was just the first step.

Her mind ran through the implications, what working for him would require, what she would have to lie down and accept. She pictured the endless hours beneath his hawkish scrutiny, the unceasing struggles for power, and the way he used his influence as a blade.

She got through the day’s briefing, then used the elevator and went back home, where she was to prepare for tomorrow’s work.

As the elevator doors slid shut, she leaned against the cool steel walls, closing her eyes.

What had she just done?

Sherry barely slept.

Her mind refused to rest, cycling through scenarios of what awaited her at Blackwood Industries. Would Enzo make her job unbearable on purpose? Would he run her to her limits just to prove a point?

Her alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. on the dot. She groaned and buried her face in her pillow, but there would be no point in postponing the inevitable.

She dragged herself out of bed and took a long shower, hoping hot water would wash away her anxiety. Sherry walked through the doors of Blackwood Industries wearing a tailored navy blue blazer and pencil skirt.

Confidence was important, and even though she didn’t fully feel it, she could at least pretend.

When she got out of the cab in front of Blackwood Industries, the tall glass building stood above her, reminding her of what she was getting into.

The city was just waking up, with the night slowly fading away. She took a deep breath, stood up straight, and walked through the big revolving doors.

Inside, the lobby was already busy. Employees in stylish business clothes moved quickly, focused on where they were going.

Unlike Margo Fashion House, which had a warm and creative atmosphere, Blackwood Industries was all sharp edges and efficient.

As she stepped inside, Ethan Reynolds, Enzo’s right-hand man, greeted her. He was sharp-eyed, impeccably dressed, and carried the efficiency of someone who had been in Enzo’s world far too long.

“Miss Hart,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You’re punctual. That’s a good start.”

“Was there any doubt?” she quipped.

Ethan gave a faint smile but didn’t engage further. “Follow me.”