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Welcome to Hell, Mr Hart
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2025-07-03 04:00:50Chapter One: Welcome to Hell, Mr. Hart
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The elevator doors opened on the top floor of Voss Tower with an ominous ding.
Noah Hart clutched his cheap satchel tighter, heart jackhammering behind his ribs.
This was it.
New job. New suit. New chance.
All he had to do was survive 90 days as Elias Voss’s personal assistant.
How hard could it be?
He stepped into the private executive lobby. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Silence so heavy it felt sacred. And behind a sleek reception desk, a woman with blood-red lipstick stared at him like she was already tired of his existence.
“You’re late,” she said, even though he was exactly three minutes early.
“I—uh—Noah Hart. Here to see Mr. Voss. First day.”
He offered a shaky smile. It wilted under her stare.
She picked up the phone. “He’s here.”
Pause. A quiet nod.
“He said: ‘Don’t waste my time.’ Go.”
Before he could ask what that meant, the frosted glass doors behind her slid open soundlessly.
Noah walked through them like a man heading to execution.
---
The office was cold. Literally and emotionally.
Spanning the entire top floor, it looked like a villain’s lair: black steel, matte charcoal walls, and sharp edges. Nothing warm. Nothing soft.
Then he saw Elias Voss.
Six-foot-something. Black suit tailored like sin. Sharp jaw, slicked-back dark hair, ice-gray eyes behind rimless glasses. He didn’t look up from his laptop.
“You’re thirty seconds late,” he said.
“I—”
“Sit.”
A gesture. A single flick of fingers.
Noah sank into the leather chair across from the CEO’s obsidian desk, trying not to sweat through his shirt.
Elias finally looked up.
And Noah felt it.
The impact.
Those eyes didn’t blink. They scanned him like a product. Judging. Calculating.
“You worked in a bookstore for four years,” Elias said, reading off the file. “Then did freelance editing. No business school. No corporate background. So why should I keep you?”
“I’m good at learning fast,” Noah said, trying to sound braver than he felt. “I work hard. I don’t complain.”
A pause.
Elias leaned back, eyes narrowing.
“Are you obedient, Mr. Hart?”
What?
“I—what?”
“I ask once. I expect answers. Immediate execution. No backtalk, no questions, no mistakes.”
His voice was smooth. Cold steel wrapped in silk.
“If you disappoint me, I won’t fire you. I’ll bury you in paperwork until you beg to leave. Understood?”
Noah’s throat went dry. “Understood.”
“Good.”
Elias stood. Tall. Broad. Impossibly elegant.
He walked around the desk, then stopped right in front of Noah.
Close. Too close.
Noah looked up. His breath caught.
Elias’s gaze dropped briefly to Noah’s lips.
Just for a second.
“Your contract hours are eight to six. But with me,” Elias murmured, “You’ll be working overtime. You belong to me from the moment you walk in… until I say you can leave.”
Something about the way he said belong made Noah’s stomach flip.
Then Elias turned, as if nothing had happened.
“Go familiarize yourself with your duties. I’ll call you when I need you.”
---
As Noah walked out of
the office, pulse racing, one thought spun in his head:
What the hell did I just sign up for?
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