MARKED BY THE BILLIONAIRE

Opaline’s POV

The heels were killing me.

I knew it the moment I stepped into Heliox Global, but I kept walking.

Rent was due in forty-eight hours.

My landlord had already called three times.

And the last twelve dollars in my bank account wouldn't keep me off the street.

So I walked faster.

The borrowed heels pinched my toes. My secondhand skirt was slightly too tight around my hips, and the white blouse I'd bought from a thrift store was one wash away from becoming transparent.

Perfect.

Exactly the kind of woman a billionaire company wanted nowhere near its executive floor.

“Heliox Global doesn't accept walk-ins.”

The receptionist didn't even look up.

She was younger than me, perfectly dressed, with manicured nails and the kind of confidence that came from never wondering where her next meal was coming from.

I straightened my shoulders.

“I'm not a walk-in.”

That got her attention.

Her eyes moved from my shoes to my skirt, then to my face.

“I have a nine o'clock interview with HR,” I said. “Room 4721.”

A lie.

There was no interview.

No HR appointment.

And I had never even seen Room 4721 before.

But desperation had taught me something important:

Sometimes confidence was just a lie delivered without hesitation.

The receptionist frowned.

“Room 4721 is executive level. You'll need a badge.”

“I left mine in the car.”

Another lie.

I didn't have a car.

She stared at me.

For one horrible second, I thought she was going to call security.

Instead, she sighed and tapped something into her computer.

“Don't make me regret this.”

“I won't.”

I was already walking away before she could change her mind.

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped inside.

As they closed, I finally let out the breath I'd been holding.

Forty-seven floors later, the doors opened again.

The atmosphere changed immediately.

The carpet was thicker. The walls were glass. The city stretched beneath me in every direction, tiny cars crawling along streets far below.

Everything smelled expensive.

Leather.

Polished wood.

Power.

I looked down at my battered heels.

I didn't belong here.

But I needed this job.

At the end of the corridor stood Room 4721.

No nameplate.

No receptionist.

No assistants rushing around.

Just a glass door and silence.

I reached for the handle.

Before I touched it, the door opened.

I froze.

A man stood on the other side.

He didn't say anything.

He simply stepped aside.

I entered.

And then I saw him.

Ignis Heliox.

I'd heard the name before.

Everyone had.

Thirty-one. Billionaire. CEO. Ruthless. Brilliant. Untouchable.

But rumors hadn't prepared me for the man sitting behind the enormous black desk.

He looked less like a businessman and more like someone who had never once been told no.

Black suit.

White shirt.

Dark hair.

Cold gray eyes.

He didn't stand.

He didn't greet me.

He barely acknowledged that I'd entered.

For ten seconds, he continued reading something on his tablet.

Then—

“Opaline Frey.”

My stomach tightened.

He knew my name.

“Mr. Heliox.”

I meant to sound confident.

It came out slightly breathless.

His eyes lifted.

They moved over me once.

Not admiring.

Assessing.

“You have no degree.”

I swallowed.

“Correct.”

“Three jobs in the last year.”

“Also correct.”

“All of them lasted less than six months.”

I forced a smile.

“I'm very good at leaving bad workplaces.”

His eyebrow moved slightly.

The closest thing to amusement I'd seen from him.

“Your résumé is a lie.”

I leaned against the chair without sitting.

“It's a very good lie.”

Silence.

Then his mouth twitched.

Barely.

“Interesting.”

He set the tablet down.

“I don't hire interesting people.”

“Then why am I here?”

His eyes sharpened.

“Because I need someone useful.”

That answer should have made me leave.

Instead, I stayed.

He opened a drawer and removed a thick black folder.

“Personal assistant.”

He pushed it across the desk.

“Salary: one hundred and eighty thousand dollars annually. Housing. Benefits. Performance bonuses.”

I stared at him.

One hundred and eighty thousand.

My mind immediately calculated rent.

Food.

My mother's medication.

Debt.

Breathing room.

It was more money than I'd made in years.

“What's the catch?”

His gaze held mine.

“The job description isn't included.”

My smile disappeared.

I opened the folder.

Nondisclosure agreements.

Confidentiality clauses.

Availability requirements.

Conduct restrictions.

But nothing about scheduling meetings.

Nothing about answering emails.

Nothing about filing paperwork.

Nothing resembling a normal assistant's job.

I looked up.

“What exactly would I be doing?”

“You'll find out.”

“When?”

“If you sign.”

My fingers tightened around the pages.

This was wrong.

Every instinct I had was screaming that it was wrong.

But then my phone vibrated.

Another message from my landlord.

Final notice.

My throat tightened.

I looked at the contract again.

One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.

I picked up the pen.

Ignis watched me.

He didn't encourage me.

Didn't pressure me.

He didn't have to.

I signed.

The silence that followed felt different.

His eyes dropped to my signature.

Then returned to my face.

Something had changed.

Not much.

Just enough to make me wonder if I'd made a terrible mistake.

“Good.”

One word.

My pulse jumped.

“Report to Private Elevator 7 tomorrow morning at eight.”

I frowned.

“Private Elevator 7?”

“Yes.”

“Where's HR?”

“There won't be HR.”

My stomach dropped.

“Then who am I reporting to?”

His gaze didn't leave mine.

“Me.”

I should have asked more questions.

Instead, I stood.

He rose from his chair.

He was taller than I'd expected.

Much taller.

He came around the desk and stopped in front of me.

I had to tilt my head back.

His presence swallowed the space between us.

“One rule,” he said.

I waited.

“You don't discuss this position with anyone.”

His voice had lost its casual edge.

“If you tell anyone what happens in this office, I will personally make sure you never work in this city again.”

My mouth went dry.

“Understood?”

I nodded.

“Good.”

He stepped aside.

“Dismissed.”

I walked out.

I didn't breathe properly until the elevator doors closed.

Only then did I lean against the wall.

“What the hell did I just do?”

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it from my purse.

A bank notification.

$5,000 deposited.

I stared at the screen.

Five thousand dollars.

Already.

Before I'd worked a single day.

My stomach twisted.

The money was real.

So was the fear.

I returned to my tiny apartment that night and sat on the edge of my mattress, staring at the number glowing on my cracked phone.

Five thousand dollars.

Non-refundable.

No explanation.

And tomorrow morning, I was expected to enter a private elevator belonging to the most powerful man I'd ever met.

Alone.

I opened the digital copy of my contract again.

My eyes stopped on one clause I'd barely noticed before.

Employee must maintain complete availability to the employer upon request.

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

What exactly did availability mean to Ignis Heliox?

I didn't know.

But I was about to find out.

Tomorrow.

8:00 AM.

Private Elevator 7.

And somehow, I had the terrifying feeling that once those doors closed behind me—

there would be no going back.