Sin For Me, Sir.

Chapter 1

The First Glance Hurts the Most

Leila Monroe’s POV

If someone had told me that my summer internship would begin with chaos, I would have doubted and possibly wouldn’t have worn heels that blisters the feet.

“Excuse me,” I muttered as I managed to pass between a pair of assistants gathered at the elevator side, clutching my tote like it was my armor. The building was made of glass, steel, and silence towered above me like it belonged in another different world that I didn’t belong to.

Twenty-two floors up was the Whitlock Group, carved out in quiet power. Minimalist, cruelly pristine, expensive enough to make someone like myself feel disposable. My resume might’ve been plucked out from a sea of overachievers, but walking into that marble lobby, I knew one thing that everyone was replaceable including myself

Everyone except him.

Sebastian Whitlock.

His name wasn’t just engraved on the walls of the building. It was evident into the way the doors closed too quickly and silently , how assistants barely breathed when speaking about him, how even the office plants seemed to stand straighter when his name was mentioned.

Thought I hadn’t seen him yet. I have only heard the stories both the ones whispered, never written.

He doesn’t smile.

He doesn’t fraternize.

He never, ever let someone touches what he owns.

I had promised herself i wouldn’t be stupid. That i wouldn’t be another intern who melted under the gaze of a man who would never, ever look her way.

But I felt promises were very easy to make until I met the devil.

And that was immediately before I saw him.

---

It happened in the worst possible way to think. I was late. On the first day, I wore a new dress, frizzy curls pulled into a nice ponytail, and an overfilled coffee order nearly toppling in my little arms. I turned a corner too quickly and collided with a wall.

Except the wall smelled like power and expensive rage.

The coffee hit the floor. So did my phone. My dignity, she wasn’t sure.

"I'm so so so sorry" i began, dropping to my knees.

“Don’t move.”

The voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t have to be.

It was slow, exacting. The kind of voice that didn’t need to raise itself to be obeyed. And when I looked up,my breath caught in my throat and eyes met the man behind it.

Sebastian Whitlock.

Tailored in black, six-foot-something of sleek composure, and eyes like frost pulled from a winter storm. The air around him shifted with precision. Men straightened in his presence. Women held their breath. And Me? I forgot every single rule I’d rehearsed.

He looked at me like I was inconvenient. Not messy. Not pathetic.

Just unexpected.

His gaze swept over me and stopped at my name badge.

“Miss Monroe.”

His voice folded her name into something dangerous.

“I…I again, I’m sorry. I was trying to find the creative department”

“You were running.” His brow ticked, barely. “And not watching where you were going.”

I swallowed. “No, sir.”

A pause. Measured silence.

Then something flickered.

Something brief but dangerous.

He crouched beside me, ignoring the spilled coffee like it never exist.

“I don’t tolerate carelessness, Miss Monroe.”

“It won’t happen again."

“It won’t,” he echoed, standing. “Get up. You’re late. Anderson is waiting.”

I blinked. “You… know who I’m interning under?”

That same flicker in his eyes. “I know everything that enters my building. Especially when it doesn’t knock.”

And then he walked past me. Not another word. Not even a glance.

But the damage was already done.

The moment I saw him, I was sure of two things.

One was that Sebastian Whitlock wasn’t just powerful. He was lethal.

And two no amount of rules could save me now.

---

By noon, I still hadn’t stopped replaying it.

The voice. The stare. The way he said “Miss Monroe” like he was tasting it.

It was stupid. He probably didn’t remember me.

Hell, I actually hoped he didn’t.

“Eyes up, rookie,” supervisor Anderson grunted, snapping me back to my reality. “We’re going into a client pitch. Don’t speak. Don’t even think about blinking.”

I nodded, adjusting my blazer. The glass doors of the conference room loomed ahead. Sleek, intimidating. And inside, seated like a god among mere mortals was him.

Sebastian. Flanked by executives, his attention sharp and still. His fingers drummed the table once. Twice. The room held its breath.

He looked up.

And this time, he did see her.

His gaze locked on me just for a second. Long enough to make my knees betray her. Long enough to make me forget how to walk.

Something in his expression shifted.

Recognition. Calculation.

Then it was gone.

The meeting began. And for the next hour, I barely heard a thing.

---

Later, I escaped to the rooftop garden, the only place not swamped with egos and tailored stress. The sky was cool accompanied by the wind.

But fate didn’t believe in mercy.

“I find interns here when they’re crying.”

The voice cut through the air.

I turned around, heart slamming.

“I’m not crying.”

Sebastian stepped closer, one hand in his pocket, the other holding out my phone.

“You dropped this,” he said.

I took it slowly, trying not to let my fingers brush his. “Thank you, Mr. Whitlock.”

He didn’t leave.

Instead, his gaze roamed over me quiet, observant. Almost... cruel.

“You’re not like the others,” he said finally.

My throat dried. “I… I don’t know what that means.”

“You will.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

---

I stood there clueless long after he was gone, phone clutched tight in my palm.

Not like the others.

It was a warning.

And maybe…

A promise.