An encounter in the elevator

He stepped in.

He was tall. Broad. Composed and unapologetically self-posessed. And God… he was so fucking handsome.

Devilishly handsome.

His aura was so strong, making me feel invincible. He had this sense of issuing a warning to anything or anyone near him that he was dangerous. A presence nearly suffocating me.

He didn’t glance at me as he entered, thumbs tapping on a black leather–cased iPhone 15 Pro Max, and his Rolex Sky-Dweller glinted under the lights as his wrist moved. He wore a dark Ermenegildo Zegna suit tailored to perfection, cut to hug his frame without showing off. His shirt was crisp white, unbuttoned at the collar. No tie. His shoes? The leather was so glossy they looked dangerous.

His scent hit me next— Tom Ford Oud Wood—subtle, assertive, masculine. The kind of cologne you could smell money in. The kind of cologne that didn’t just smell expensive, it warned you.

I was still processing the sheer force of his presence when my eyes drifted upward to his face.

And there it was.

God-tier bone structure. A chiseled jaw. Perfectly sculpted ink-black hair brushed back with ruthless precision with his eyes cast down as he scrolled. Cold, distant, and regal.

He looked like he walked straight out of a high-gloss movie. He carried the same energy Christian Grey did in Fifty Shades of Grey — not the red room kind — but that icy, untouchable aura. Power without warmth.

And I couldn’t stop staring.

I didn't notice the elevator’s door slide shut and proceeded, as my sanity drooled at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

Ink-black hair, combed back with effortless control. A sculpted jaw. Perfect profile. I only got the side of his face—but it was enough.

It was like someone, again, had ripped him out of a high-budget movie. The kind of man who owned buildings, not worked in them. He had that aura.

Cold. Heavy. Foreign. The kind of presence that made silence feel dangerous.

And we were trapped together in it. Just the two of us.

I sniffled, quiet and embarrassed, like I wasn't just staring a few minutes ago.

But he didn’t look up.

Instead, he fiddled with his keyboard without pausing his typing, one that the sound replaced the stillness when he stood beside me.

Like he knew I didn’t exist. Of course, I didn’t belong.

My heart thumped wildly against my chest for unnecessary reasons and I clenched and unclenched my fist, expecting the cold air to calm the heat spreading all over my body.

But it only made it worse.

“It’s noisy,” The iciness and depth in that voice, caused me to jerk upright in reflex like someone spilled hot coffee on my dress.

My heart picked up ten times the pace of the previous one and I had to take a deep breath to calm my nerves. But the sound of my heartbeat echoed through the silence.

W-what did he mean by ‘it’s noisy’?

Because the only sound breaking the silence was the furiousness of my heartbeat almost deafening my ears.

For a moment, the idea that he was a vampire surfaced. What if? All those charms and physical appearances can’t be from a human trait. It was too good to be true.

No one can be this perfect. Handsome. Rich. And look exactly like a demi-god.

Or perhaps he was talking to someone else. Phone call using a single earpod? The realization brought heat to my face because I realized I had seen something like that.

“You rather answer, or turn it off,” He spoke again, and my heart leaped, escaping my chest.

It was at that point that I realized my phone had been buzzing throughout. Out of embarrassment, I grabbed it from my purse, checking the caller’s ID.

It was Mom’s oncologist.

My heart fell into the pit of my stomach.

Something told me it wasn't something good. Not like there was ever any good information.

Desperation crawled in, to the point I felt like rushing back into that room and proving myself of worth once more. I needed this job. If not for me, for mama’s treatment.

And I have only a few days to come up with something if not… Hot tears burned my eyes and I breathed calmly, fighting it.

I took another deep breath and placed my phone on silent, stuffing it back into my purse. I could deal with that as soon as I got out of this place.

Unconsciously, my eyes found his features again.

And unfortunately, he noticed.

He didn’t look up immediately. Just finished what he was typing, then slipped the phone into his pocket.

“Did you study stareology?” His deep voice always had a way of doing something to my stomach. Butterflies which had no reason to be there, paved the way into multiples.

“Pardon?”

“You’d have gotten your master's for it,” he said and I blinked, recognizing his sarcasm. My mouth caught like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Sorry,” I muttered, looking away quickly, face burning. “Wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t—”

“Of course you were.” His tone was indifferent, unreadable, and detached. “Next time, try to be less obvious and perhaps, you might get a job,”

The butterflies screeched to a halt.

We’d met less than two minutes ago, and he was already taking advantage of my situation like he knew me. Who does he this he is?

Someone richer, a voice in my head yelled.

“Wow, charming,” The disgust in my voice amazed me. “The world doesn't revolve around you or your unsolicited analysis just because you work here. Just like me, you’re also a human and I apologize if I must have crossed a boundary,”

The words dripped like venom when I declared, forgetting the fact that I just talked back at someone who looked like he could smash me with a finger.

Who the hell does he think he is? Couldn’t he just take an apology and avoid this unnecessary conversation?

Just when I thought he would, “The world revolves around me, darling. You happen to be unlucky,”

Any attraction I’d felt toward him crumbled into ash, dying the quickest death in my history with the opposite sex. Especially when he referred to me as ‘darling’.

Not that it would’ve gone anywhere. He was, after all, someone powerful, which I could tell by looks and aura, but it would’ve been nice to have eye candy without wanting to drop-kick him into the next century.

Men. They always ruined it by opening their mouth.

“Firstly,” I punctuated my words with a sharpness I rarely used, but his condescending tone grated on my nerves. “My name is not ‘darling’,” I made sure to lay a clear emphasis on that aspect. “And secondly, just because you’re rich doesn't mean you get to judge people’s future. Or even control it,”

The anger from the room earlier surfaced, and I had no regret in emitting it on the figure beside me.

It summed up my assumptions about these people here. Back then when I was being interviewed, I felt like those people held my future in their palms. They felt like they were the world and they could play or pick whatever and however they liked.

Those people wouldn't care whether you desperately need a job, or money, or if you are sick and have a dying mother… all they care about is morphing someone who isn't you.

Turning your abilities to their advantage, and slapping an amount to your face, one you haven't seen in your entire life. For once, I thought I could fit in.

Not just because I was rejected, but because I knew this place wasn't built for people like me.

I could count the number of faces I had seen burying themselves under the mask of professionalism when they were on the verge of breaking. And the truth was, nobody cares.

They control you and you do your job.

I thought I could handle it. Build the fake life, walk on marble floors like someone who wasn't even me.

It is funny that in barely an hour I spent here, I’ve been able to summarize the people here. But perhaps, not all.

Because the person beside me, wasn't just ordinary. He was powerful. He was like the power itself who felt far worse than what I thought of the people back there.

A clear definition of ‘How can you judge someone you just met?’ kind. Because at this point, I didn't just judge him.

I summarized his kindness.

The back of my mind screamed at the danger I was crossing into but I didn't care.

Of course, he was rich.

Not just rich — billionaire rich. One of those men. Sharp suits. Sharper tongues. The kind of man who thought the world spun faster for them. Their kind always had that same steel-cold arrogance, like gravity bent around them.

And now I was stuck in a box with him.

I glared at the panel of floor numbers like it personally offended me. Rich people are so disgusting.

“Because we make decisions while you beg for them?” he said, almost bored, like he read and heard my thoughts clearly.

I whipped my head toward him. “Because you think money makes you interesting.”

He leaned against the wall, looking impossibly calm. “No. It just makes me unavoidable.”

My throat tightened. God, I hated how casually he said things like that — like they were facts carved in marble.

I glared at the elevator buttons, watching the numbers decrease. “Pity,” I merely said, hating the way I was easily riled by his presence. “You’ve just gotten yourself the exact opposite,”

“Said someone who couldn't stop staring,” He didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink.

“I wasn't staring,” But I knew it was a bloody lie. However this time, it felt like I was super perfect at lying.

His eyes — cold and annoyingly perfect — studied me like he was dissecting something under a microscope.

“Most people tend to keep their curiosity in check,” he said simply, “especially when they're falling apart.”

The words landed like a slap. God. I hated him already.

I turned back to the elevator doors, swallowing hard. “Can I say something?” I didn't wait for his response and continued. “Fuck you,”

My body inched to charge out of this elevator. How long will I bear this until I reach the first floor?

“Mind your tongue, darling,” There was something dark in that tone causing my heart to race wildly in regret. “Or else, we’ll be doing that right now,”

The threat in his voice caused my insides to leap in anticipation.

Holy hell.

“You’re disgusting,” I spat, repulsed by his shamelessness. The earlier wave of anticipation faded into dust and repulse. This was the kind of man who threw money only to get into women’s panties.

“And you’re already dripping,” he simply said, and I suddenly became disgusted by the way my body reacted to his words.

“Is this how you talk to women? Shamelessly?” I boiled in rage, seething at his presence.

“Yes,” No remorse. No shame. Not even a tinge of humiliation. Just flat and plain words born out of boredom.

“I’m not interested in your wallet or your God looks,” I muttered, making it clear. “Not even interested in becoming one of those shameless women.”

“Pity,” he murmured. “I was going to offer you something.”

I froze. “What?” I shouldn't have asked, but I did, and it was already too late.

His eyes met mine again — darker this time, almost unreadable. “A job.”

A beat of silence passed and my heart stuttered.

Y-you’re kidding.

“No.” He tilted his head, like he was studying me. Like he read my thoughts, again. “You want a job. And your desperation is seeping out of this elevator,”

My stomach twisted. I couldn't deny it.

“GrayHill reports to me,” he said. “I make the final calls.”

I didn't think straight or process his words clearly. “So you watched me get rejected?”

“I let you get rejected.”

His bluntness knocked the air from my lungs. “And now you want to... what? Offer me a pity job?” I almost scoffed.

For the second time, I felt stupid for believing I would be given a second opportunity. Like the world would consider me with the faintest thread of hope I had.

He pushed off the elevator wall and stepped forward once. Just enough to make the air between us feel smaller and his cologne intoxicating my senses. “Not pity. Opportunity.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Doing what?” But my words came out as a whisper, someone who lacked enough air in her lungs.

He smirked faintly, like he was aware of how his presence affected me. “Working with me. Directly.”

My instincts screamed. Every warning bell in my head clanged like I was making the biggest mistake in my entire life.

“How?” I finally asked, suspicious. I wish I could shut my mouth and listen the the warning bells but my body always had its way of betraying me.

He didn’t speak immediately. And that silence made my mind spiral, like an opportunity to escape.

“How,” I repeated, eyes narrowing. “My body?” My blood turned cold. I caught him grinning and instantly, I felt way more than stupid, and among the people I classified earlier as ‘shameless women’. “My blood? A kidney?”

“You’re not worth a kidney,” he said dryly.

I opened my mouth to respond—with what, I wasn’t sure, because he hadn’t been outright hostile—but I closed it before I said something I would regret.

I had no retort for that.

“You’re expecting me to say no,” I said, crossing my arms. “But you don’t get it. I’m in the kind of position where saying no doesn’t feel like a luxury.”

His gaze flickered. “That’s why you’ll say yes.”

I looked away, disgusted with myself for even considering it.

His voice dropped, colder now. “But you’ll have to agree to my conditions.”

I swallowed, noticing the danger in them and the trap set. “What kind of conditions?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared and my thoughts raced again.

Of course. There had to be a catch. Something humiliating. Something binding. Something no sane woman would agree to unless—

Unless she had no choice.

And unfortunately?

I didn’t.

I felt a sudden tension emanating from him, and caught a glimpse of the elevator button on the seventh floor, decreasing further, but I didn't stop the rage.

“What kind of conditions?” I whispered again, heart pounding. “Sex? Silence? My soul?” I was already giving up, because it was becoming much more irritating than it was supposed to be.

“Tsk,” he muttered. “Too noisy.”

And then, in one swift motion, he closed the distance between us, slamming my body against the elevator wall as he crashed his lips against mine.

*Ding*

The elevator doors slid open and the world fucking ‘exploded’.

Because the last thing I remembered was dozens of flashes from cameras eliciting my eardrums before I realized we were swarmed by the Paparazzi.