CHAPTER 3

ZARIA POV

The quietness of the 40th floor at 2:00 AM was eerie, broken only by the low, mechanical slosh of my mop dipping into soapy water.

For the past three weeks, this had been my routine. While the rest of the city slept, I scrubbed toilets, dusted mahogany shelves, and emptied trash cans filled with shredded corporate secrets. My back constantly ached, and my hands were raw from the cheap rubber gloves, but I couldn't afford to complain. I was closer to my goal than I had ever been.

I pushed my heavy glasses up the bridge of my nose, adjusting the coarse fibers of my wig as I wheeled my utility cart toward the end of the long hallway. The massive frosted glass door at the end bore a sleek, silver inscription: Soren Ellsworth, Managing Partner.

According to the night logs, his office was supposed to be empty by now. He had an elite charity gala to attend tonight.

I swiped my restricted keycard, the lock clicking open with a soft beep. Stepping inside, the sheer scale of the office almost made me drop my spray bottle. It was twice the size of my old bedroom at the Ellison estate. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of the glowing skyline, and a massive, custom-built dark oak desk dominated the center of the room.

So this is where the magic happens, I mused, scanning the immaculate space. Where he tears corrupt empires apart.

I walked over to the desk, carefully emptying his wastebasket. But as I leaned down, my eyes caught a glimpse of a thick, cream-colored folder sitting right on top of his neat stack of paperwork. The bold black lettering on the tab sent a violent jolt of electricity through my veins.

Ellison Corp. – Structural Restructuring & Asset Liquidation.

My breath hitched. I moved closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knew Tristan was moving fast to secure his grip on my father's empire, but I didn't realize he was already attempting to liquidate some of our subsidiary shipping lines. And he was trying to do it through Ellsworth Legal? No, that didn't make sense. Soren Ellsworth hated the Vance family.

Unable to control myself, I set my spray bottle down on the carpet and reached out, my gloved fingers trembling as I flipped the folder open. My eyes scanned the legal jargon frantically. Tristan was attempting a hostile buyout of the minority shares, using a forged authorization form with my deceased father's digital signature.

"I don't recall hiring a janitress who double-gilded as a corporate spy."

A deep, smooth-as-velvet voice cut through the silence like a guillotine.

I gasped, spinning around so fast my sneakers squeaked loudly against the polished hardwood floor.

Soren Ellsworth stood by the doorway, his towering six-foot-two frame throwing a long, imposing shadow across the room. He had unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, his dark silk tie hanging loosely around his neck. His tailored tuxedo jacket was draped carelessly over his forearm. He looked impossibly handsome, but his piercing, icy gray eyes were locked onto me with a dangerous, lethal intensity.

"I—I'm sorry, sir," I stammered, my voice instinctively dropping into the raspy, timid tone I practiced in my boarding house room. I quickly closed the folder, dropping my head to avoid his direct gaze. "The desk... it was dusty. I was just moving the papers to wipe the surface."

Soren didn't move. He just stood there, watching me with a calculated, predatory stillness that made me feel entirely naked. He didn't look like a man who believed a single word coming out of my mouth.

"To wipe the surface," he repeated, his voice low, almost amused but completely devoid of warmth. He walked past me, the subtle, expensive scent of cedarwood and faint whiskey washing over my senses. He threw his jacket onto a leather couch and sat behind his desk. "Flipping pages is a rather creative method of dusting, Gia."

Hearing him say my fake name made my skin prickle with anxiety. Did he check the security feeds? Does he know I’ve been looking at his schedule?

"I apologize, Mr. Ellsworth. It won't happen again," I whispered, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. I grabbed my spray bottle and gripped the handle of my mop cart, desperate to make a quick exit before he decided to call security and have my fake identity ruined. "I’ll leave you to your work."

"Stay."

The single word was a command, heavy and non-negotiable. I froze in place, my hand locking on the cart.

Soren leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers beneath his sharp jaw. He studied me, his gaze lingering on the thick glasses, the unflattering wig, and finally, the jagged, discolored prosthetic scars on the left side of my face. I could feel the intense scrutiny, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that didn't quite fit.

"You’ve been working the night shift for three weeks," Soren said smoothly, pulling a thin silver pen from his pocket and tapping it rhythmically against the desk. "You never take your breaks in the cafeteria. You don't socialize with the other cleaning staff. And according to the electronic logs, you spend an unusually long time outside the corporate litigation files room."

My throat went completely dry. He had been tracking me. The most ruthless lawyer in the country had been monitoring a lowly night-shift janitress.

"I'm just trying to do a thorough job, sir," I managed to say, forcing my hands to stop shaking. "I don't want to get in anyone's way."

Soren stopped tapping the pen. He leaned forward, his gray eyes locking onto mine with the force of a physical blow.

"You're hiding something, Gia," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "And I don't tolerate liabilities in my firm. I give you twenty-four hours to pack your bags and leave, or I’ll have my security team run a deep forensic background check on that flimsy temporary ID you used to get hired."

He stood up, walking toward the glass wall, completely dismissing me.

I stood there in the center of the dark office, the mop handle cold against my palm. He was firing me. The only tether I had to my old life, the only man who could help me take down Tristan, was kicking me out before I could even pitch my case.

I wheeled my cart out of the office in absolute silence, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind me.