Until You're Mine Again

Chapter 1: You Only Take Orders From Me

Emily Carter

Being poor had always lived in my bones, poverty was the language of my childhood, something I wore like a second skin, I grew up with nothing, lost my parents with nothing, and for years believed I would die carrying the same emptiness, but life had its own twisted sense of humour, very funny actually, a bitter chuckle forming on my lips as I remembered how cruel it had been

Because here I was now, miles away from the home that never felt like one, sipping wine in my own kitchen, the warmth of the glass seeping into my palms, music playing softly as I danced barefoot on polished tiles I had paid for in cash, the gentle echo under my feet grounding me, this was it, I mean, I believed this was it, a shaky thrill running through me

I had escaped, I had rebuilt, and I had peace, a fragile, shimmering bubble of peace

At least, I thought I did, my chest tightening slightly at the thought

My six-year-old son, Seth, came rushing in, breathless, small fists clenching at his sides, eyes wide with alarm

"Mommy, there’s a man outside-" he didn’t even get to finish when a knock echoed through the house, light, calm, and way too familiar for my liking, my stomach twisting nervously

I walked to the door, wine glass still in hand, feeling it tremble slightly, and when I opened it, my world froze, a cold shiver running down my spine

Stormy gray eyes met my green ones, eyes I had prayed I would never see again, the glass slipping from my fingers, shattering, red wine blooming across my white carpet like spilled blood, my heart leaping violently, the one I had bought in cash, my careful planning ruined in an instant

He smiled, not kindly and definitely not gently, but with that slow, dangerous curve I remembered far too well, a thrill of fear and something else curling in my stomach

"Found you," he said in a sing-song voice, low and mocking, sending a shiver down my spine, my hands tightening slightly at my sides

In that moment, I understood, a heavy, suffocating weight settling in my chest

My new life was not mine, my peace had an expiration date, and the past I ran from had finally come knocking

I had escaped him once, but billionaires don’t lose, and men like him don’t let go, ever, a cold pit forming in my stomach

Nine years ago

I stood in front of the building, huge and fancy, the kind of place that made you feel small instantly, and I found myself wondering, how did a man make this? How long did it take? My hands were getting sweaty, a nervous flutter tickling my stomach as I shook my head and walked in, forcing calm breaths

"Good morning," I said to the receptionist, my voice a little tighter than I realized, she jerked her head up, her smile faltering a bit when she saw me, and I couldn’t help noticing that flicker, that tiny glance of disgust, or maybe she was silently questioning what a person like me wanted here

"Yes?" she answered, clearly beautiful, no lies

"I came here for the Secretary interview," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, forcing confidence I didn’t feel, and she continued smiling, looking me up and down, sighing and dropping the smile

"Look around you, lady, do you see how everyone looks and dressed? Do you think you’ll get the job?" Her words sliced through me, a cold jab, my jaw tightening instinctively, I almost rolled my eyes but didn’t, trained to be walked over like this for years

"So you decide who gets the interview based on who’s wearing what? In my company?" A voice, low and cold, cut through, and I turned to the left, my chest tightening so violently I thought my heart would leap out, my soul almost leaving my body, his eyes fixed on the receptionist, but I could see him clearly, tall, impossibly tall, his cologne rich and overpowering, the scent of wealth and control

"I’m so sorry, sir, I- " he waved his hand, dismissive, final, "I hope this is the last time I hear such," then he turned and left, leaving his wealthy, intoxicating scent behind, my knees weak for a second

She cleared her throat, embarrassed, her cheeks slightly pink, "You can take a seat, ma’am, you will go up at 09 a.m. with the other candidates," she said, guiding me, my hands clammy

I watched as men and women in suits walked up and down, some on calls, some glancing at me like I didn’t belong, and maybe I didn’t, my stomach tightening, my skirt feeling suddenly too tight, my shirt too plain, life never being kind

Candidates came in one by one, some double-taking at me, some clearly whispering, and one girl even had the audacity to ask if I came for the cleaning position, a small sting of embarrassment prickling, am I really that unkempt? Most of the women looked polished, young, twenty-something, and ready for something else, too much makeup, too revealing, I said nothing, but my cheeks burned

By 08:50 a.m., we were escorted to the last floor, the 20th, my heart pounding violently against my chest, hands curling into fists, I needed this job, rent due, landlord looming, five months of his harassment, wanting sleep in exchange for shelter, my stomach twisting at the memory, I’d rather be homeless than give in to that filthy old man, old enough to be my grandfather

The interviews began, one by one they walked out looking disappointed, some crying, some barely lifting their heads, one girl, the one who asked about cleaning, walked past visibly crying, nose red, shoulders slumped, I swallowed hard, nothing left to fear, life had already prepared me for rejection, and yet a tiny flutter of nervous anticipation sat in my chest, if I was rejected, I’d ask for that cleaning position, I didn’t care

"Emily Carter!" The lady called, warm smile stretching across her face, professional yet kind, I stood, walking carefully, trying not to stumble, my pumps worn out, my confidence fragile, and the guy behind me snickered, I could feel it, knew he laughed at me, but I said nothing, trained by years of dismissal

"Right this way, ma’am," she said, guiding me, I followed, every step echoing my anxiety

The room was dark, not dim, not poorly lit, but beautifully, intentionally dark, like a conference room made to intimidate, a man sat at the other end of the long table, facing the window, looking down at the city like he owned it, my stomach twisting

"Sit," he said, voice familiar, dangerous, my chest tightening, I obeyed, sitting as politely as possible, the woman vanished, gone, leaving me alone with him

The chair turned, my breath hitched, heart hammering, and there he was, the same man from downstairs, closer now, stormy gray eyes, small and narrowed, lips full, jawline sharp, perfection that made my thoughts scatter

"Did you hear what I said?" I snapped out of it, cheeks flaming, "I’m sorry, what was that?" Embarrassment prickling, drool threatening, hope I didn’t show it

'What’s wrong with you, Em? You know we need this job,' my subconscious scolded

He chuckled without smiling, calm, unreadable, sending a thrill of fear down my spine

"I said pass me your resume," he said, and I rose, hands trembling slightly, gave it to him, returned to my seat, stomach twisting, he paged through it without looking, my nerves dancing, I could sense the rejection building

"You're hired," he said, and for a second, my mind went blank, disbelief pooling in my chest, "I’m sorry, what?" I whispered, stunned

He stood, adjusting his suit, every movement confident, deliberate, "Veronica will tell you all the duties you will need to handle as my new secretary, and Miss Carter, in everything you do, time is important, you only take orders from me," then he walked out, leaving that intoxicating, wealthy scent behind, and I just sat there, chest heaving, mind spinning, as if I had won a lottery I wasn’t ready to claim