IT'S HER?

DOMINIC'S POV

"Yes, Sarah, you got me a new assistant, huh?" I said into the phone, my voice low and controlled.

"Yes, sir," came the soft reply from the other end, where my butler held the phone.

"Hope for your sake she's good at her job. I don't need another incompetent person like the last one you got me," I warned.

"According to her resume and appearance, she seems capable, sir," the butler assured me.

"I'll be at the office at 9:00 sharp. Make sure the elevator is empty," I instructed, ending the call abruptly.

As I prepared for work, I recalled my mother's morning call. The old man was responding to treatment—damn him. I wished he'd died. On the bright side, if he recovered, he'd reclaim his position as the chairman of the MILLER group, and I could return to the States to continue my business.

Sarah had informed me about the new assistant. I hoped she was competent and sensible. The last woman I fired had been a loose cannon, sleeping with anyone in sight. Despite my playboy billionaire reputation, I wasn't like that. Believe it or not, I had a body count, but we'd discuss that later.

"Boss, we're ready," Enigma, one of my boys, reported.

"I'll be right out."

I never trusted the police or the army for security. Instead, I hired ruthless criminals, hardened assassins, and individuals who'd escaped life sentences. They had qualities I understood—ruthlessness, evil, and cunning. But when they trusted you, they became vulnerable and fiercely loyal. Given my status and the dangerous business associates I dealt with, I needed people like them.

**Office:**

As I stepped into the elevator, it was empty, as it should be. I took precautions even here at MILLER. Although I was the heir, this was my father's business, which meant his people and their loyalty belonged to him. It also meant they were my enemies.

I walked past people who bowed to me, stopping by Sarah's office—the only person I trusted.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted me with a smile. Sarah was a beautiful woman, though older. I admired the way she carried herself and excelled at her work. She had been with my father for twenty years, initially collateral from another foolish man who had borrowed money from my father and failed to repay. My mind wandered to the other young girl I had seen in my father's collateral book.

Sarah had been sixteen when she entered our house. Instead of taking advantage of her, my father had put her to work in the company. I grew up considering her my older sister.

"So, where is she?" I asked, taking a seat on the table. "I hope you've briefed her thoroughly."

"I have, sir. No need to worry," Sarah assured me.

"Sarah, drop the 'sir.' You've known me literally all my life," I said, standing and heading toward the door.

"And I've told you I'll use it only at work or when we're around others," she replied with a small chuckle.

Rolling my eyes, I gave her a half-wave and strode to my office. I chose the alternate entrance, somewhat reluctant to encounter the new secretary. As I entered, I noticed the coffee on the table—probably Sarah's doing. I studied the redesigned interior; I had made changes over the weekend.

**Office:**

As you step through the heavy wooden door, the air carries a faint scent of leather and polished wood. The door handle, adorned with a discreet silver plaque engraved with the MILLER CO-OPERATION name, feels cool to the touch.

The foyer is minimalistic yet striking. Black marble tiles stretch across the floor, reflecting the soft glow of recessed ceiling lights. A sleek console table stands against one wall, displaying an arrangement of fresh orchids in a black ceramic pot.

The walls are painted a deep, velvety black, creating an immediate sense of sophistication and mystery. Abstract art pieces—mostly monochromatic—hang at precise intervals, their frames blending seamlessly into the dark expanse.

My executive desk, positioned near the windows, is an imposing slab of black lacquered wood. Its surface is uncluttered, save for a sleek laptop, a leather-bound notebook, and a fountain pen. Behind the desk, was my high-backed ergonomic chair its leather upholstery buttery soft.

Two guest chairs, upholstered in black leather with silver accents, face the desk. Against the far wall, a black credenza holds legal tomes, neatly stacked. A minimalist lamp with a black shade casts a warm pool of light onto the surface.

A plush black area rug anchors the seating area, its texture inviting and comforting. Brass accents punctuate the space: the desk lamp, the doorknobs, and the trim on the leather chairs. They add warmth and contrast to the dominant black palette.

The ceiling features recessed lighting, casting a soft glow that highlights the room.

"Good! They did exactly as I wanted," I thought, feeling satisfied. I sat down and flipped open my phone, waiting for the new girl to bring me my schedule. But then it hit me—she might not know I was already in the office. I stood up abruptly, deciding to enter through the main entrance to avoid looking strange.

I pushed open the door to her office, and she froze. The look on her face was one of sheer terror, as if she'd seen a ghost. Wait, she looked familiar—I'd seen her somewhere before, but I couldn't place it.

She seemed to regain her composure, standing up and bowing. Her greeting came out as a stammered whisper. I studied her carefully. She wore a tailored navy blue suit that accentuated her curves, and her hair was pulled back in a neat bun. The silver bracelet and chain she wore complemented her beautiful skin. Not bad!

"I need my schedule and a new cup of coffee," I said coldly.

She raised her eyes to look at me, mumbling a reluctant "yes, sir." And then it hit me. She was the woman who had run away from the Gala.