Time was no one's friend. It moved fast and showed no mercy. One blink, and it was Monday—Emma's first official day at work since relocating to the city. Excitement and nervous energy buzzed beneath her skin like static. This was her fresh start, her new chapter, and she was determined to make it count.
The early morning breeze drifted through the open window of her modest apartment, carrying with it the earthy scent of dew-soaked trees. Nature seemed to offer her a brief moment of serenity, but that peace clung to the air like a spider's web—delicate and easily broken.
Emma had woken before dawn, buzzing with anticipation. She scrubbed every surface of her tiny apartment as if preparing it for guests, not because anyone was visiting, but because cleanliness helped calm her nerves. After a quick shower, she got dressed in her best business-casual outfit and waited for the company driver to arrive. She didn't yet have a driver's license, so she was grateful for the perk.
At exactly 6:45 a.m., a black company car pulled up outside. The driver, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, stepped out to open the door for her.
"Good morning," Emma greeted cheerfully.
He gave her a small smile. "Morning. First day?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'm a little nervous."
"Just be yourself," he said simply before starting the car.
By the time they arrived at the towering glass building, Emma's heart was hammering in her chest. She was ushered in through the employee entrance and handed a sleek access card—her official work badge. The moment felt strangely significant, like the world had given her a key to something big.
After a short visit to the IT department to set up her login credentials, she returned to the main lobby and approached the front desk.
"Good morning," she said to the receptionist, trying to sound friendly.
The woman behind the desk looked up with a welcoming smile. "Morning! You must be Emma. I'm Janet."
"Nice to meet you, Janet. I'm hoping we'll be seeing a lot of each other."
"Count on it," Janet said with a chuckle.
Emma gave her a small wave. "I need to drop my bag in my office. I'll be right back."
She made her way toward the elevator, unknowingly stepping into unfamiliar territory—literally. The elevator she took was reserved for the CEO and his assistants, but no one stopped her. She didn't know better, and no one warned her. When she reached the top floor, she placed her things in the small assistant's desk that had been designated for her and noticed the office was still untouched from the weekend.
Not one to wait around, Emma grabbed a few cleaning supplies and began tidying up. She wiped down the desk, dusted the windowsills, and even fluffed the cushions on the executive couch. She wanted everything to be perfect for her boss's arrival.
Downstairs, however, chaos was brewing. Alexander Allan, the company's notorious CEO, had arrived unusually early. His presence sent waves of panic through the staff, who scrambled to form their morning greeting line.
But Alexander stopped them cold.
"No greetings from today onward," he said, his voice slicing through the room like ice. "Just get to your departments and get to work."
His gaze swept the lobby like a hawk hunting prey, seeking the one woman who had the nerve to humiliate him at the bar. The one who had dared challenge his authority without even knowing it.
He stepped into the VIP elevator, and the moment the doors closed, he caught a soft, distinctly feminine scent lingering in the air.
Someone had been in his space.
His office door was slightly ajar when he arrived. As he entered, his eyes landed on Emma, wiping down the edge of his desk. For a split second, he paused, registering her dedication. But the moment she looked up and smiled at him, that sliver of admiration vanished like mist.
"Good morning, sir," she greeted politely.
He sneered. "Well, it was a good morning until your voice ruined it."
Emma flinched inwardly but said nothing. She finished tidying, returned the cleaning supplies to the storage closet, and freshened up before returning to stand by her desk.
"You—come here," Alexander barked.
She walked over quietly, standing in front of his massive desk.
"I want a cup of latte. From the café across the street. And get yourself some breath mints while you're at it," he said, eyes already glued to a report.
Emma nodded and headed downstairs. She returned to the front desk.
"Janet, sorry to bother you—do you know where I can get the boss's latte?"
Janet raised an eyebrow, then pointed across the street. "There's a place called Internet Café. They know what he likes, but be careful. Traffic is insane this time of day."
"Thanks," Emma said breathlessly and hurried outside.
Dodging cars and clutching her phone, Emma made it to the café, ordered the latte, and waited. As soon as she got the cup, she dashed back—but traffic was worse now. She stood at the edge of the street until the green light finally gave her a break. She ran all the way to the building, lungs burning.
When she stepped into the office, Alexander didn't even look at her before saying, "You're three minutes late. Next time, I'll deduct ten percent of your salary. Hand me the cup."
"I'm sorry, sir," she said, offering it to him.
He took it, sipped—and immediately grimaced. Without warning, he hurled the cup to the ground.
"It's cold now. Clean this mess and go get another. Quickly."
Emma bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to cry. She cleaned the spilled latte and ran back to the café.
The shopkeeper looked surprised. "Back again?"
Emma forced a smile. "Yes, Uncle. Could you make this one extra hot, please?"
He raised an eyebrow but obliged.
Back in the office, Emma handed over the new cup, her palms red from the heat.
Alexander smirked. "I didn't ask for a boiled latte. Do it again. And clean my desk."
She barely heard him. Her body was sore. Her feet ached. Her hands throbbed. But she said nothing. She turned and left again.
By the third trip, the kind shopkeeper offered her a second cup free. "Are you being hazed or something?"
Emma laughed weakly. "Maybe. Or maybe the devil just wears a name tag."
Returning once more, she almost tripped outside the CEO's door. A young man caught her just in time.
"Hey—careful," he said, steadying her.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"I'm Freddy. You've been running around like crazy today. You okay?"
"Emma Stone. I'm fine. Just... trying to survive my first day."
"Good luck," Freddy said with a grin.
Emma pushed open the office door, handed the latte to her boss without a word, and slumped into her chair.
He took a sip, finally satisfied.
But as he looked at her—her head bobbing with exhaustion, her breath shallow—something twisted in his chest. He frowned, annoyed at himself.
He didn't understand it. Torturing her should've made him feel better.
But for some reason, his heart remained unsatisfied.
And that made him even more determined.
"Now," he muttered, holding a fresh stack of documents with a devilish smirk, "let the real game begin."