(Malia’s POV)

    The meeting was arranged faster than I expected.

    By the next morning, Ivy had already sent me a location, a time, and strict instructions on what to wear.

    “Be neutral. No bold colors. No cleavage,” she said over the phone as I stood in front of the mirror. “He likes clean, sharp, and classy.”

    “I’m not trying to seduce Mr. Andrew,” I muttered, adjusting the sleeves of the cream blouse Ivy had loaned me.

    “No, but first impressions matter. He’s old money. Very detail-oriented. He’ll know if you’re faking confidence.”

    “Isn’t that the whole point of this job?” I said dryly. “Faking?”

    She paused. “There’s a difference between faking and performing. Go in there like you belong in the room.”

    I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection again. Hair pinned up neatly, light makeup, black pencil skirt, neutral lipstick. I looked… presentable. Like someone who had control. Not like someone who’d cried herself to sleep two nights in a row.

    My heart pounded.

    I was about to meet a man who wanted to pay me to deceive another man. That thought alone should have made me run, but instead, I stood straighter.

    I wasn’t doing this out of hate.

    I was doing this because I had nothing

    The café was upscale and quiet — the kind of place where the air smelled faintly of imported coffee beans and money. I spotted him immediately. He sat at the corner table, wearing a tailored gray suit and a crisp white shirt. No tie. Silver cufflinks. A black leather watch.

    Mr. Andrew looked like someone who knew what power tasted like.

    He was older — maybe in his late fifties — with sharp features, a salt-and-pepper beard, and eyes that gave away nothing. He didn’t smile when I walked in. He simply gestured to the seat across from him with two fingers.

    I sat, folding my hands in my lap.

    “You’re punctual,” he said without looking up from his tablet. His voice was calm and polished. Like he’d been trained to sound important.

    “Ivy said you value time,” I replied.

    He set the tablet down and looked at me. “She also said you’re smart, disciplined, and recently heartbroken.”

    I tensed slightly. “I didn’t know heartbreak was a job qualification.”

    “It’s not,” he said. “But it’s useful. Pain changes people. It sharpens them. Breaks the illusion of loyalty and makes room for precision.”

    I didn’t respond.

    He reached into his briefcase and slid a folder across the table.

    “Read,” he instructed.

    I opened it.

    Inside was a photo. High-resolution. Candid. Taken from a distance, but clear enough to make my breath catch.

    He was tall, mid-thirties at most. Dressed in black slacks and a crisp dark button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. No tie. He wasn’t posing — just standing near a car, his head slightly turned, jaw sharp, eyes focused on something out of frame.

    His presence leapt off the page. There was something cold in the set of his mouth, something calculating in the way he stood — shoulders square, like he didn’t fear the world. No smile. No softness.

    “Kieth Williams,” Mr. Andrew said. “CEO of Apex Holdings. Private investor. Controls six subsidiaries and majority shares in two international banks. He made his first million at twenty-two and hasn’t stopped since.”

    I stared at the image. “He looks… intense.”

    “He is. And that’s the problem.”

    I looked up. “What do you mean?”

    “He’s unpredictable. Untouchable. A wild card. His influence is growing faster than expected, and certain parties are uncomfortable with his rise.”

    “Certain parties?”

    He didn’t answer. Instead, he continued.

    “You don’t need to know all the names. Just the task. You’re to study him. Learn his routines. Find the cracks.”

    “And then what?”

    “You break him,” he said simply.

    I looked back at the photo. “How?”

    “Emotionally. Intellectually. Whatever it takes.”

    “Why me?”

    Mr. Andrew leaned back, studying me. “You’re educated. Observant. You know how to disappear in plain sight. You’ve learned how to survive without screaming. That’s a rare skill. You won’t make obvious mistakes.”

    I swallowed. “I’m not a professional.”

    “No, but you’re desperate,” he said without blinking. “Desperation makes people efficient.”

    I looked down at the photo again. “You want me to make him fall for me?”

    “Not necessarily. You just need to get close enough that he lets his guard down. What happens after that is up to you — and him.”

    “And what do I get out of this?”

    “A fresh start,” he said. “Enough money to build a new life. More if you’re successful.”

    I was quiet for a long time. The café buzzed softly in the background. Someone laughed at the far end. A spoon clinked against a ceramic cup. Normal life continued around us, unaware that my own was about to shift again.

    “He doesn’t trust people,” Mr. Andrew added. “He won’t let anyone in easily. But he’s still human. Everyone has an ache. A secret. A memory that haunts them.”

    I set the folder down. “How do I begin?”

    “You’ll be planted at an event next weekend,” he said. “A private charity gala hosted by one of his company’s board members. You’ll be introduced as a consultant in fundraising and public relations. It’s enough to get you into the room. From there, you improvise.”

    “And if he doesn’t talk to me?”

    “He will,” Mr. Andrew said with quiet certainty. “He doesn’t ignore new puzzles. He solves them.”

    ⸻

    Back at Ivy’s apartment, I laid the photo on the table and stared at it for hours.

    This man. This stranger. He had no idea what was coming.

    But neither did I.

    Because the more I looked at that picture, the more I felt a strange pull. Curiosity.

    He didn’t look like a monster. He didn’t look broken either. But he didn’t look whole.

    He looked… restrained. Tightly wound. Like someone who spent too long learning how to be feared instead of loved.

    I understood that.

   I became anxious.

    What if I was the one who got too close?

    What if this job didn’t just change his life — but mine?

    ⸻

    The night before the event, I couldn’t sleep.

    My nerves were in knots, my heart restless. Ivy had helped me pick out the perfect dress — sleek, black, elegant but not flashy. My hair was curled softly at the ends, makeup subtle but defined.

    I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

    “You look like a woman on a mission,” Ivy said as she handed me a small clutch.

    “I look like a woman about to lie to a billionaire,” I murmured.

    “Same thing,” she said with a wink.

    As the car pulled up to the venue, my hands clenched tightly around the bag in my lap.

    The building was grand. Marble columns. A glass ceiling. A red carpet lined the front entrance. Cameras flashed in the distance. Soft classical music drifted from inside.

    I stepped out, took a breath, and walked toward the doors.

    Inside, everything sparkled. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne glasses. Conversations in hushed, expensive tones. I blended in as best I could, scanning the room.

    Then I saw him.

    Across the room. Standing near the balcony.

    He was talking to someone, his expression unreadable. His eyes swept the room lazily — until they landed on me.

    Just for a second.

    Our eyes locked.

    My heart skipped.

    His gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.

    Then he looked away.

    He didn’t smile.

    But he noticed me.

    And that was enough.

(Malia's POV)

  I didn't expect him to approach me.

  Not that soon, anyway.

  After our brief eye contact across the ballroom, I'd made a conscious decision to disappear into the crowd - to blend. I wasn't here to chase him. I was here to be noticed. Calculated. Mysterious. Andrew had drilled that into me.

  "Men like Kieth Williams don't react to attention," he'd said. "They react to disruption."

  I wasn't sure I was ready to be a disruption. Not tonight. Not yet.

  So I smiled when spoken to. Nodded when people introduced themselves. Repeated the name "Malia Green" until it felt almost real on my tongue. Ivy had helped me rehearse my fake background - marketing and nonprofit strategy consultant, freelancing for elite firms. Enough truth to sound credible. Enough fiction to keep it clean.

  I moved through the glittering event space with practiced grace, careful not to let my nerves show. Everyone here was wealthy, well-connected, and mostly bored. Champagne glasses were clutched like accessories. Laughter was sharp and hollow.

  And somewhere in this glimmering mess was him.

  Kieth.

  I felt his presence before I saw him again. It was the quiet shift in the air, the subtle turn of heads when he moved through the room. People noticed him - or rather, they noticed not to get in his way.

  So when I turned and saw him walking straight toward me, my heart lurched into my throat.

  I kept my expression neutral.

  His steps were slow, measured. His gaze was direct. No emotion. No warning. Just observation - like he was already dissecting me.

  "Miss Green," he said as he stopped in front of me.

  His voice was deeper than I'd imagined. Smooth, but not soft. He didn't offer a hand. Just stood there, waiting to see how I'd respond.

  I forced a polite smile. "Mr. Williams."

  "You're new."

  Not a question. A statement.

  "I'm a guest," I replied calmly. "Consultant for the Langford Foundation. Just came onboard to restructure some of their donor engagement."

  He tilted his head slightly. "Your first gala?"

  "Not my first. Just my first in this city."

  "And how are you finding it so far?"

  I kept my posture relaxed, but not too relaxed. This wasn't small talk. This was a test.

  "It's... lively," I said with a small smile. "Though I imagine you don't come to these for the entertainment."

  He didn't blink. "I come to be seen."

  There was something unsettling about the way he said it.

  I sipped my drink to ground myself.

  "Is that why you're speaking to me?" I asked, meeting his gaze. "Visibility?"

  His mouth twitched - just barely. Not quite a smile. More like recognition.

  "You're not like the others," he said quietly. "Most people in this room want something. Money, a favor, a photo. But you..."

  He trailed off, his eyes scanning me.

  "You're hiding something."

  A small chill raced down my spine. He was too close to the truth.

  "I'm just here for business," I replied, keeping my tone smooth.

  "Everyone here is," he murmured. "But you're not networking. You're watching."

  My fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

  He stepped a little closer. Not invading, just enough to remind me who held the upper hand.

  "People who watch that much," he said, "either have something to protect... or something to steal."

  I let out a soft laugh, as if amused. "Or maybe I just like people-watching."

  "I don't believe in coincidence."

  "And I don't believe in being intimidated by rich men with good suits."

  That did something.

  His gaze sharpened.

  Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't warm - it was curious. Like a lion intrigued by a bird that didn't fly away.

  "You're interesting," he said. "That's not a compliment. Just an observation."

  "Duly noted," I replied. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I didn't show it.

  He looked over my shoulder, nodding briefly at someone, then turned back to me.

  "Enjoy your evening, Miss Green," he said. "But be careful."

  With that, he walked away.

  And I stood there, pulse racing, barely breathing.

  He knew.

  Not what I was doing. Not who I was.

  But he knew I wasn't here by accident.

  ⸻

  "You spoke to him?" Ivy whispered later that night when I called her from the guest bedroom.

  "He spoke to me."

  "Already?"

  "Yeah."

  "Jesus," she breathed. "And?"

  "He was... sharp," I said, lying flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "He doesn't talk like most people. Every sentence felt like a test."

  "But you held your own?"

  "I think so. Maybe. He was watching me the entire time. Like he could see through the part I was playing."

  "You said the right name, right? Malia Green?"

  "I didn't forget my own alias," I snapped, then sighed. "Sorry. I'm just... tense."

  "No, you're in deep water now, Mal. But that's good. He noticed you. That's what Andrew wanted."

  I hesitated. "I don't know if that's what I wanted."

  She was quiet for a moment. Then: "You still have a choice, you know. You can walk away."

  I turned my head toward the window.

  "I don't think I can," I whispered. "Not now."

  ⸻

  Sleep didn't come easily.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him again. Not the image from the file Andrew gave me - but him. Real. Alive. Looking straight into me.

  It scared me how quickly he'd read my energy.

  But it scared me more that I wanted to talk to him again.

  Not because of the job.

  Because something about him... felt too familiar.

  And somehow, we both knew it.

  (Malia’s POV)

    I didn’t expect the call.

    Not this soon.

    I was sitting at Ivy’s breakfast table, still in my robe, sipping lukewarm coffee and trying to pretend I hadn’t spent the entire night tossing and turning with Kieth’s voice stuck in my head, when my phone lit up with a private number.

    I almost didn’t answer.

    But then I did.

    “Hello?”

    “Miss Green,” came the smooth, unmistakable voice on the other end. “This is Kieth Williams.”

    His tone was casual, emotionless.

    “I’d like to meet. Today. My office. Noon.”

    No room for negotiation.

    “I—uh—yes. Of course.”

    He ended the call without a goodbye.

    I stared at the screen for several seconds after the line went dead, my heart hammering.

    “What?” Ivy asked as she came into the kitchen, munching on an apple.

    I looked up at her slowly.

    “He just called.”

    Her eyes widened. “Kieth?”

    I nodded. “He wants to meet. Today.”

    She blinked. “Already?”

    “He said noon. No explanation.”

    Ivy set the apple down. “That’s fast. Too fast.”

    “Should I be worried?”

    “You should be prepared,” she said, moving into crisis mode. “You need to dress like you belong in that office but also like you’re not trying too hard.”

    “Right,” I murmured, already on my feet. “Because it’s totally normal to be summoned by a billionaire after a thirty-second conversation.”

    “This is good,” she said, grabbing her phone. “It means he’s interested. But not romantically — not yet. He wants to read you. He’s going to test you. So don’t flinch.”

    “I’m flinching inside,” I muttered.

    “Then keep it inside.”

    ⸻

    By the time I arrived at his building — Apex Holdings, Williams Tower, 54th floor — I had done everything Ivy told me to do.

    Hair tied back into a neat twist. Light makeup. Navy slacks. Silk white blouse tucked in, no accessories except for a watch that didn’t even work anymore. I looked clean. Professional. Invisible, if I wanted to be.

    The elevator ride felt so long.

    The doors opened to a reception area. A single receptionist with perfectly slicked hair greeted me.

    “Miss Green?” she asked.

    “Yes.”

    “Mr. Williams is expecting you. Straight through those doors.”

    I walked toward the tall black doors she pointed at. When I opened them, the contrast hit me.

    His office was massive, but not lavish. No gold. No art. Just cool tones, a massive window view of the city, a desk that looked too empty, and a man standing by the glass.

    He didn’t turn around when I entered.

    I closed the door behind me.

    “Mr. Williams,” I said softly.

    “I wanted to see if you’d actually come,” he said without turning.

    “Why wouldn’t I?”

    “Because most people who fake confidence can only hold it in public.”

    “I wasn’t faking.”

    Now he turned.

    He was in a black button-up again, no jacket. Sleeves rolled. Watch on his wrist. His face unreadable, but his eyes… sharp. Always sharp.

    He gestured to the seat in front of his desk.

    “Sit.”

    I did.

    He sat across from me, lacing his fingers together. Silence stretched between us.

    “I did some digging,” he said finally.

    I went still. “On me?”

    “Of course.”

    I kept my breathing even. “Find anything interesting?”

    “That’s the strange part,” he said. “You exist… but only just enough. Resume. LinkedIn. A few scattered consulting gigs. But no personal footprints. No photos. No old coworkers. No chatter.”

    “I like my privacy.”

    “So do I,” he said. “But I’ve never met a woman who could vanish this well without training.”

    I smiled. “Maybe I’m just good at staying in my lane.”

    “Or maybe,” he said slowly, “you’re exactly the kind of woman people send into rooms like this.”

    My pulse jumped.

    “What do you mean?”

    “I mean you don’t flinch. You don’t stumble. And you don’t beg for attention like most people who orbit this world. You observe. You wait. That’s dangerous.”

    “I’m not dangerous, Mr. Williams.”

    He leaned forward.

    “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

    I held his gaze.

    “You called me here to accuse me of being a spy?” I said calmly.

    “No,” he replied. “I called you here to offer you a job.”

    That… I didn’t expect.

    My eyes narrowed. “A job?”

    He nodded once. “There’s a charity gala in Italy next month. I need someone to manage my brand presence. Handle the press. Guide the narrative.”

    “You already have a PR team.”

    “I don’t trust them.”

    “And you trust me?”

    “No,” he said. “But I trust the unknown more than I trust incompetence.”

    I blinked.

    “Let me be clear,” he added. “You’re not here because I believe your backstory. You’re here because I want to see what you do when the spotlight turns hot.”

    My mind was spinning. “Why me?”

    “Because you lied to me without blinking,” he said. “And I respect that.”

    I stared at him, unsure whether I should be flattered or terrified.

    “Your hotel will be arranged,” he continued. “A flight will be booked. You’ll be paid upfront. A week in Milan. You’ll be shadowing me during the event.”

    “Why would I say yes?”

    He stood slowly, walking toward the window again. “Because I can offer you everything you’ve ever wanted. Or nothing at all.”

    I stood too.

    “And if I’m really someone dangerous?” I asked.

    He turned back to me, eyes gleaming. “Then I’ll find out eventually. And I’ll handle it.”

    There was no threat in his tone.

    But somehow, it still chilled me.

    He walked to his desk, picked up a folder, and handed it to me.

    Inside was a non-disclosure agreement, a preliminary contract, and a note written in his tight, neat script.

    One lie can open ten doors. But it only takes one truth to burn them all down.

    I closed the folder.

    “When do we leave?”

    “Monday.”

    ⸻

    I walked out of that office feeling like I had just made a deal with the devil.

    And worse?

    I wasn’t sure I wanted to take it back.