JAQUEL
After spending the entire day searching for jobs online, my mum called to tell me that her friend had agreed to interview me. I felt a wave of relief—but not desperation. I knew my worth.
I graduated with an outstanding record, built my own publishing company from scratch, and turned it into a powerhouse. I specialized in best-selling novels, investigative journalism, and high-end literary content. I signed famous authors, produced award-winning work, and earned industry recognition for my innovative approach to publishing.
Grien didn't just betray me—he stole my empire. He stripped me of everything I worked for, leaving me with no money, no resources, and no place to start from.
But if he thought I was done, he was dead wrong.
I dressed in black corporate trousers and a light blue chiffon blouse, the color subtly complimenting my skin. Grabbing my Louis Vuitton bag, which held all the important documents for the interview, I picked up my car keys and made my way to the garage.
As I stepped inside, I pointed the key toward my Lexus RX 350. I sighed, gripping the keys in my hand. Not long ago, I owned a brand-new, black, gleaming Bugatti Chiron—a machine of pure power, luxury, and control. It was mine, just like everything else I had worked for.
But he took that too.
My empire, my success, my dignity—right down to the very car I drove. Now, I was left with nothing but my name… and the burning need to make him pay. I was lucky—this car was the one thing I had the foresight to leave with my mum before everything crumbled. Stepping into my car, I placed my belongings on the passenger seat and focused on the road—on getting to the publishing company, on moving forward.
After an hour's drive, I finally pulled into the parking lot. The building towered over me, sleek and impressive. I had to admit—it was huge, powerful, successful.
Just like mine used to be.
A pang of sadness tried to creep in, but I shook it off. There was no room for grief. Not now.
Instead, I let something stronger take its place—a silent, burning fury, a blazing confidence laced with revenge.
This wasn't just an interview. This was the first step toward taking back what was mine.
Stepping out of the car, I strode into the building with purpose.
As I walked through the grand entrance, a man—twice my size, broad-shouldered and imposing—passed by. His presence alone commanded attention, but what truly stood out were the four bodyguards flanking him at every corner, moving like shadows in sync with his steps.
I didn't need to ask. I could tell.
He had a strong role in this place.
I went to the top floor, where my interview was taking place.. The moment the elevator doors slide open, a wave of sophistication fills the air. Everything is immaculate, sleek, and commanding—a floor that only the most powerful have access to.
Glass walls offer a panoramic view of the city skyline, stretching for miles. Daylight floods the room by day, and at night, the city lights twinkle like stars beneath the empire of words. Dark oak wood flooring and marble accents give a sense of wealth and timeless elegance. A faint scent of expensive leather and fresh coffee lingers in the air, the signature smell of people who make decisions that shape industries.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? I still can't get used to the view."
A voice came from behind me—young, warm, and easily confident. I turned slightly, catching sight of a bright smile, the kind that could disarm even the most guarded person.
"Yes, it is," I admitted, taking in the breathtaking skyline again. Then, straightening my posture, I added, "I'm here for an interview. Could you point me in the right direction?"
"Of course." He gestured ahead. "Straight down, then to your right."
I followed his gaze, making sure to memorize the path before nodding. "Thank you."
With steady steps, I made my way toward the two towering double doors that seemed to be waiting patiently for their next visitor. Taking a breath, I lifted my hand and knocked three times—a habit I couldn't shake.
"Come in."
The voice from inside was calm, composed, and laced with authority.
I pushed the doors open and stepped inside, only to find the same man I had passed earlier—now sitting comfortably in his office chair, one arm resting lazily on the desk while the other held a glass of silky red wine.
For a brief moment, I couldn't help but think, "Isn't it too early to be drinking?" But then again, when you're the boss, you make the rules. I should know—I was once in his position.
Straightening my posture, I used the chance to take in my surroundings.
The office shared the same refined aesthetic as the lobby, but here, everything was more deliberate, more sophisticated—elegance sharpened into power.
Behind him, a floor-to-ceiling glass window stretched across the back wall, revealing the city skyline in its full glory. Sunlight filtered through, casting sharp lines of light and shadow across the room as if nature itself acknowledged the weight of this space.
The walls were deep charcoal gray, sleek and modern, exuding an air of calm intimidation.
On his immaculate black marble desk, a single pen lay perfectly parallel to a stack of documents, as if even the smallest details had to be in order. Precision. Control. No room for mistakes.
At the edge of the desk sat a nameplate—subtle but unmistakable, its engraving bold yet understated, just like the man behind it.
My gaze shifted to the single painting hanging on the wall—dark, abstract, unreadable. A statement piece. A reflection of its owner.
I cleared my throat, making sure my voice was steady. "Mr. Varion."
I had picked up his name from the engraved nameplate on his desk. My mother hadn't given me many details about this job—or the man in charge—but I had to make the most of it.
His cold, piercing eyes lifted to meet mine, sharp and unreadable. But I didn't falter. "I'm here for an interview."
"Sit."
His voice was clipped, emotionless. He barely moved, yet the weight of his command settled over the room.
Ignoring the iciness, I pulled out the leather chair and sat down, keeping my posture composed.
He studied me for a moment, then asked, "What made you come to my office?"
I met his gaze head-on. "I'm looking for a job. My mother had a connection here and helped me get an opportunity."
The truth. A lie could come back to bite me later.
His lips twitched slightly—maybe in amusement, maybe in scrutiny. "I see. I wasn't expecting you to be so direct. But now that we've cleared that up…"
I instinctively held my breath, bracing myself.
"I do not keep dead weight."
His tone was calm but cutting.
"If you will be a liability to this company, you are free to walk out that door now."
He gave a slight nod toward the entrance—a clear, unspoken challenge.
A flicker of irritation burned in my chest. He had no idea who I was or what I was capable of.
Straightening my shoulders, I replied smoothly, "I assure you, I will not be a liability. You'll be impressed by how much I can contribute. I don't cause trouble, Mr. Varion. You can count on that."
A heavy silence settled between us. Then, without a word, he picked up a document from his desk and skimmed through it.
Finally, he spoke. "Good."
Flipping the page once, he set it down and added, "You start immediately. Now leave."
I blinked. That's it? No formalities, no conditions?
But I knew better than to question it. Standing up, I gave him a curt nod and walked out.
One thing was certain—I had just stepped into a game where power ruled. And I refused to lose.