The hospital called again this morning.
I didn't answer at first. I stared at my phone until it stopped vibrating, then waited a few seconds longer, as if ignoring it could change what they were about to say.
It didn't.
When I finally called back, the nurse sounded polite. Too polite. That careful tone people use when they're about to remind you of something you already know but can't escape.
"Miss Carter," she said, "the doctor needs to see you today."
I closed my eyes. "Is my sister worse?"
There was a pause. Just a second. Long enough.
"She needs the surgery, Ellie. We can't delay much longer."
I swallowed. "How much time do we have?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Two weeks."
I thanked her. Hung up. Sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the floor until the room felt too quiet.
Two weeks.
I worked two jobs. I skipped meals. I borrowed when I could and pretended I wasn't drowning when I couldn't. Still, the bills kept coming. Hospital bills didn't care about effort. Or love. Or exhaustion.
They only cared about money.
That was how I ended up signing a contract I barely had time to read.
The building was taller than I imagined.
Kane Global Holdings didn't just sit in the city—it towered over it. Glass and steel. Cold. Perfect. The kind of place that didn't make room for mistakes.
I stood outside for a moment, adjusting my blazer, telling myself to breathe.
You need this job, Ellie.
You don't need to like it.
The lobby was quiet in an expensive way. Marble floors. A receptionist who barely looked up when I gave my name.
"Top floor," she said. "They're expecting you."
That made my stomach tighten.
The elevator ride felt too smooth, too fast. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored walls. Tired eyes. Hair pulled back too tight. A woman trying very hard not to look like she needed the money more than the job.
When the doors opened, the air felt different.
Quieter. Sharper.
I was shown to a desk just outside a large office with dark glass walls.
"This is where you'll be," the man said. He spoke quickly, already turning away. "Your responsibilities are outlined in your contract."
"Okay," I said. "And… Mr. Kane?"
"He'll call you when he needs you."
That was it.
No tour. No welcome.
Just a desk, a computer, and a closed door separating me from one of the most powerful men in the country.
I sat down and straightened the notepad in front of me.
Be calm. Be useful. Be invisible.
The intercom buzzed ten minutes later.
"Miss Carter."
My heart jumped. "Yes, sir?"
"I need the Zurich acquisition file."
No greeting. No pause.
"Right away."
I stood so fast my chair rolled back slightly. I caught it, grabbed the file, and walked toward his office.
The door was already open.
Alexander Kane stood with his back to me, phone pressed to his ear, looking out at the city like it belonged to him.
"I don't care what their legal team says," he said. "They signed. That means they comply."
I stopped just inside the door, waiting.
When he turned, it was brief. His eyes flicked to the file in my hands, not my face.
"Put it down."
I placed it neatly on his desk.
"Reschedule my eleven," he continued. "Cancel lunch. Push Paris to next week."
"Yes, sir."
He was already turning away.
That was my first interaction with Alexander Kane.
No acknowledgment. No thank you.
Just instructions.
And strangely, that was a relief.
By the end of the first week, I stopped expecting pleasantries.
"Miss Carter."
"Yes, sir?"
"Coffee."
I stood up immediately.
"Black," he added, eyes still on the screen in front of him.
I nodded and headed for the break area. By the time I returned, the coffee was hot, the cup clean, and the saucer aligned exactly the way he liked it—though he'd never said how he liked it. I'd just watched.
I placed it on his desk.
"Zurich file," he said.
I slid it beside the coffee.
"Reschedule the call with Morgan & Co. Push it to Thursday. Cancel lunch."
"Yes, sir."
He picked up the cup. Took a sip. No reaction.
I waited a second longer than necessary.
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Yes."
That was dismissal.
I turned and walked out.
Friday came faster than I expected.
I was seated at my desk, typing, when his office door opened.
"Miss Carter."
I looked up. "Yes, sir?"
"You booked a fifteen-minute break into my schedule."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You have three consecutive meetings," I said. "You'll need—"
"I don't need breaks."
I stood. Walked into his office. Pointed at the tablet in his hand.
"You'll be late for the third meeting if the second runs over. The break keeps the rest of your day intact."
He stared at the screen.
Then at me.
Then back at the screen.
"Remove it."
My fingers curled at my side.
"If I do," I said carefully, "you'll miss your call with the Singapore team."
Silence.
He lifted his head slowly. His eyes met mine for the first time that day.
"Are you arguing with me, Miss Carter?"
"No, sir."
"Then remove it."
"Yes, sir."
I turned, walked back to my desk, and deleted the break.
Five minutes later, his intercom buzzed.
"Put it back."
I froze.
"…Sir?"
"The break. Put it back."
"Yes, sir."
That night, I was still at my desk when the office lights dimmed.
I checked the time. 10:17 p.m.
I rubbed my eyes and returned to the email I was drafting when footsteps sounded behind me.
"You're still here."
I stood up so fast my chair scraped the floor.
"Yes, sir."
He glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Why?"
"I wanted to make sure Monday's schedule is finalized."
He looked at my screen.
Then at the neat stack of files on my desk.
"You weren't asked to stay."
"I know."
"Then go home."
"I'm almost done."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
I swallowed. "Understood."
I grabbed my bag and stood by the door.
"Miss Carter."
I turned back.
"Don't make a habit of this."
"…Of working late?"
"Of overstepping."
"Yes, sir."
I left.
Monday morning.
I arrived at seven.
He was already in his office.
At seven thirty, his door opened.
"You're late."
I looked at my watch. "It's seven thirty."
"My day starts at seven."
"I'll adjust," I said.
"You'll do more than adjust. You'll anticipate."
"Yes, sir."
He paused.
"Coffee."
I handed it to him without a word.
Tuesday.
"Miss Carter."
"Yes, sir?"
"Where's the Kane Properties report?"
"On your desk. Left side. Blue tab."
He looked.
Found it.
Silence.
"Next time," he said, "don't wait for me to ask."
"Yes, sir."
Wednesday.
"Cancel my lunch."
"You have a meeting with the board at one."
"Then move it."
"To when?"
He stopped walking.
Turned.
"You ask too many questions."
I met his gaze.
"I need answers to do my job properly."
The air between us shifted.
Then—
"Three."
"Three what?"
"Three p.m."
I nodded. "I'll inform them."
Thursday night, my phone rang as I was packing up.
I answered without checking the caller ID.
"Ellie," my sister said, her voice thin. "They moved the surgery date."
My chest tightened. "To when?"
"Next Friday."
"That's good," I said quickly. "That's good."
"…They need the deposit before then."
I closed my eyes.
"How much time?" I asked.
"Ten days."
"I'll handle it," I said.
"Ellie—"
"I said I will."
I hung up and stared at the floor until my vision blurred.
"Miss Carter."
I looked up.
Alexander Kane stood at his office door.
"Yes, sir?"
"You missed a call."
"I'm sorry."
"From Zurich."
"I'll return it now."
He studied my face.
"You're distracted."
"No, sir."
"Fix it."
"Yes, sir."
Friday evening.
I was filing documents when he spoke again.
"Miss Carter."
"Yes?"
"You're quieter today."
I hesitated.
"I'm fine."
He didn't respond immediately.
Then—
"Ensure Monday's meeting starts on time."
"It will."
He nodded once.
That was all.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
I thought of contracts. Deadlines. Numbers.
I thought of a man who didn't look at people unless they were useful.
And I thought of how much my sister needed me to keep this job.
No mistakes.
No emotions.
No attachments.
Because this was work.
And love—
Love wasn't in the contract.