The morning after my mother's warning, I found myself staring at the cracked ceiling of our flat, her words echoing in my mind. As much as I tried to push them away, they lingered, threading doubt through my determination. But life didn't wait for me to sort through my thoughts, and rent didn't pay itself. That morning, I decided to take up a part-time job to appease her, or maybe to prove to myself that I could still balance the life I had and the life I wanted.
The job was mundane—a secretary at a small real estate office downtown. The building was old, with creaky floors and faded wallpaper, but it was clean. My duties mostly involved answering phones, filing paperwork, and occasionally fetching coffee for the team. It wasn't glamorous, but it was something. And it was there that I met him.
Mr. Jayson Cross. The name alone exuded authority. He was the owner of the firm, a man in his late forties with sharp features and an aura of command that made everyone in the office sit up straighter when he entered the room. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but there was something magnetic about him—the way he carried himself, the way he spoke with deliberate precision, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you.
It started innocently enough. On my third day, he called me into his office. The walls were lined with awards and certificates, a testament to his success. He sat behind a large oak desk, his fingers steepled as he studied me.
"Alis, isn't it?" he said, his voice smooth yet commanding.
I nodded, suddenly aware of how my thrifted blouse clung to my skin in the stifling room. "Yes, sir."
He smiled faintly. "I've heard good things about you. Punctual, efficient, eager to learn. That's rare these days."
"Thank you," I murmured, my cheeks flushing.
"I'm sure you'll do well here," he continued, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary. "If you ever need guidance, don't hesitate to come to me."
I nodded again, my heart pounding as I left his office. There was something about the way he looked at me, a subtle intensity that both unnerved and intrigued me. Over the next few weeks, I noticed him watching me more often, his gaze heavy and unreadable. At first, I dismissed it as paranoia, but then came the little gestures—a compliment on my work, a lingering hand on my shoulder, an invitation to stay late and assist him with reports.
One evening, as the rest of the staff trickled out of the office, he called me into his office again. The blinds were drawn, the dim light casting shadows across his face. He leaned back in his chair, his tie loosened, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I obeyed, my pulse quickening. "Is there something you needed, sir?"
He studied me for a moment, then set his glass down. "You're a bright girl, Alis. Ambitious. I like that."
"Thank you," I said cautiously.
"Tell me," he continued, his voice softening, "what are your plans? Your dreams? Surely you don't intend to stay a secretary forever."
I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "I… I want more," I admitted finally. "A better life."
He nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile. "And you're willing to work for it?"
"Of course," I said firmly.
"Good," he said, leaning forward. "Because in this world, Alis, success isn't just about hard work. It's about who you know. Connections. Trust."
There was a charged silence as his words hung in the air. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. "I see potential in you," he said finally. "And I'd like to help you realize it."
His hand reached out, brushing lightly against mine. The touch was brief, but it lingered in my mind long after I left his office that night.
The days that followed were a whirlwind of confusion and temptation. He became more attentive, more present. He praised me in meetings, gave me special projects, and even took me out for lunch under the guise of discussing work. The lines between professional and personal began to blur, and I found myself drawn to him in a way I couldn't quite explain.
One evening, as we worked late once again, he leaned in closer than necessary to show me something on his computer. His cologne was intoxicating, his presence overwhelming. When he turned to face me, our faces were inches apart. For a moment, neither of us moved.
"Alis," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You… intrigue me."
I didn't know how to respond. My heart was racing, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Before I could think too much, his lips were on mine, firm and insistent. I froze for a moment, then melted into the kiss, my body responding before my mind could catch up.
When we pulled apart, his eyes searched mine. "You deserve more than this," he said softly. "Let me give it to you."
His words ignited something within me—a hunger, a longing. I knew it was dangerous, that it crossed every line, but in that moment, I didn't care. All I could think about was the promise of something more, something better.
Our affair began that night, a secret hidden behind closed doors and stolen moments. He lavished me with attention, gifts, and promises, and for a while, I felt like I was finally stepping into the life I'd always dreamed of. But beneath the surface, a nagging doubt lingered. My mother's warning echoed in my mind, a reminder of the precarious path I was walking.
Still, I told myself it was worth it. This was my chance to climb the ladder, to escape the confines of my old life. And if it came at a cost, so be it. I was willing to pay the price. At least, that's what I told myself every time I left his office, my heart pounding and my conscience screaming.
For now, I was willing to drown out the doubts. After all, I had made my choice, and there was no turning back.