The Black Bracelet

“Can someone get the door? I’m still getting ready! He’s already here, and honestly, I have no idea why he’s ringing the bell — he never rings. For God’s sake, this is his building!”

Lucia’s voice echoed through the enormous apartment as she peeked out from the hallway in a silk robe, a hair straightener still in her hand.

The trip had taken almost twice as long as it should have. Lucia insisted on stopping every hour to take phone calls far enough away that neither Marko nor I could hear a word.

We had arrived in Zagreb late the previous night from our small hometown. The three of us drove straight after work from the company where I’d been employed for a little over a year — a company managed by Lucia and Marko.

I still didn’t completely understand why they had brought me here.

They only said one thing:

The boss wanted to meet me personally.

And apparently, it had something to do with the psychological testing every employee had been subjected to over the past few months.

Every day, for two or three hours, I solved intelligence tests, personality evaluations, abstract reasoning exercises, and answered deeply personal questions that often felt less like HR and more like interrogation.

Oddly enough, I enjoyed it.

It was the first thing in months that distracted me from the exhausting routine of my job. Lucia constantly hovered over me at work, pressuring me to exhaustion until I stopped caring whether I stayed or got fired.

So eventually, during the testing, I stopped filtering myself.

I answered everything with brutal honesty.

One question appeared near the beginning:

“What is the worst thing you have ever thought about your current superior?”

I remember typing for almost five minutes straight.

That she was a manipulative woman with two completely different faces. That if a promotion depended on it, she would gladly destroy half the office without blinking. And worse — that she would probably enjoy doing it because somewhere deep down, she was a psychopath.

I had been furious that day.

Right before the test, Lucia cornered me near the printers and started lecturing me about my productivity again, complaining that I was behaving irresponsibly simply because I was the only employee still undergoing evaluations.

Marko smiled faintly and walked toward the massive front door.

The apartment still didn’t feel real to me.

When we entered the night before, I genuinely thought we had walked into a luxury hotel by mistake. The living room alone was the size of my entire apartment back home. The kitchen looked untouched, designed more for architecture magazines than actual cooking.

Even now, the place felt endless.

Cold.

Beautiful.

Expensive in a way that made my stomach tighten.

And somewhere inside this enormous penthouse, I was finally about to meet the man who owned the corporation.

I suddenly became painfully aware of my appearance.

Was I dressed appropriately enough?

Tonight’s dinner apparently included international clients from Britain, America, China, and France, along with Mauro’s executive circle.

My vintage polka-dot dress had seemed elegant when I packed it.

Now, at thirty-five years old, I felt naïve wearing it.

“Good afternoon.”

The voice behind me was deep enough to vibrate through my chest.

I turned.

The man standing there had to be at least six foot four. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Calm posture. And eyes that locked onto mine with unsettling precision.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

“G-good afternoon,” I stammered, extending an embarrassingly sweaty hand.

“Tihana. Nice to meet you.”

“Mauro.”

His hand closed around mine slowly.

“Finally.”

His gaze lingered on me longer than normal. Not rudely. Not flirtatiously.

Analytically.

As if he were reading something underneath my skin.

His cologne smelled warm, expensive, almost dangerously comforting.

My legs suddenly felt unstable.

Like I was standing upright and falling at the same time.

And instantly, another question from the testing flashed through my mind:

“In a sexual context, what attracts you more: absolute control or complete surrender?”

“While Lucia finishes getting ready, we should probably have a drink,” Mauro said calmly.

Then he placed a black folder on the terrace table beside me.

“I brought the contract for you. I think it would be best if you read it with a clear head first.”

The terrace overlooked the entire city.

I stepped outside immediately, needing air.

On the front page:

Contract Addendum.

I began reading.

Then rereading.

Salary.

Executive position.

Company vehicle.

International travel.

Expanded authority.

I froze halfway through the second page.

Lucia and Marko would report to me directly.

I went back to the beginning again.

None of it made sense.

Why me?

Another question surfaced in my memory:

“Are you more attracted to power or intelligence?”

I remembered my answer instantly.

Equally. Intensely.

I swallowed hard and looked up.

Mauro stood several feet away, leaning casually against the terrace railing.

Watching me.

Not impatient.

Not persuasive.

Just… waiting.

And somehow, that affected me more than pressure would have.

Something about the way he observed people made me feel transparent.

Like he already knew what decision I would make before I reached it myself.

A faint discomfort crept under my skin.

If he can already read me this easily… what exactly am I agreeing to?

I lowered my gaze back to the papers, but the words had started blurring together.

Power.

Intelligence.

Mauro.

I looked up again.

This time intentionally.

A second too long.

And somehow, in that brief moment, it felt as though the real decision had already been made.

Not about the contract.

About him.

I walked back inside gripping the folder tightly.

As if it might disappear if I loosened my fingers.

“Well?” Mauro asked.

He didn’t explain anything further.

Didn’t try convincing me.

Didn’t sell the opportunity.

He simply waited.

So I signed.

“LUCIA!” Marko shouted toward the hallway. “COME CELEBRATE! TIHANA IS OFFICIALLY OUR NEW BOSS!”

“Aaa, really?” Lucia walked in still wearing her robe, finally setting the hair straightener aside. “You couldn’t wait five more minutes?”

“You’re still not dressed?” Marko laughed.

Lucia ignored him completely and looked straight at me.

Then at Mauro.

A strange smile appeared on her lips.

“I have to admit,” she said lightly, “I imagined someone very different for Mauro’s right hand.”

Marko poured champagne into four glasses while Mauro reached into his pocket and removed a small black vial.

Without explanation, he added two drops into each glass.

I watched curiously.

“What is that?”

“Something that improves focus,” Mauro answered smoothly. “Relaxation too. Makes long evenings easier.”

“Tihana,” Marko added with a grin, “that’s how we survive high-level clients.”

“You don’t have to convince her,” Lucia said with a quiet laugh. “She already looks like someone familiar with these kinds of things.”

Another test question surfaced instantly:

“Do you believe prohibited substances limit or expand human potential?”

I felt Mauro’s presence again.

But this time differently.

Closer.

Deeper.

Then another question followed immediately behind it:

“Would you willingly take an unknown substance from the hand of someone offering you a form of power you do not yet understand?”

I looked at the glass.

Then at him.

And slowly nodded.

We raised our drinks.

The taste was surprisingly mild.

But the sensation arrived almost immediately.

Warmth.

Relaxation.

And something else.

Something heavier.

Something opening.

I lifted my eyes toward Mauro again.

He smiled faintly.

“Welcome.”