The slippers

Just six more months. Six more months, and I’ll finally have my degree. Then—on to bigger and better things. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Anything to get out of here and away from my so-called family, who make me pay rent to live in a house my dad paid for, while they barely lift a finger.

Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just leave years ago. But where would I go? With the wicked stepmother lurking around, cutting off any chance I have at a real job, I feel stuck. Cornered. And yet… I haven’t given up.

They don’t know I’ve been doing an online course, inching my way toward independence. Six more months, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll be free. But until then, I’m here, making copies and coffee runs and waiting for something to change.

That’s why I was out at the coffee shop last week, balancing three lattes and a dozen resumes I’d been passing around town. Another pathetic attempt to find someone who’d take a chance on me. I’d left the coffee counter when it happened: I turned around and walked right into a brick wall.

At least, that’s what it felt like. But when I looked up, I realized it was a man maybe a giant no shorter than 6'5, handsome, domineering man in a perfect suit that probably cost more than my entire year of rent. He didn’t just look expensive; he looked important. The kind of guy you don’t run into, because he’s usually surrounded by other people rushing to get out of his way.

And here I was, flat on my backside, looking up at him as I scrambled to gather my papers. My face burned with embarrassment. *Good job, elina,* I thought, mortified. “Sorry,” I stammered, barely able to get the words out. I didn’t dare look him in the eyes; I was too busy trying to scoop up the resumes that had spilled all over the floor.

But when I glanced up for a split second, he was crouched there, gathering my pages too, his brow slightly furrowed as he looked down at my crumpled resume. “Is this yours?” he asked, voice smooth and surprisingly warm. I just nodded, almost in a daze. Up close, he looked even better—sharp jawline, dark eyes, a hint of stubble. He looked like he’d walked right out of a magazine. I couldn’t believe this guy was even acknowledging me, let alone helping me pick up my mess. “Thank you,” I whispered, grabbing the papers from his hand, but before I could say more, he was already gone, blending into the sea of suits.

I barely had time to process it, and I knew I’d probably never see him again. I tried to shake it off, but he lingered in my mind all day, as I handed out the rest of my resumes to managers who barely looked at me. Just another bad day in a string of many.

A few days later , Elina

After another grulling day of doing side jobs.I was dragging myself home,  when my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something told me to pick up.

“Hello?” I said, trying not to sound too hopeful. Please let it be a job. Any job.

A low voice crackled through the phone, smooth and commanding. “Miss Elina Glass?”

My breath caught. The voice was unmistakable—the man I’d bumped into earlier that week. The one who'd knocked the air out of my lungs with just his presence.

“Yes, that is me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart was already racing.

“Mr. Thorn,” the voice replied, cool and controlled, offering no further explanation.

I blinked, still trying to place him. “Mr. Thorn? Of Thorn Enterprises?”

“That’s correct,” he said, his voice flat and assured. “I’ve reviewed your resume. I’d like to offer you an interview.”

My breath caught. “An interview? for what role?”

“Tomorrow morning, 9 a.m. sharp. My office. Dress to impress,” he said with a clear authority in his tone. “Skirts are necessary for this position. Don’t be late.”

His words left no room for debate or hesitation, but a strange mix of curiosity and tension coursed through me.

“Understood,” I said, my voice still a little shaken, but trying to match his level of formality and confussed as to what the role entailed.

“Good,” he replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late, Miss Glass.”

The line went dead.

Mr Thorns POV

Lucian stood at the large windows of his penthouse office, watching the city below. His mind was a whirl of calculations, decisions, and cold, methodical analysis. Thorn Global Enterprises was growing at an exponential rate, his empire expanding across industries—technology, luxury goods, even hospitality.

But none of it seemed to matter at the moment. His thoughts kept circling back to one thing. One person. Elina Glass. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. The moment their bodies had collided outside the coffee shop, he’d felt it—something electric. The type of raw energy he only ever found in the boardroom or in the most delicate, finely tuned machinery. It had caught him off guard.

--- **Flashback**

Lucian had just stepped out of the café, his mind preoccupied with the relentless push of his day, when he felt the soft collision. It was a quick, unexpected impact—almost delicate—but enough to jolt him back to the present. His gaze immediately dropped to the woman who had bumped into him.

She was standing there, flustered, her face flushed in embarrassment, her hands hurriedly collecting the papers she’d dropped. She was small compared to him, barely above his shoulder with heels, but the way she moved—quick, sharp, yet almost apologetic—caught his attention.

Her blonde hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her face, and Lucian couldn’t help but notice how it framed her delicate features. But what drew his eyes immediately was the curve of her lips. Plump, pink, full, soft, and slightly parted as she stumbled over her words, her apology slipping out in a nervous rush. His gaze lingered on them a beat longer than it should have, imagining how they might feel pressed against his, or how they might taste in other ways.

Her lips were far more sensual than the way she carried herself suggested. She wasn’t dressed in the usual polished attire he was accustomed to seeing on women in his circles—nothing designer or sophisticated. Instead, she wore a simple white blouse tucked into a knee-length black skirt that hugged her curves.

The skirt wasn’t tight, but it was clear from the way it sat that she had a shape to her—subtle, yet undeniably enticing. It wasn’t a seductive look, yet she would probably look good in a bin bag. Her curves were soft, unforced—there was an undeniable allure to her figure, the way the skirt clung to her hips, how her body seemed to move with an effortless rhythm despite the nervous energy that radiated from her.

Lucian bent down without a second thought, his large hands gathering the papers she had dropped, brushing his fingers lightly over hers as he did. His touch was firm, but not unkind, as he handed them back to her. There was a slight hesitation in her fingers as she took them, and her face turned even redder as she muttered another apology.

But it wasn’t just her awkwardness that caught his attention—it was the slight tremble in her hands, the sense of vulnerability in her demeanor. It made something stir inside him, a curiosity he didn’t usually feel.

Her blue doe eyes met his for a brief moment, and there was something there—something beneath the uncertainty, beneath the awkwardness. A spark of something sharp, defiant even, that drew him in. But it was quickly replaced with another apologetic glance, and she turned to scramble for the final papers.

She didn’t even realize it, but Lucian had already sized her up in those few seconds. There was something about the way she moved—uncertain, but with a quiet confidence, an edge hidden beneath the surface. Her lips. The way they parted when she spoke. The curve of her hips. The subtle but undeniable attraction he felt in that moment—the mix of vulnerability and something he couldn’t quite place. She was... different. And damn it, she was sexy—without even trying.

**Back to Present**

Lucian stood in his office, leaning against the window, lost in thought. His desire for her had only deepened since that first encounter. She was far from poised or polished, but there was something about her—the way she carried herself with such quiet strength despite her clear discomfort. Something in him had shifted. Lucian didn’t do distractions. He didn’t get attached to people—not personally, anyway.

His entire world was about control, precision, and dominance. He kept things professional. Always. He didn’t need anyone. Not like this.

But with Elina, it was different. There was an innocence in her—something raw and unrefined that called to him on a level he couldn’t ignore. She was ripe for the taking, yet there was an underlying strength in her. Despite her vulnerability, there was an untapped defiance in her that intrigued him. She had no idea just how much power she held. He needed her and  he was determined to make her  his.

She was trapped in her life, buried under the weight of expectations and obligations. Lucian had seen it in her eyes when she had handed him her resume—a mixture of hope and something else, something desperate. She was ambitious, but she lacked direction.

That’s where he would come in. He had been watching her for days, studying her every move in her pursuit of a better life. She had no idea, of course, but he found himself intrigued. He had other options, plenty of capable candidates, but none of them ignited the same spark of curiosity.

Elina was different. She was exactly what he needed what he craved. Her unrefined innocence called to the darker side of him.

It was in the way she moved, the way she hesitated, and the way she allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of him. It was all too easy to see her as a blank canvas—someone who could learn, grow, and eventually understand her place in his world. Lucian wasn’t looking for just a personal assistant. He needed someone who could understand the balance of power, someone who could be beneath him in every way. Someone who could be his in every sense. And in return, he would offer her the one thing she craved—direction, purpose, and power of a different kind. In a way, they both needed each other.

The contract

Lucian stood in his office, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He needed her. Not just as an assistant but as a part of his world, one that would be controlled, shaped by his desires. He didn’t need to overthink it any longer. She was exactly what he craved—innocent, yet strong. She was a puzzle, and he intended to solve her.

He walked over to his desk, the cold, polished surface reflecting his movements as he pulled out a blank contract. The time for hesitation had passed. He was a man of action. He would make his move, and Elina would either accept or walk away. But he doubted she’d leave. Not once she saw what he could offer her.

As he began to type, his fingers flying over the keyboard, he thought about the specific terms he’d need to include. The work was straightforward—personal assistant duties. But then he began to add the personal clauses. Her appearance, her behavior, how she would conduct herself in his presence. There was no room for mistakes. His expectations would be clear from the start.

A slight smile tugged at his lips as he drafted a final clause—one that would ensure her compliance, without her even realizing the full extent of his control