Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Broken heart meets icy boss.
The streets of Lancashire City never slept — neon lights blurred into the smog, sirens echoed in the background, and dreams were either born or broken under the weight of ambition.
For Lola Hernandez, today felt like the latter.
She slammed the rusted apartment door shut behind her, hands trembling, tears threatening to spill as Donovan Boris shouted from the other side.
> “I didn’t beg you, Lola! Without me, you’re nothing!” shouted Donovan.
Her fingers clenched. Her jaw locked. She tried to block his voice out, to silence the storm inside her chest.
The argument still echoed in her mind like an unwanted echo:
> "I’m sorry, Donovan… How can I fix this?" she said almost crying.
> "The only apology I’ll accept is you fixing my car, putting $1,000 in my account, and changing my entire closet." Donovan grinning with no shame.
> "What?! I don’t have that kind of money. I’m literally running from the police, Donovan. I work three shifts a day, and you live in my apartment!"
He’d laughed. That smug, selfish laugh of a man who used her and still expected more.
At dawn, Lola wrapped her tangled hair in a scarf, threw on her third-hand jacket, and made her way to the high-rise business district, where the air smelled of espresso, arrogance, and silent suffering.
Samantha Lee, her roommate and only real friend, offered her a half-eaten bagel and a tired smile.
> "You working the temp office at Calum Corp today, right?" she handed her a small cup of coffee.
Lola nodded. Marcus Calum. The name sent shivers down the spine of every woman in the city — half from fear, half from lust.
CEO of Calum Enterprises. Cold, calculated, and cruel. The media adored his ice-blue eyes and hated his ruthless boardroom tactics. He was the kind of man who could break you with a sentence, and never look back.
Lola just needed the paycheck.
The elevator chimed. 40th floor. Her heels clacked against the marble, heart racing as she adjusted the files in her arms. She didn’t belong here. The women wore heels worth more than her rent. Men talked in acronyms and million-dollar deals.
And then—
Marcus Calum stepped out of his corner office.
Sharp suit. Expensive cologne. Eyes like glaciers. Everyone stiffened, lips tight, breaths held.
He stopped in front of Lola.
> "You’re not on the usual staff list. Name?"
> "L-Lola Hernandez. I’m with Platinum Temps."
His gaze lingered. Piercing. Unreadable. She felt naked, like he could see the forged ID card in her wallet and the fear stitched beneath her skin.
> "Follow me."he hissed.
Inside his office, the windows overlooked all of Lancashire. He didn’t speak at first. Just poured himself a drink. Then:
> "You’re overqualified. Your record shows translation skills, accounting knowledge, and typing speed beyond most of my assistants."
She froze.
> That wasn’t on the temp sheet.
He turned to her, eyes narrowing.
> "So who exactly are you running from, Ms. Hernandez?"
Her breath caught.
> "Excuse me?"
> "I don’t ask twice."
She looked up, fire flickering beneath the fear.
> "What do you know about running, Mr. Calum? You sit in a glass tower while people like me drown in the streets below."
A long pause. A twitch of amusement tugged at the corner of his lips — the first crack in the ice.
> "You’ve got teeth, Ms. Hernandez."
> "You’ve got no heart."
For a moment, silence reigned.
And then—
> "You start Monday. My personal assistant."
> "What?"
> "You want to fix your life? Start here. Don’t be late."
Lola stood in stunned silence as he turned away.
Outside the office, Bianca Smith, Marcus’s elegant, high-society fiancée, watched from the corridor, her designer heels clicking in disdain.
> “Well, well. Marcus has a new charity case.”
And across the street, from a dusty cafe, Donovan Boris sat with Gigi Shafar, his secret girlfriend and co-conspirator, watching Lola through binoculars.
> “She thinks she’s free of me,” he smirked.
> “Let her think it,” Gigi purred. “The fall will hurt more when it comes.”
Next Chapter: A Job with Chains, A Heart at War...
