CHAPTER ONE
1766 Words
The shrill alarm blared for the third time that morning. Emery slammed her palm down, silencing it with a groan. Her body begged for just five more minutes, but the cracked screen of her phone flashed 7:42 a.m.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh no. Not again.”
She jumped from her worn out mattress, nearly tripping over the pile of lecture notes scattered on the floor. Her small one room apartment looked like a whirlwind had torn through it, clothes piled on a chair, half-open textbooks stacked beside instant noodle wrappers, and a bucket of water she’d fetched the night before still sitting untouched.
There was no time to fix anything.
Emery dragged on the cleanest blouse she could find, tucked it into a black skirt that had seen better days, and grabbed her bag. She slung the strap across her shoulder, ignoring the loose thread dangling by the zipper.
Her reflection in the cracked mirror wasn’t encouraging. Puffy eyes from late-night studying, lips dry, hair hastily pulled into a bun. She sighed, swiping on a thin layer of lip gloss.
“It’s just one day. They won’t notice,” she muttered, though even she didn’t believe it.
By 7:55, she was outside, sprinting down the dusty street. Her sandals slapped against the ground as she dodged potholes and waved frantically at a passing bus. The conductor gave her a bored look, then finally stopped.
She squeezed inside, clutching her bag tightly against her chest as the bus jolted forward. The air was hot, thick with the smell of sweat and cheap perfume, and Emery struggled to breathe.
Every minute ticked by like a bomb counting down.
8:15.
Her stomach twisted. If she wasn’t inside LUXE Corporation by 8:30 sharp, the HR manager would surely mark her tardy again. Three strikes, and she was out.
And losing this job wasn’t an option.
Not when her mother’s hospital bills were piling higher every week. Not when her younger brother’s school fees were due. Not when she herself still owed tuition.
She gripped the strap of her bag tighter. “Today, I can’t afford to fail.”
The bus jerked to a halt two streets away from her stop. Traffic had locked up the main road. Without thinking twice, Emery jumped down, weaving through cars and pedestrians until her legs burned.
Finally, the silver-glass building of LUXE Tower rose before her like a gleaming monument. Tall, intimidating, a world away from her cramped room.
She swiped sweat from her forehead, forced her breathing to steady, and pushed through the revolving doors.
The lobby was as pristine as ever—white marble floors, glittering chandeliers, receptionists in crisp uniforms. She tried to blend in, to make herself small as she hurried across.
But fate had other plans.
“Stop.”
The voice was low. Cold. Commanding.
Her heart stumbled in her chest. Slowly, she turned.
And there he was.
Damian Cole. CEO of LUXE Corporation. The man whose signature could ruin or save thousands. Dark suit perfectly tailored, jawline sharp, eyes the color of storm clouds. Everything about him screamed authority.
He was watching her.
No—pinning her in place.
Emery swallowed hard. “Good morning, sir,” she managed, forcing her lips into a polite smile.
His gaze flicked to the watch on his wrist. “Morning ended fifteen minutes ago.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “I—I got caught in traffic. The buses....”
He raised one hand, silencing her excuse. The movement was small but absolute.
“You work in my company,” he said, each word clipped. “And in my company, lateness is unacceptable.”
The air felt thinner. Emery’s chest rose and fell too quickly, her excuses drying up on her tongue. Around them, employees hurried past, their eyes carefully averted. No one dared interrupt.
“I—I promise it won’t happen again.”
He studied her for a long, unbearable moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then, he stepped closer. The faint scent of expensive cologne wrapped around her, sharp and clean.
“Promises are worthless without proof,” he said quietly, but there was no softness in his tone. Only ice.
Her throat bobbed as she nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
Damian Cole leaned back, adjusting his cufflinks as though she were already forgotten. But before walking away, he added, “One more mistake, and you’re done here.”
The words hit like a verdict.
Her knees wobbled, but she forced herself to stand tall. She couldn’t cry. Not here, not now.
“Yes, Mr. Cole,” she whispered.
Only when he turned his back did she allow herself to exhale, her chest heaving with both relief and terror.
Emery hurried to the elevator, heart still pounding. She had survived, for now. But she knew one thing for certain:
Working under Damian Cole was going to be hell.
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The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Emery stepped into the twenty-first floor—her department.
Her heels clicked against the polished tiles as she hurried toward her desk. A few heads turned, eyes trailing her like vultures circling prey. She could almost hear their thoughts. Late again. She’s finished.
Emery ignored the whispers, plastering on a tight smile. She slid into her chair, the leather squeaking slightly, and switched on her computer. Her fingers trembled as she arranged her files, trying to look busy. If HR marked her tardy again, she wouldn’t last the week.
The thought made her stomach twist. Losing this job wasn’t just embarrassing; it would be catastrophic.
She had barely begun typing when a voice sliced through the office like a whip.
“Emery Lincoln.”
Her heart froze. Slowly, she raised her eyes.
Standing at the glass entrance was Damian Cole.
The air in the room seemed to change instantly. The faint hum of printers died down, conversations halted mid-word, and keyboards went silent. Everyone straightened in their seats as though an invisible hand had commanded them to attention.
Damian Cole didn’t have to shout. His presence alone demanded obedience.
“Yes, Mr. Cole?” Emery said softly, her throat dry.
“Conference room. Now.”
Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood, every pair of eyes burning into her back. Heat rushed to her face as she followed him, her sandals clicking far too loudly against the marble floor.
Inside the conference room, the door shut with a decisive click.
Damian set his phone down on the long mahogany table. He didn’t sit. He didn’t even acknowledge her at first. He adjusted his cufflinks with deliberate precision, the silence stretching until it weighed like stone.
Emery’s palms grew clammy. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
Finally, he spoke. “Do you enjoy wasting my time?”
She blinked, startled. “N-No, sir. Of course not.”
“Then explain,” his voice was cold, deliberate, “why you think I should continue paying someone who can’t manage to arrive on time. Three times in the past month. Three.”
Her mouth opened, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I—I didn’t mean to. It’s just—”
“Traffic?” His eyes lifted to hers, sharp as blades. “If traffic controls your life, then you have no control. And if you have no control, you don’t belong in LUXE Corporation.”
Each word was an ice-cold dagger.
Emery’s throat tightened. Images of her mother in the hospital, her brother’s school fees, her unpaid tuition—all flashed through her mind. She needed this job more than anything.
“I can do better,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “I swear it won’t happen again.”
Damian tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle. For a fleeting moment, curiosity flickered in his gaze. Then, as if deciding she wasn’t worth the thought, he let it vanish.
“Promises,” he murmured, almost mocking. “Everyone has them. Few deliver.”
“I’ll deliver,” Emery insisted, her voice firmer this time.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t kind. It was the kind of smile that warned of storms.
“Understand this,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “If you arrive late one more time, you’re done here. No second chances. No appeals. No excuses. Am I clear?”
Emery’s heart pounded so hard she thought he might hear it. She wanted to beg him to understand, to tell him about the nights she studied after long shifts, about running from one bus to another just to scrape by.
But she knew men like Damian Cole didn’t care about sob stories. His world was built on precision, discipline, and control.
“Yes, Mr. Cole,” she whispered.
“Good.”
He picked up his phone, dismissing her with a flick of his gaze, already scrolling through messages as though she had ceased to exist.
Her knees felt weak as she left the conference room, the heavy door closing behind her. The moment she was alone in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily.
She had survived. Barely.
When she walked back into the office, all eyes snapped away. Colleagues busied themselves with keyboards and phones, but the silence was louder than words. They didn’t have to say it—everyone knew what it meant to be summoned by the CEO.
Emery returned to her desk, her hands trembling as she picked up her pen. She scribbled on a notepad, pretending to be absorbed in work, but her mind was still back in that room.
Damian Cole’s eyes had been like storm clouds—dark, cold, merciless.
For a brief, terrifying moment, she had felt utterly small, like her existence could be erased with a single command from him.
But beneath the fear, something else simmered.
Anger.
Who was he to treat her like that? Just because he wore designer suits and owned skyscrapers didn’t mean he could trample over her dignity.
Her jaw tightened as she straightened in her seat. He might be her boss, but she wasn’t going to let Damian Cole crush her completely.
The thought steadied her. For now, she would play by his rules, because she needed this job. But one day, she promised herself, she would make him see that she was more than just another disposable employee.
She was Emery Afterall , And she wasn’t going to break that easily.
"NEVER"
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#One love 💗
- Writer
