Kayna’s POV

If nerves had a flavor, mine would be bitter sweet black coffee with a side of self-doubt.

The elevator chimed as it reached the top floor of Marshall Dynamics Inc, a towering monument of glass, steel, and unyielding silence. I adjusted the collar of my thrifted black blazer and stepped into the polished hallway like a soldier walking into a battle field with heels that pinched from being too tight and a resume that reeked of pure desperation.

“Ms. Kayna Scott?” A sharp, brisk voice sliced through the quiet.

I turned to face a woman in her early forties, every inch of her styled to perfection. She was the kind of person who could fire you with a smile and a flick of her perfect French-manicured hand.

“Yes. That’s me.”

She glanced down at her tablet. “You’re five minutes early.”

“I can wait, I don’t mind.”

She nodded, but didn’t smile. “Follow me.”

I did, resisting the urge to wipe my now sweaty palms on my grey skirt. The hallway was lined with frosted glass doors and minimalist furniture that probably cost more than my entire apartment’s annual rent. I’d sent my application in on a whim, three hours after the job posting appeared. I wasn’t even expecting a callback let alone to be shortlisted for an interview scheduled less than twenty-four hours later.

And I definitely wasn’t expecting this.

“Who… am I meeting, exactly?” I asked as we turned a corner.

She gave me a sidelong glance. “Mr. Marshall. He prefers to handle final interviews personally.”

My stomach dropped.

The Damian Marshall.

The reclusive tech billionaire. The man whose glare could freeze air apparently if I was judging by all the things the blogs said about him.

The boss who reportedly made three assistants cry in a single week and fired all of them by the weekend.

Fantastic!

We stopped outside a matte black door with a silver plaque that simply read CEO Marshall Dynamics Inc.

“He doesn’t like to repeat himself,” the assistant warned. “Don’t interrupt. Don’t lie. And don’t assume he’s joking.”

I swallowed hard. “Noted.” At this point my feet were threatening to give way from how anxious I was.

She knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

“Mr. Marshall, your ten-thirty appointment is here.”

A voice came from inside—low, clipped, nonchalant and unreadable. “Okay, send her in.”

The woman gave me one last tight smile, one that reeked of either sympathy or amusement, I couldn’t tell just before she stepped aside.

I walked in, back straight, chin up, trying not to look like I belonged in coffee shop instead. That was indeed my last job and I honestly was fed up with the low income lifestyle.

The office was huge, simple yet elegantly furnished and flooded with daylight from floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan’s skyline. But it wasn’t the view that stole my breath.

It was him.

Damian Marshall stood by the window, dressed in an impeccable navy blue suit, his broad shoulders sharp beneath the fabric. He didn’t turn right away. He just stood there, one hand in his pocket, watching the city like he owned it.

Which, judging by the headlines, he practically did.

When he finally turned, it was like someone pressed slow motion on my senses. Sharp jaw. Cold steel-blue eyes. The type of eyes that could suck in souls. The kind of face sculpted not for softness, but for control.

And it was looking directly at me.

I swallowed. “Good morning, Mr. Marshall.” I spoke suddenly before my words could get stuck in my throat.

His gaze flicked over me, unreadable.As if he was assessing me of some sort. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Is that a problem?”

His brow arched slightly. “That depends on whether you came here to impress me or waste my time.”

Neither, I wanted to say. I came here to survive.

Instead, I stepped forward and extended my resume. He didn’t take it.

“I’ve already reviewed your file.”

Of course he had.

“You worked three jobs through college,” he said, his voice smooth but detached. “Coffee shop, medical receptionist, warehouse inventory assistant.”

“Yes.”

“You’re underqualified for this position.”

“I know.” I wanted to defend myself but his voice cut me off.

“Why apply?” He said sternly.

I met his gaze, steady. Trying to yield all the confidence I had left in my body.

“Because I’m good at adapting. I learn fast. And no one will work harder than me.”

He studied me for a little minute. The air between us stretched tight, tension simmering beneath the surface like the moment before a storm.

“You also have a tendency to challenge authority.” he said.

My eyes widened. “I—”

“You corrected your last employer’s calendar in front of a board member. He filed a complaint.”

I flushed. “The board member had the wrong date for a product launch. I didn’t mean to embarrass anyone I was just trying to prevent an error.”

“You were right,” he said simply. “But you embarrassed him. That cost your boss a partnership.”

Silence fell.

I didn’t know if I’d just failed the interview or passed some twisted test.

Damian circled to the front of the desk and leaned against it, folding his arms. “I don’t tolerate mistakes. I don’t also condone incompetence. And I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”

“Understood Sir.” I replied politely.

“But I value precision. And I value boldness—when it’s paired with loyalty.”

He paused, then added, “Do you have any loyalty to me, Ms. Scott?”

I blinked. “We just met.”

His lips curved into something almost like a smile—but colder. “Exactly.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, neither of us blinking.

Then he straightened, walked behind the desk, and opened a drawer. He pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk.

“Starting salary. Confidentiality agreement. Two-week trial.”

I stepped forward slowly. “I’m hired?”

“You’re being tested. You’ll be on probation for the meantime and if you meet the necessary requirements you’ll be hired.”

I opened the folder. My jaw dropped slightly at the salary figure.

“If you last,” he said, “you’ll have access to classified client accounts, personal scheduling, and boardroom strategy. My former assistant… vacated the position suddenly.”

“Why?”

His eyes turned icy. “That’s none of your concern.”

My pulse kicked. “Understood Sir.”

Damian pressed a button on the phone. “Miss Ava, bring the nondisclosure forms. Ms. Scott is joining the team.”

I hadn’t even signed yet.

“I—should probably read this over.”

“You have ten minutes,” he said without missing a beat. “Then you’ll join me in the conference room for an internal audit review.”

“An audit?”

“If you’re as fast a learner as you say, this won’t be a problem.”

Before I could answer, the door opened and the assistant;Ava entered with a folder in hand.

She gave me a look that clearly said I hope you know what you’re doing.

I didn’t.

But I’d made it through the first door.

Now I just had to survive what was behind the next.