Alexander

She arrived at the interview bright-eyed and enthusiastic.

I noticed it immediately—the way she held herself, the quiet determination in her posture. She wasn’t like the others who walked into my office, intimidated before they even sat down.

She wanted this.

Good.

I leaned back in my chair, assessing her carefully. I had already decided she would either impress me or be forgotten.

Her resume was promising, but words on a page meant nothing until I saw proof.

I handed her the document, my expression unreadable. "Read the first section aloud."

That was when it changed.

The excitement in her eyes dimmed.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the paper. Seconds passed. Then more.

She stared at the words as if they were in a language she didn’t understand.

I frowned. "Well?"

She swallowed hard, her breath uneven.

More silence.

My patience thinned. "If you can’t complete a simple task, there’s no place for you here."

Her shoulders tensed. She didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. She simply nodded, placed the paper back on the desk, and walked out.

I forgot about her before she even left the building.

By the end of the day, I had hired someone else.

The matter was closed.

Or so I thought.

Hours later, her name resurfaced.

I wasn’t planning to look at her file again. But as I reviewed the applicant list, something made me stop.

Her file was still open on my screen.

I skimmed through it, barely paying attention—until I saw it.

One word.

Dyslexia.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut.

She wasn’t incompetent. She physically couldn’t read the document the way I expected.

I clenched my jaw, fingers tightening around the pen in my hand.

I had misjudged her. Badly.

For the first time in years, something unfamiliar settled in my chest. Regret.

I hated the feeling.

More than that—I hated that I had let her walk away.

I picked up my phone, my voice sharp. "Find her. Now."

I expected her to accept my offer.

She didn’t.

When she stepped into my office again, there was no nervousness this time.

Only distance.

I didn’t waste time. "The job is yours."

She inhaled slowly, then shook her head. "No."

I stilled.

"Excuse me?"

Her gaze met mine, steady. "I don’t want to work for you."

I narrowed my eyes. "You needed this job."

"I did. But I won’t work for someone who dismissed me so easily."

A slow, simmering irritation built inside me.

"You’re making a mistake."

She lifted her chin. "No. You did. And I don’t need you to fix it."

I watched as she turned and walked out of my office.

I should have let her go.

I didn’t.

The surveillance started immediately.

A simple order to my security team: Keep an eye on her.

Routine. Necessary.

Then came the gifts.

At first, small gestures. A bouquet of her favorite flowers left at her apartment door. No note, no signature.

Then, an anonymous scholarship fund. A wardrobe upgrade. A deposit in her bank account.

She returned the money.

Ignored the flowers.

Left the designer clothing untouched.

I clenched my jaw. Stubborn girl.

Did she truly think she could reject what I was offering? That she could simply walk out of my life and be forgotten?

Then came the confrontation.

She hadn’t known she was being watched. Not until she turned a corner one evening and saw my men.

She confronted them. Demanded answers.

She didn’t get them.

So she came to me.

She stormed into my office without permission.

My employees looked horrified. I silenced them with a glance.

She stopped in front of my desk, anger burning in her eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I leaned back, unfazed. "Elaborate."

"The surveillance. The gifts. The money. I don’t want any of it."

I studied her carefully. She was furious. Frustrated.

But not afraid.

Interesting.

"You refused my offer. I simply provided for you in another way."

Her jaw tightened. "I don’t want you to."

I sighed. She was making this difficult.

"I disagree."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Of course you do. Because you think you always know best."

I stood, moving around the desk. She didn’t step back.

"You don’t understand something." My voice was soft. Dangerous. "You caught my attention. And I do not let go of things that are mine."

She exhaled sharply. "I’m not yours."

I smirked. "We’ll see."

She turned to leave.

I let her.

For now.

But she would realize soon enough.

She was already mine.