HANA'S POV:
The coffee mug slipped from my fingers and exploded on the kitchen floor.
"No, no, no!" I dove for the paper towels, my heart racing. That was my last clean mug. Everything else was piled in the sink from three days of being too exhausted to care.
My phone buzzed angrily on the counter. Another message. I didn't need to look to know who it was.
**KIERAN ASHFORD: Where is the Henderson report revision?**
My hands shook as I typed back.
**ME: Sent it at 2 AM, sir.**
**KIERAN ASHFORD: Unacceptable. Redo sections 4-7. On my desk by 7 AM.**
I checked the time. 5:47 AM.
"I hate you," I whispered to my phone. "I hate you so much."
But I was already grabbing my laptop bag, my half-drunk coffee forgotten in the puddle on the floor. My boss didn't care that I'd stayed up until two in the morning. He never cared. Kieran Ashford only cared about perfection, and somehow, I was never perfect enough.
I yanked on yesterday's wrinkled blouse because I hadn't done laundry in a week. My hair went into a messy bun. No time for makeup. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked like a zombie, but that was pretty much normal these days.
Two years. I'd been working for Kieran Ashford for two years, three months, and sixteen days.
Not that I was counting or anything.
I grabbed my bag and ran for the bus stop, my cheap heels clicking against the sidewalk. The morning air was cold and bit at my cheeks. I made it to the bus just as the doors started closing.
"Wait!" I squeezed through, gasping.
The other passengers stared at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. Crazy for keeping this job. Crazy for not quitting months ago.
But I needed the money. Mom's medical bills before she died had eaten through everything. I was still paying them off, plus rent, plus student loans. I was drowning in debt, and Ashford Industries paid well.
Even if my boss was the worst human being on the planet.
My phone buzzed again.
**KIERAN ASHFORD: 6:15 AM. Where are you?**
I wanted to scream. Instead, I typed: **On my way, sir.**
The bus couldn't move fast enough. I watched the minutes tick by—6:20, 6:25, 6:30. I was going to be late. He was going to destroy me.
I practically fell off the bus at my stop and ran the three blocks to Ashford Industries. The building was huge and glass and beautiful, like everything Kieran Ashford owned. I burst through the lobby doors at 6:53 AM.
"Morning, Hana!" called Jerry, the security guard.
I couldn't answer. I was too busy running for the elevators.
The ride to the top floor felt like forever. I checked my reflection in the shiny elevator walls and groaned. My bun was falling apart. My shirt had a coffee stain I hadn't noticed. I looked like I'd been dragged through a tornado.
Perfect.
The elevator dinged. I stepped out into the executive suite, my heart pounding.
And there he was.
Kieran Ashford sat behind his massive desk, looking like he'd just stepped out of a magazine. Dark suit, perfectly fitted. Not a hair out of place. His gray eyes lifted from his computer screen to look at me, and I felt about two inches tall.
"You're late," he said. His voice was cold and sharp.
"It's 6:55, sir. You said 7 AM."
"I said on my desk by 7 AM. That means you should have been here by 6:45 to prepare." He stood up, tall and intimidating. "The Henderson report?"
I fumbled with my bag, pulling out my laptop. "I revised sections 4-7 like you asked. I can print it right now—"
"Let me see it first."
I hurried to his desk, opened the file, and turned the laptop toward him. He leaned forward, those cold gray eyes scanning the screen. I held my breath.
Thirty seconds passed. A minute. Two minutes.
"This is still inadequate," he finally said.
My stomach dropped. "But I spent four hours—"
"Four hours to produce mediocre work?" He straightened, looking down at me. "Miss Min, I don't pay you to waste time. I pay you to be excellent. This is not excellent."
Anger flashed through me, hot and sudden. I was so tired. So incredibly tired. I'd stayed up until 2 AM working on that report. I'd skipped dinner. I hadn't slept more than four hours.
And it still wasn't good enough.
"I'll fix it," I said through gritted teeth.
"Yes, you will. I want the complete revision by noon." He handed my laptop back to me like it was contaminated. "Also, the Morgan files need reorganizing, the conference room setup for today's meeting is wrong, and I need coffee. You know my order."
Of course I knew his order. Oat milk latte, extra shot, exactly 140 degrees. I'd memorized it after the fifth time he'd sent it back for being "wrong."
"Right away, sir," I managed to say.
I turned to leave, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. I would not cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
"Oh, and Miss Min?"
I stopped, not turning around. "Yes?"
"In the future, try to look presentable when you come to work. This is a professional environment."
My face burned. I wanted to quit right there. Throw my laptop at his perfect face and walk out forever.
But I needed this job.
"Of course, sir," I whispered.
I made it to my desk outside his office before my hands started shaking. I collapsed into my chair and pressed my palms against my eyes.
Two years. How had I survived two years of this?
My phone buzzed. A text from Sophie, my best friend and the only reason I hadn't gone completely insane.
**SOPHIE: Still alive?**
**ME: Barely. He's in rare form today.**
**SOPHIE: Lunch at Fang & Claw? You need drinks.**
**ME: It's 7 AM.**
**SOPHIE: Your point?**
Despite everything, I smiled. Sophie always knew how to make things better.
I took a deep breath and got to work. Reports to revise, files to organize, coffee to fetch. Just another day in hell.
But as I stood up to head to the coffee shop downstairs, something strange happened.
The lights in the office flickered. Once. Twice.
Kieran's office door was closed, but through the frosted glass, I saw his silhouette. He was standing very still, his head tilted like he was listening to something.
Then his phone rang. Even through the door, I heard it—loud and urgent.
He answered, and though I couldn't hear words, his voice sounded... different. Sharp. Dangerous.
The lights flickered again.
My skin prickled with goosebumps, and I didn't know why. Something felt wrong. Different.
Kieran's office door suddenly flew open. He stood in the doorway, and for just a second—less than a second—his eyes looked... gold. Not gray. Gold.
I blinked, and they were gray again.
"Miss Min," he said, his voice tight. "Cancel all my meetings today. Tell anyone who asks that I'm unavailable."
"Is everything okay, sir?"
His jaw clenched. "Just do it."
He started to close the door, then stopped. He looked at me, really looked at me, and something flickered across his face. Something that looked almost like... fear?
"Stay in the building today," he said quietly. "Don't leave for any reason. Do you understand?"
"I... what? Why?"
"Just trust me. Stay inside."
Then he closed the door.
I stood there, frozen, my heart racing for a completely different reason now.
What just happened? Why did his eyes look gold? Why couldn't I leave the building?
And why did Kieran Ashford, the coldest man I'd ever met, suddenly sound worried?
About me?