Cassandra Ilustre had exactly seven minutes left before her interview, and she was already convinced that the entire universe was plotting against her.
First, the jeepney she rode broke down halfway to Makati. Then the security guard at Aldevar Industries directed her to the wrong building. And now—worst of all—she was trapped inside a glass elevator that seemed determined to climb slower than a turtle on sedatives.
"Come on. Move," she whispered, tapping her foot anxiously as the elevator crawled upward. She needed this internship. No—she needed this chance. She'd promised her mom she would land something stable this semester, something that could help them pay the rent on time. Something that didn't involve juggling three part-time gigs and pretending she wasn't exhausted every day.
When the elevator finally chimed open on the 42nd floor, Cassie let out a breath of relief. She stepped out, smoothing her skirt and brushing back loose strands of her brown hair.
Except… something felt wrong.
The hallway was too quiet. Too polished. Too intimidating.
This didn't look like HR.
But the door at the end of the hallway had a sign that read:
CONFERENCE ROOM A — INTERVIEW PROCESS TODAY
She brightened. "Finally."
She hurried forward, pushed the door open, and froze.
This wasn't HR.
It was a giant office—cold, elegant, and terrifyingly expensive-looking. Floor-to-ceiling windows washed the room in morning light, illuminating a massive oak desk. And behind that desk sat a man.
Not just any man.
A man who looked like he could freeze the sun by blinking at it.
He wore a black suit tailored so perfectly it probably cost more than her entire yearly tuition. His posture was straight, rigid, and commanding. His jawline sharp enough to slice through legal documents. Eyes dark, focused, and colder than the air-conditioned room.
He didn't even look up when he spoke.
"You're late."
Cassie blinked. "I—what?"
"Sit," he said, still writing something on a document without sparing her a glance.
Against her better judgment, she sat. Maybe this was a private interview? Maybe HR assigned her to someone higher up?
She cleared her throat. "Sir, I think there's been a misunderstanding—"
"You're applying for a position here, aren't you?" he interrupted, voice flat.
"Well… yes, but—"
"Then you're late," he repeated.
The way he said it made something spike inside her—frustration, annoyance, disbelief. She crossed her arms.
"With all due respect, sir, it's barely 9:03. And I got the wrong directions from your security guard downstairs. The elevator took forever. And this floor—"
He finally looked up.
Her breath caught.
His gaze, sharp and assessing, pinned her like a spotlight.
"Excuses," he said calmly.
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"You're making excuses," he repeated, as if he were discussing the weather.
That was it. Cassie's patience—thin to begin with—snapped.
"I'm not making excuses. I'm explaining," she retorted. "You know, the thing normal people do before getting judged by a stranger in a five-hundred-thousand-peso suit."
His eyebrow arched—not in offense, but in interest. As if she were an unusual creature he was studying.
"And you are…?" he asked.
"Cassie Ilustre," she said, chin lifted. "Applicant for the internship."
His eyes dropped to her résumé on his desk—wait, how did he get that?—then scanned her from head to toe in one swift, unreadable sweep.
"You don't seem intimidated," he noted.
"I'm not supposed to be," she replied. "It's a job interview, not an execution."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely. Almost invisible.
Almost.
"Tell me," he said, leaning back in his chair, "why should Aldevar Industries hire someone who can't even arrive on time?"
She clenched her teeth. "Because I work hard. I don't quit. I don't run away from problems. And I actually want this job."
She swallowed.
"And because getting here wasn't easy for me. Nothing ever is. But I'm still here."
Silence.
For a moment, he simply watched her. Studied her. Measured her.
Then his phone buzzed. He didn't look at it.
"Your honesty is refreshing," he said quietly. "Most applicants try too hard to impress me."
"I'm not here to impress you," Cassie said before she could stop herself.
He held her gaze. "Clearly."
Another buzz. And another. He finally checked the screen, his expression tightening.
A second later, he stood. Towering. Commanding.
"This interview is over," he said.
Cassie's heart dropped. So she really blew it.
"Wait—sir, please, if you could just give me—"
"Report to the 39th floor in ten minutes."
She blinked. "Huh?"
He grabbed his suit jacket. "You're hired."
Cassie shot up from her chair. "W—wait. What? I—I thought—"
"You thought I was rejecting you?" he asked without looking back.
"Yes!"
"You were wrong."
He headed for the door, pausing only to say:
"Starting today, you're my assistant."
"Assistant?" she squeaked. "But I applied as an intern!"
"I don't need an intern," he said simply. "I need someone who can keep up."
"But I don't know anything about—"
"You'll learn."
"But why me?"
Finally, he looked back.
Dark eyes. Sharp stare.
"Because you're not afraid of me."
"I— I didn't say that—"
"You didn't need to."
He opened the door.
"Welcome to Aldevar Industries, Miss Ilustre."
"But—sir—wait! What's your name? I—"
He looked at her one last time.
"Soren Aldevar."
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
The CEO.
The billionaire himself.
And she just argued with him.
"Don't be late again," he said.
Then he was gone.
Leaving Cassie stunned, speechless, and hired by the coldest man she had ever met.