She'd designed for street vendors, university orgs, and local cafés, but now she stood in the waiting room of the most elite creative agency in the country. Monteverde Creatives was owned by the infamous Elian Monteverde-tech billionaire, luxury brand mogul, and the man every woman secretly googled.
Amira had only seen him on magazine covers and business articles. He looked like a man carved from marble: sharp jaw, intense eyes, and a reputation colder than an iced espresso.
"Miss Dela Cruz?" the receptionist called. "Mr. Monteverde will see you now."
Amira blinked. "Wait... him? Personally?"
"Yes." The woman smiled, eyes flicking to her shoes, then her thrift-store bag. "Don't keep him waiting."
Her knees wobbled as she followed the assistant down a long, sleek hallway. The doors to the CEO's office opened, and the first thing she noticed was the view-floor-to-ceiling windows over the entire city.
The second thing she noticed was him.
Elian Monteverde, in a dark navy suit with sleeves rolled to the elbows, stood behind his desk, flipping through a file that she realized was hers.
He looked up. Hazel eyes met hers, unreadable. Intense.
"Miss Dela Cruz." His voice was low, smooth. "Sit."
Amira obeyed quickly, clutching her knees under the chair. She hadn't expected him to be this intimidating in person.
"You designed this?" he asked, holding up a sample from her portfolio.
"Yes, sir."
"You're aware this is on the level of someone with ten years in the field?"
She blinked. "I... I'm self-taught. No formal education, but I practice every day."
He didn't smile. "Impressive." He slid the folder aside. "Tell me why us? Why Monteverde?"
Amira hesitated. "Because you're the best. And I want to prove I belong here... even if no one else thinks I do."
A shadow crossed his face just for a second. Then he stood.
"You'll start Monday. Design assistant. Six-month probation."
She nearly fell off the chair. "Wait I'm hired?"
"I don't offer second chances," he said simply. "Be early. Be brilliant. And one more thing..."
She froze. "Yes?"
His eyes bored into hers. "Don't let anyone here think they're better than you. Especially the ones who wear diamonds to work and couldn't design a logo if their lives depended on it."
And just like that, Elian Monteverde turned and walked away.
Two weeks into the job, Amira realized the office was more than intense it was a battlefield.
Clarisse Alonzo, the woman on every gossip blog and heiress to the Alonzo Hotel chain, was both the fiancée of her boss and an unofficial queen bee in the company's social circles. She didn't work there. She didn't need to. But she visited often and every time, tension spiked.
Clarisse didn't like Amira. She didn't say it out loud, but the icy glances and passive-aggressive compliments made it obvious.
But Amira focused on her work. She stayed late, picked up slack others left behind, and poured her soul into every design.
Then one night, everything changed.
The building was quiet. Most had left hours ago, but Amira stayed behind, tweaking a concept board for an international campaign.
"Elian won't like the colors," she muttered, adjusting the palette. "Too safe."
A voice cut through the silence. "He won't."
She turned and there he was.
Elian leaned against the doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled, tie loose. "You're still here."
She stood quickly. "Yes, sir. I wanted to get this just right before the pitch."
He stepped closer, eyes scanning the screen. "You adjusted the symmetry. Good. It's stronger now."
She nodded, heart racing.
"You don't have to prove anything, Amira," he said, softer this time. "Not to me."
"I'm not proving anything," she said quietly. "I'm just... trying to deserve the opportunity you gave me."
He moved closer. "You already do."
There was a long pause.
She felt the weight of his gaze. Her breath caught.
And before she could think, before either of them could pull away he kissed her.
It was soft at first, almost hesitant. But then it deepened, urgent, electric. Like something that had been building for weeks and finally broke free.
When they pulled apart, breathless, Amira looked stunned.
"I-I should go," she whispered.
But Elian didn't move.
Neither did she.
The next morning, the office buzzed with something sharp and invisible. Amira walked in pretending nothing had happened. So did Elian.
But someone had seen.
Someone always did.
Camille Reyes, head of HR and Clarisse's close friend, had been in the building late. She saw the kiss. And she took pictures.
By lunchtime, Clarisse had the photos in her inbox.
And all hell was about to break loose.