There were days Emma Carter wondered what it felt like to be seen.

Not just looked at. Not nodded to in a hallway. Seen – truly, deliberately, by someone who meant it. But that kind of luxury didn't exist in the world she belonged to now. Not in a city where ambition whispered louder than kindness. Not in a skyscraper ruled by glass walls and colder hearts.

At 6:00 a.m., she was already awake-sitting on the edge of her twin bed, staring at the dented floorboard beneath her slippers. Her phone alarm buzzed again, muffled by the cheap bedsheets she'd forgotten to fold the night before.

"Mom?" came the sleepy voice from down the narrow hallway.

Emma stood quickly. "Coming, baby."

Max, her six-year-old tornado with bright eyes and a stubborn jaw, was already up, his hair a mess of curls and his favorite bear clutched tight.

"I had a dream I was a robot," he said proudly. "And I had laser arms."

"That's impressive," Emma replied, ruffling his hair. "Now go brush those laser teeth."

She packed his lunch, signed a permission slip with a half-dried pen, and kissed him goodbye at the school gates, watching him disappear into the building with the quiet ache of a mother who knew she could never give him everything-but still tried.

Then she became someone else.

The secretary. The helper. The one who fixed things behind the scenes and smiled as others took credit for the work. The one no one noticed unless something went wrong.

Hayes Enterprises shimmered under the early sunlight-twenty-nine floors of intimidation. The kind of place that didn't hire people like Emma unless it needed someone cheap, reliable, and invisible.

She rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor with a group of silent professionals. No one spoke. No one acknowledged her. The unspoken hierarchy was always present: assistants at the front desks, associates in the glass offices, power players behind closed doors.

Emma stepped out and clocked in.

Her cubicle was tucked between two filing rooms, where the walls were thin and gossip even thinner. Most days, she kept her head down, blending in like wallpaper.

"Carter," called a familiar voice. Mrs. Langston. Short, sharp, perpetually unimpressed.

Emma stood. "Morning."

"Mr. Hayes wants the quarterly forecast in his inbox by ten. And coffee. Black. No sugar. And please, no lipstick smudges this time."

Emma blinked. "Of course."

Langston didn't wait for a response. She never did.

Emma sighed and took the elevator to the executive level, clutching the forecast and praying she hadn't made a single error. Jack Hayes wasn't exactly forgiving. The last girl who handed him the wrong file ended up in accounting. No one heard from her again.

The elevator doors opened to silence. The executive floor always felt colder. Quieter. Like something important was always happening just out of view.

His office door was slightly ajar. Emma knocked once.

"Come in," came the voice-calm, composed, and flat.

She stepped in, the plush carpet muffling her shoes. Jack Hayes sat behind a dark wood desk, fingers moving over a sleek keyboard, blue-gray eyes locked on the screen in front of him. The skyline behind him looked unreal through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He barely glanced up.

She set the coffee down gently and placed the file beside it. "Your coffee, sir. And the quarterly forecast."

"Leave it."

She paused, unsure if she should go.

Then he looked up.

"Emma Carter," he said, as if confirming something to himself.

"Yes, sir."

"You're not Langston's favorite, are you?"

The question threw her. "I wouldn't know."

"You should be." He tapped the folder without opening it. "You're the only one in that department who delivers clean numbers. I checked."

Emma blinked. "Thank you."

"It's not praise. It's accuracy."

A beat passed.

"I value accuracy."

She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.

"You can go."

As she turned to leave, he added, almost absently, "You've been here how long?"

"Eighteen months."

He nodded slightly. "You'll hear from me soon."

That was all. Just a murmur. But it lingered in her ears like a static charge.

The rest of the day dragged and flew at once. Emails multiplied. Copy requests. Budget corrections. Rescheduling meetings others had double-booked. Emma handled it all with quiet precision, while across the office, people whispered about Sarah Mitchell.

"Did you hear?" one of the interns murmured near the copier. "She stormed out of the executive lounge this morning."

"She said something about being 'done babysitting a robot,'" another whispered. "Think she quit?"

"Or got fired."

Emma didn't join the speculation. She just kept working.

Still, by 6:00 p.m., the tension was a living thing. A silence had fallen over the floor. Langston was gone. So were the department heads. The only light came from Emma's desk and the glowing elevator buttons.

She rubbed her temples, exhausted. She should have left an hour ago, but unfinished work weighed on her like sandbags. Max would already be home with her sister. She hated missing dinner.

Just as she shut her laptop, the elevator opened again.

Jack Hayes stepped out.

He wore a navy suit, coat folded over one arm, and a phone tucked against his shoulder.

"No, the merger won't stall," he said as he passed her. "Because I'm not going to let it."

He ended the call as he reached the printer, flipping through a stack of papers. Then, without looking up, he said, "You're still here."

Emma stood slowly. "Just finishing reports."

"Sarah's gone."

She hesitated. "I heard."

"You'll step in. Temporarily. Until a replacement is found."

Her heart stuttered.

"Yes, sir."

"Seven-thirty sharp. Expect early emails. You'll be copied on board memos and legal reviews."

"Yes, sir."

He looked at her, not unkindly-but with that same cold precision.

"I don't care how long you've been here. Just don't disappoint me."

Then he walked back to his office and shut the door.

Emma stood frozen, her pulse racing. It wasn't a promotion. Not really. Just a trial. But it was the closest she'd ever come to being pulled into the heart of Hayes Enterprises.

And she couldn't afford to fail.

That night, as she rode the bus home, Emma opened her phone to check the onboarding emails.

A notification caught her eye.

A shared drive had been synced to her account-full of legacy documents from Jack's assistant's role.

She scrolled through briefly, intending to skim the files later.

Then she saw the folder.

CLAIRE W. – Internal Contracts – Priority Access

Claire.

Jack's longtime girlfriend. The woman everyone assumed he'd marry. The one who never visited the office, but whose name came up in strategy meetings more than once.

Why was there an entire file of internal contracts under her name?

Emma stared at it, fingers hovering over the screen.

A thousand instincts told her to close it.

She didn't.

She opened it.

And what she saw made her eyes narrow.

But she wouldn't know how deeply those documents would change everything-not yet.