I pushed the door open. Álvaro was standing by the window, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. He hadn’t turned around yet, but his presence filled the room. At thirty-four, he was a force of nature—brilliant, ruthless in business, and devastatingly handsome in a cold, aristocratic way. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his dark hair immaculately styled. For two years, I had managed his chaotic schedule, anticipated his needs, and maintained a flawless professional distance. I knew how he liked his coffee, how he structured his investments, and how he dealt with adversaries. But I did not know the man beneath the armor.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Montenegro?” I said, my voice cracking slightly. I hated how weak I sounded.
He turned slowly, his piercing gray eyes locking onto mine. He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze scanning my face, noting the dark circles under my eyes, the tension in my shoulders.
“You look terrible, Elena,” he said, his tone entirely devoid of pity. It was just a statement of fact.
“I apologize, sir. I’ve had a… personal emergency. But I assure you, it won’t affect my performance.”
“It already has,” Álvaro said, walking over to his massive mahogany desk. He picked up a tablet and slid it across the sleek surface toward me. “You missed three scheduling confirmations this morning. The Tokyo meridian contract was delayed by two hours because you weren’t at your desk to authorize the secure file transfer.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “I… I am so sorry, Mr. Montenegro. My mother was involved in a severe hit-and-run last night. She’s in the ICU. I had to—”
“I know,” he interrupted softly.
I blinked, stunned. “You know?”
“I make it my business to know everything that happens to my core staff,” Álvaro replied, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms. “I also know about the medical bill. Ten thousand dollars due by noon tomorrow, or they transfer her to a state-run facility with a three-month waiting list for the surgery she desperately needs.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. The humiliation of having my private tragedy laid bare before my billionaire boss was agonizing. “Yes, sir. But I will find a way to pay it. I just need a little time—”
“You don’t have time,” he countered coldly. “And you don’t have the collateral for a bank loan. Your credit score is average, and your apartment is rented. No one is going to lend you ten thousand dollars in twenty-four hours.”
Every word he spoke was a nail in the coffin of my hope. He was right. I was trapped. I looked down at my shoes, biting my lip so hard I tasted copper, trying to suppress the sob building in my chest.
“However,” Álvaro’s voice cut through the silence, smoother now, almost velvet. “I am a businessman, Elena. I believe in solutions. And I am willing to provide a solution for you.”
I looked up, a glimmer of desperate hope flaring in my chest. “A company loan? An advance on my salary? Oh, thank you, Mr. Montenegro! I’ll work double shifts, I’ll take no vacation days, I’ll—”
“Not a loan,” he said, cutting me off again. He straightened up and walked toward me, stopping just inches away. The scent of his expensive cologne—sandalwood and expensive leather—wrapped around my senses. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back to look at him. His gray eyes were dark, unreadable, and dangerous.
“Then… what?” I whispered.
