Lisa's POV

The toaster tinged with a violent snap, and a second later a thick, ugly smell of burnt bread invaded the kitchen like a warning. Of course. Of course this would happen when I was already running late.

"Jack, for fuck's sake... Stop eating bread if you don't know how to toast it!"

I screamed from the mirror while aggressively brushing foundation over my face.

I swear, if my younger brother lets me leave the house peacefully even one single morning, the universe will malfunction. I'm convinced God sent this boy specifically to test my patience, like some personal challenge mode.

"Throw that toast in the dustbin right now before I make toast out of you!"

I used my most menacing elder-sister voice.

Jack practically flew out of his bedroom, stumbling over his own feet. Headphones dangled around his neck, shorts hanging so loose they threatened to drop straight to the floor any second. His hair looked like a bird had nested there after a thunderstorm, and he was proudly shirtless for no reason, like anyone wanted to witness his bony chest that could give competition to skeletons in medical labs.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present: my dumb, chaotic, clumsy younger brother.

"Holy shit, sorry, sorry!"

He yelped, grabbing the burning piece of bread bare handed and tossing it into the trash.

"Crap, this toaster is cursed. I'm telling you, this thing is going to kill me one day."

I wanted to pick up the same toaster and smash it over his head. But I was late. I was so late. I inhaled deeply, forcing the rage down. Anger could wait, rent couldn't.

I capped the foundation, marched towards him, seized his hand and dabbed ointment on the burnt spot. His face dropped instantly, guilt pouring over him like a child who knew he messed up.

"I'm sorry..."

He mumbled in a small voice.

"I never let you go to work peacefully. I swear, I'll try harder next time."

And just like that, my fury melted in seconds. God, why does loving him make me so weak?

"Jack,"

I sighed softly, fixing the mess of hair on his head the way a mother smooths her child before school.

"I just want you to find a purpose in your life. You're a big boy now. You need to get a job and do something for yourself."

He looked at me, eyes glossy with sincerity that could make a stone hearted person soften. He wasn't bad, just lost.

"I'm trying, Lisa,"

He said quietly.

"I really am looking for a job. I know you're working hard for both of us. I promise I'll start earning soon and put you at ease."

That small promise lit a warm little spark in my chest. He understood. He saw our situation.

"That's good,"

I smiled, tapping his cheek lightly.

"And stop eating toast before I strangle you."

I gave him our signature mocking glare and walked away. I didn't need to see it; I could feel his dramatic scowl burning into my back.

I finished the makeup and grabbed my purse, checked my reflection in the mirror, pencil skirt straight, blouse tucked, hair secured into a no-nonsense bun. I looked like a professional woman ready to conquer the corporate world. Inside I was a frantic mess, but no one needed to know that.

I opened the door and paused just long enough to see Jack slip another slice of bread into that cursed toaster.

God forbid this boy ever listens to me.

Jack is all I have left. Our only remaining family is each other. When I was eighteen and he was fourteen, our parents died in a car crash. One moment we were a family of four, the next we were orphans. Dad left behind a mountain of debt, and I was forced to sell the house, land, car and everything, just to keep debt collectors from swallowing us alive. We went from belonging to the world to belonging to no one.

I had nothing but a teenage brother and a few pennies but we survived. I worked, I fought, and I refused to break. Somehow, life rewarded that stubbornness. Now we live in a decent rented apartment, eat proper meals, pay bills without trembling, and breathe without fear of eviction.

We're okay. Not perfect, not rich but okay.

I stepped outside, hailed a cab, and sank into the seat with a sigh of exhaustion. When I looked at my watch, I cursed under my breath.

"Fuck. He's going to kill me."

I recently got hired at one of the biggest companies in the market, a giant brand name that people dream of working at. And I'm not just an employee. I'm the secretary of the CEO himself. The salary is good, the experience is priceless, and the career growth is unmatched.

From the outside, it looks like I've hit the jackpot. But people don't see the darkness that comes with it. The unlocked trap hidden inside the dream job.

My boss is a nightmare. Not a regular workplace headache but a full-blown, ruthless, heart crushing hurricane disguised as a man. Since day one he has tried every trick to humiliate me, corner me, make me regret breathing in his presence. It's like he wants me to resign.

But I won't. I need this job. I worked too hard to get here. He doesn't know the kind of fire life has forged inside me. I don't break. I don't quit.

The cab screeched to a stop and I bolted out, sprinting toward the building like a soldier heading into battle.

"Five minutes late!"

The receptionist whispered like she was announcing a death penalty as I jabbed the elevator button.

"Ten minutes late!"

A housekeeping lady gasped when I flew into the pantry to make his coffee.

The irony? There are more than a hundred housekeeping staff on this floor alone who could bring him coffee but no. His secretary must do it. Because he doesn't trust anyone else with his food or drink. Rich people and their bizarre paranoia.

I nearly spilled the hot coffee while running to his office.

I stopped at his door and took one deep breath, steadying myself before walking into hell, then knocked and entered.

And there he was.

Louis Wolf!

The devil of my life. The horror of my nightmares. The man who could silence a room with a single glance and ruin my day with one sentence.

He stood behind his enormous desk like a fortress of stone, tall, broad, brutally intimidating. The custom tailored suit clung to his hard body like it was designed specifically for him. His hands rested casually in his pockets, a power stance that radiated dominance without even trying. Greyish-blue eyes locked on mine, cold enough to freeze blood.

He didn't need to speak. His gaze alone promised that I was doomed for bringing his coffee ten minutes late.

Louis Wolf, the owner of the Wolf Group of Companies. One of the most powerful men in Germany. The kind of man who didn't ask the world to kneel, the world knelt voluntarily.

Rude, arrogant, merciless and unfairly beautiful. God didn't just create this man. He sculpted him. That sharp jaw, those carved cheekbones, the rich dark hair that looked soft enough to tempt a saint, beauty and danger wrapped in one package.

But I didn't have time to admire. I stepped forward and handed him the coffee before he could spit venom.

He took the cup gently and what he did next, made me flinch.