You are currently living in a cramped, drafty apartment with a radiator that constantly clanks and a stack of overdue bills sitting on your kitchen counter. Your life is an endless, exhausting cycle of counting pennies and checking job boards. When an entry-level opening for a personal assistant at Rossi Global pops up, it feels like a pipe dream. Everyone knows the company; its reach is staggering, and its owner, Vincent "Vince" Rossi, is the richest man on earth. Still, you polish your resume, send it in, and pray for a miracle.

The miracle actually happens when you receive an email invitation for an in-person interview. On the day of the appointment, you ride the crowded subway, nervously smoothing down the only decent blazer you own—a cheap, slightly worn piece from a thrift store that doesn't quite fit right but is clean. When you step out in front of the Rossi Global headquarters, the sheer scale of the towering glass-and-steel skyscraper makes you feel incredibly small.

You pass through an intense security checkpoint at the entrance, where guard after guard eyes you with a strange, unblinking intensity that feels far too heavy for a corporate lobby. After your name is checked against the system, you are escorted up a private elevator that bypasses thirty floors in absolute silence.

The doors slide open to the executive penthouse suite. The transition is jarring; the sleek, hyper-modern glass of the building suddenly gives way to heavy, dark wood paneling, deep crimson rugs, and a quiet so profound it makes your ears ring. A quiet, sharp-dressed receptionist points you toward a massive set of double doors at the end of the hall.

Your heart thumps against your ribs as you walk down the corridor, your cheap heels clicking against the hardwood where the rugs don't cover it. You take a deep breath, push the heavy doors open, and step inside. The room is breathtakingly beautiful, staggering in its wealth, and steeped in an older world. It feels less like a corporate office and more like a private, antique sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the entire city skyline, but the interior is dominated by massive bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, a roaring stone fireplace, and heavy, dark mahogany furniture that looks hundreds of years old.

Sitting behind a massive antique desk is Vince. he has a sharp buzzed haircut and an intense, striking face that looks even more intimidating in person than it does on billboards. He is wearing an incredibly expensive, bespoke three-piece suit with sleek leather gloves. He doesn't look up immediately, keeping his dark eyes fixed on a file in front of him. The air in the office is freezing, heavy, and completely still, and his posture radiates a cold, unbothered authority that makes you freeze right at the threshold.