The morning after the board call dawned gray and heavy, clouds pressed low against the skyline. From her small apartment, Sophie could see the city swaddled in fog, the streets damp with an overnight drizzle. It gave everything the washed-out look of a photograph half-developed. She tugged on her jacket and wrapped her scarf tighter, though it wasn't the weather that made her stomach twist.

Her phone buzzed at 7:12 a.m.—an unsaved number she already knew belonged to Margo.

Be in my office at 8 sharp. Bring the reports I flagged yesterday. We'll review together.
—M

The words were crisp, efficient, yet the effect on Sophie was anything but. She stared at the message as she sipped her coffee, heart ticking unreasonably fast. She should have expected it. This was her job now—early hours, direct orders. But still, it felt less like an instruction and more like an unspoken claim: your morning is mine.

She arrived at the building with fifteen minutes to spare, deliberately early again. The elevator ride stretched upward, her reflection taut with focus, her hands clutching the neat folder of reports Margo had wanted.

Margo's office door was open when Sophie reached the top floor. The CEO was already inside, standing near the wide windows with her phone pressed to her ear. She didn't turn immediately, but Sophie caught fragments of her voice—measured, commanding, tinged with steel. Whoever was on the other end was clearly losing an argument.

Sophie hesitated at the threshold, unsure whether to wait or announce herself. But then Margo turned, eyes locking onto her with unerring precision, and lifted one finger—a signal to wait. Sophie obeyed, setting her folder down on the small table near the door.

The call ended abruptly. Margo slipped the phone into her pocket and exhaled through her nose, the faintest sign of irritation. Then her gaze softened as it landed fully on Sophie.

"Good," she said simply. "You're here."

"I brought the reports you asked for." Sophie gestured to the folder.

"Bring them." Margo moved back toward her desk, settling into the chair with the quiet assurance of someone who knew the world bent to her schedule.

Sophie carried the folder over, placed it neatly in front of her, and waited.

Margo flipped it open, scanning the first page, then set the paper down and looked at Sophie. "Sit."

Sophie sat across from her, hands folded carefully in her lap.

"You condensed yesterday's agenda well," Margo said, tapping the folder. "You saw what mattered. I don't want you buried in menial tasks, Sophie. Not when you're capable of more."

Sophie blinked, caught off guard. "More?"

"Yes." Margo leaned back in her chair, studying her. "From now on, you'll shadow me more closely. Every meeting, every negotiation, every decision worth oxygen. I don't need just a secretary. I need an extension of myself."

The words sank in slowly, heavy with implication. Sophie's breath caught. "That sounds like a great deal of responsibility."

Margo's mouth curved faintly. "Are you saying you can't handle it?"

"No." Sophie shook her head quickly. "I just want to make sure I meet your expectations."

"You will." Margo's tone was absolute, leaving no room for doubt. "Because I'll make sure you do."

The possessive note was unmistakable. Sophie shifted slightly in her chair, feeling the heat of it coil around her.

Margo opened the folder again, flipping through pages with long, deliberate fingers. "You'll restructure my calendar completely. Cut the excess. Prioritize only what feeds results. Anything else can rot."

"I can do that," Sophie said.

"Good. And," Margo continued, glancing up with that sharp, assessing gaze, "you'll handle my correspondence personally. Emails, memos, drafts of speeches. Nothing leaves this office without your eyes on it first."

Sophie hesitated. "You trust me with all of that already?"

"I told you," Margo said evenly. "I remember you. You don't break easily. And I don't like scattering my trust among strangers." She leaned forward, her eyes intent. "I keep it in one place. With one person."

The meaning was clear. Sophie swallowed, her pulse loud in her ears.

Margo sat back again, folding her hands. "So, Sophie, you're mine to manage now. My time, my words, my schedule. Which means," her lips curved, "your time is mine as well."

The sentence landed like a stake driven into the ground between them. Sophie's skin prickled. She told herself it was just the language of a CEO defining a role. And yet she knew better. The claim in Margo's tone had nothing to do with corporate hierarchy.

"Yes, Ms. Banks," Sophie said carefully.

"Good girl," Margo murmured, almost under her breath, as she turned another page.

The words sparked through Sophie like a live wire. She forced herself to breathe evenly, focus on the neat rows of text on the reports.

⸻

The rest of the morning blurred into motion. Sophie trailed Margo through meetings, her notepad filling with quick observations and coded reminders. She watched the way people reacted to Margo—the way their voices sharpened, their spines straightened, as if proximity to her demanded precision. Margo rarely raised her voice, but when she did, it carried the weight of inevitability.

Between sessions, Margo would turn suddenly, asking Sophie for her read on a situation. "What did you notice about their hesitation?" "Did you see the way she avoided my question?" "What's your impression of the merger proposal?"

At first Sophie stumbled, offering cautious answers. But Margo pressed, drawing her out, until Sophie's natural sharpness surfaced. By the third meeting, she no longer hesitated to give her observations, even when they were blunt.

Margo seemed pleased.

During a short break, they returned to the CEO's office. Sophie went straight to her desk, typing up the morning's notes with swift precision. Through the ribbed glass, she could see Margo seated at her own desk, phone pressed to her ear again, one hand tapping a measured rhythm against the wood.

At one point, Margo glanced up and caught Sophie's gaze through the glass. She didn't look away. For several long seconds, their eyes held—Sophie's heartbeat quickening, her fingers pausing on the keyboard—until Margo gave the faintest of smiles and returned to her call.

Sophie forced herself back to her typing, cheeks warm.

⸻

By noon, lunch was delivered for the executive floor. As she had yesterday, Sophie carried a salad into Margo's office. She set it carefully at the edge of the desk, ready to retreat.

But Margo gestured. "Stay."

Sophie paused, then pulled the chair forward.

They ate together, quiet except for the soft scrape of forks and the distant hum of the city through the glass. It was strangely intimate, sitting across from the most powerful woman in the building with no one else present.

"You adapt quickly," Margo said after a moment. "Most people flounder under this level of scrutiny. You seem... steadier."

Sophie gave a small smile. "Maybe I'm just hiding it better."

"I don't think so." Margo's gaze was steady, unwavering. "You've always had a calm center. Even in college. That's why I noticed you."

The admission sent a rush of heat through Sophie's chest. She lowered her eyes to her salad, unable to disguise the small, startled smile tugging at her lips.

"You noticed me?" she asked softly.

"Of course," Margo said, as if the answer were obvious. "I notice everything that matters."

The room felt smaller suddenly, the air thicker. Sophie pushed her fork into a leaf of lettuce just to keep her hands occupied.

"What else do you remember?" she asked, surprising herself.

Margo's smile was slow, deliberate. "Enough."

The word was maddeningly vague, leaving Sophie aching for detail and yet unwilling to press.

⸻

The afternoon stretched long, a parade of decisions and signatures, but Sophie no longer felt like an observer. Margo pulled her into each moment, asking for input, expecting clarity. By the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, Sophie was exhausted but exhilarated, her notebook filled with pages of sharp notes and her mind buzzing with Margo's words.

At six, Sophie began packing her things. But before she could close her laptop, her phone buzzed again.

Dinner. Tonight. My driver will pick you up at 7:30.
—M

Sophie stared at the message, heart racing. She hadn't expected another invitation so soon. And yet, deep down, she realized she had.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. She typed a single word in reply:

Understood.

When she glanced through the glass toward Margo's office, she found the CEO already watching her, expression unreadable.

But Sophie knew one thing with startling clarity: whatever game this was, Margo had already made her first move.

And Sophie was no longer certain she wanted to resist being played.