Chapter 6

• Breathing in and out, Moiraine had never felt this anxious in her life.
• She was the boss. A leader. A queen.
• And yet, here she was—standing at the front desk of the Luave Group, about to start her first day as Dylan Luave’s secretary.
• The plan was simple: lie low, blend in, and play her part. That’s why she’d ditched her usual power look for something more subtle. A plain short skirt, a fitted button-up shirt, her white hair tied neatly in a ponytail, and a pair of glasses that gave off the “calm and collected” vibe—even if they were just for show.
• She walked straight to reception with confident but measured steps.
• “Good morning,” she said politely. “Please, which way is the HR department?”
• The receptionist—a slender, average-height lady—looked up from her desk without much interest. Her gaze swept over Moiraine from head to toe, unimpressed. She didn’t bother hiding the attitude in her voice.
• “What do you need HR for?” she asked while sliding a visitor form across the desk.
• “I’m here to resume as the new secretary to Mr. Dylan Luave,” Moiraine replied smoothly.
• That made the woman freeze mid-write. Her eyes slowly lifted to meet Moiraine’s again—this time, with more suspicion than boredom.
• “Secretary to Mr. Dylan?” she scoffed, clearly amused. “Lady, I think you’re in the wrong place.”
• Moiraine raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
• The receptionist leaned forward slightly. “Mr. Dylan doesn’t hire female secretaries. Or any female personal staff, actually. Not since the... past incidents.” Her eyes trailed down Moiraine’s outfit with clear disapproval. “And especially not someone dressed like that.”
• Moiraine remained calm, lips curling just slightly. If only this woman knew who she was.
• But that was the point—no one here was supposed to know. Not yet.
• Moiraine was barely holding in her anger when the head of HR walked into the scene.
• The receptionist, still wearing her smug little smile, quickly turned to him. “Mr. Richards, this lady says she’s here to work for Mr. Dylan,” she said, smirking like she’d just exposed a fraud. She looked way too pleased, clearly expecting Moiraine to be embarrassed or dragged out by security.
• Mr. Richards paused, then turned his gaze to Moiraine—expression instantly shifting.
• He already knew who she was.
• The president’s PA had informed him about the change, and the name Moiraine Sokolov wasn’t one you took lightly. Especially not when the Luave and Sokolov families were long-time business partners.
• Without a word, he slapped the receptionist lightly across the back of the head. “Watch your mouth,” he muttered sharply before walking over to greet her properly.
• “Miss Sokolov,” he said with a respectful nod. “It’s an honor to meet you. Welcome.”
• Moiraine smiled as she shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Richards. But please,” she added quietly, “let’s keep the introductions low-key. I don’t need everyone knowing who I am.”
• The receptionist’s eyes widened in horror as realization finally hit. She turned to Moiraine with trembling hands, stammering out an apology.
• “I-I didn’t mean it, I swear, I didn’t know—”
• The HR manager was already preparing to fire her on the spot when Moiraine casually raised her hand. “Let it go,” she said with a calm voice, then leaned closer to the receptionist and gave her a small smile—twisted just enough to send a chill down the girl’s spine. “But next time, mind your tone.”
• And just like that, she turned it off—back to sweet, back to composed—as if she hadn’t just scared the girl half to death.
• Following Mr. Richards, they took the elevator to the second-to-last floor where she completed her documentation. After all the formalities were done, he personally escorted her to her new office—top floor, not far from the president’s.
• Moiraine glanced around. The space was perfect—clean, quiet, and positioned just where she needed it. Dylan wasn’t around yet, so she took the time to settle in. She was just adjusting her chair when the elevator doors slid open.
• Dylan walked in, listening to his PA who was updating him on the morning reports.
• But halfway through the conversation, he paused.
• Something was off.
• A scent. Familiar. Roses and dandelions with the earthy undertone of ancient oak trees. His expression tightened as he took another step in. His assistant noticed and paused too.
• “Sir? Is something wrong?” John asked.
• “Are we expecting anyone?” Dylan replied quietly.
• “No, sir.”
• Moiraine stood from her desk. She knew it was him the moment the doors opened. His scent, his presence—it hadn’t changed.
• She walked toward him calmly, lips curled into a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Luave,” she said sweetly.
• John, who stood beside Dylan, looked genuinely surprised. According to the reports, she was supposed to be a lazy, spoiled brat from the Sokolov family. In fact, no one even knew exactly how many children the last deceased Sokolov couple had. Even as long-time business partners, the Luave family never got that detail. All they knew was what the public saw—Moiraine Sokolov, the infamous heiress who threw money like confetti and had no business experience.
• Yet here she was. Early. Dressed modestly. Calm. And carrying herself like a professional.
• Snapping out of his shock, John greeted her, “Good morning, Miss Sokolov.”
• Dylan gave her a short nod and walked into his office, with John resuming his earlier business report. As Dylan settled behind his desk, Moiraine walked in moments later—this time with a tray in hand. A sleek, black coffee cup sat beside a small breakfast plate containing two of Dylan’s favorite dishes.
• He looked up, clearly surprised.
• John stepped in, trying to intercept. “Boss can’t just drink any kind of coffee—it has to be handmade, specifically brewed—”
• “Yes, yes,” Moiraine interrupted gently with a calm smile, “Dark roast Colombian blend with a hint of vanilla bean, slightly hot—not boiling. And no sugar.”
• John blinked.
• Dylan’s brows lifted. That was oddly… specific.
• He took the cup, curious. One sip turned into another. Then another.
• He didn’t even realize when he finished the entire cup.
• John stared. Moiraine just smiled and quietly stepped out of the office, leaving behind a stunned assistant and a speechless CEO.
• Dylan, still holding the empty cup, absentmindedly reached for one of the cookies on the tray. It looked too good to resist.
• Even John found himself licking his lips.
• Dylan told John to leave the office and get some work done. With a nod, John left, quietly shutting the door behind him.
• As he passed Moiraine’s desk, she called out to him with a friendly smile. “John.”
• He turned, and she handed him a small wrapped package. “A little something for you,” she said casually.
• If it was what he thought it was—then it was the same snack from Dylan’s office. His eyes lit up as he took it with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
• “Enjoy it on your break,” she added softly.
• John chuckled and walked off, already unwrapping it as he headed down the hall.
• Unbeknownst to them both, Dylan had seen the exchange through the glass wall of his office.
• His jaw clenched.
• First, she was playing cute with him at the gala. Now she was gifting his assistant snacks? Was she trying to win people over with kindness—or charm? Either way, he wasn’t buying it.
• He hated women who tried to manipulate their way into favor, especially in his workplace. Whatever game she was playing, it needed to stop now.
• Slamming the phone receiver, he pressed a button.
• “Moiraine, in my office. Now.”
• Moiraine stepped into the office with a calm poise, her voice silk-smooth as she answered,
• “Yes, Mr. Dylan, did you need anything?”
• Dylan didn’t respond immediately. He took his time sizing her up from head to toe. That white hair of hers, tied neatly, gave her the appearance of an innocent dandelion… but those eyes—God, those eyes—held the spark of something dangerous. Mysterious. Tempting.
• But then, those fake glasses ruined the illusion. Or perhaps, they enhanced it. They made her look restrained. Controlled.
• That irritated him even more.
• “Why the glasses?” he asked sharply. “You weren’t wearing them the night of the party.”
• She met his gaze without flinching. “Contacts,” she replied casually, adjusting them with two fingers. “They were irritating my eyes today.”
• The nerve of her. He was radiating heat, power—commanding the room like he always did—and she wasn’t even flinching. Instead, she was playing along, teasing him with her calm.
• “What’s your real goal here?” he asked, voice low but sharp. “Our families have done business for years. But you? You’ve never been in the picture. Not once. All I’ve ever heard is that the spoiled little Sokolov princess was out spending money, not sitting behind a desk.”
• She tilted her head, a smile playing faintly at her lips. “You must’ve heard a lot of things, Mr. Dylan. But maybe I just decided it was time to try out something new.”
• He snapped.
• In two steps, he was in front of her. One hand gripped her throat—not tight, but enough to make her feel the steel in his touch—as he pinned her against the glass wall.
• Her back met the cold surface with a soft thud.
• His other hand slowly reached up, brushing a stray lock of her white hair behind her ear. His fingertips barely grazed her skin, but it was enough to send a current down both their spines.
• She didn’t fight it. She didn’t even blink. Her breath stayed steady—cool, unfazed.
• He hated that. And he wanted more of it.
• His eyes dropped to her lips for a second—plump, slightly parted—and a vision slammed into his mind like a fantasy he had no control over:
• Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her head thrown back, gasping his name. Her body arching against his with every harsh, breathless kiss. Her voice—husky and low—whispering things only meant for the dark.
• When Moiraine noticed he was starting to get too distracted—especially with the way things were heating up—she knew she had to shut it down. The last thing she wanted was to let rumors start circulating through the office.
• Without warning, she shoved him back—hard.
• Dylan wasn’t expecting it. He staggered and lost his balance, crashing onto the floor. Before he could fully process what had just happened, Moiraine straddled him. Leaning down, her lips brushed close to his ear as she whispered in a dangerously calm tone:
• “Mr. Dylan, I’m a simple and reasonable person. So please—stay out of my personal life.”
• With that, she stood, straightened her skirt, and left him stunned on the floor.
• For a moment, Dylan didn’t move. He just sat there, wide-eyed, completely thrown off.
• A few minutes later, John walked in and froze at the scene.
• “Boss? What the hell happened? You look like—”
• Dylan cut him off with a wave of his hand and got up, brushing himself off and adjusting his collar. His voice was flat. “Any progress on the Sokolov background check?”
• John blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject. “None. Every time we get close, the data disappears. Anything remotely useful gets wiped… by someone named M. No one wants to talk. People are scared. Like—really scared. It's like this ghost controls everything behind the scenes.”
• Dylan clenched his jaw.
• He had long suspected the Sokolovs were knee-deep in underground business, and he wasn’t about to let his family’s empire be dragged into whatever mess they were hiding. But ending ties outright would be dangerous. Their families were too deeply entangled—pulling the plug could ignite a war neither side would recover from.
• No. He needed leverage. Real evidence.
• “Keep searching,” he ordered quietly, eyes darkening. “I don’t care how long it takes. Find something… anything.”