Chapter 3

Zara and Yosef stepped into the bathroom. The shower was running, mimicking a downpour.

As Yosef pushed her on the back of her head, Zara choked. Her mind suddenly raced back to the day they first met three years prior.

It had been a rainy day.

Her family used to run a small supermarket. They were not wealthy, but they were not poor either. They made enough to lead a stable life.

Who would have thought that her father would fall for a scheme, leaving them with a crushing debt of five million? They sold the supermarket, their home, and everything else they could sell. Even after all that, they were still three million short.

At their lowest point, the schemer revealed his true intentions and demanded Zara as payment.

Her parents agreed.

One stormy night, she ran for her life. The roar of motorcycles chased her like predators after their prey. She lost her shoes, her hair was whipped about by the wind, and ahead of her was only the endless darkness.

She took a stumble and fell. The motorcycles instantly had her surrounded. Just when she thought it was the end, a sedan screeched to a halt in front of her.

Lifting her head, she saw the car door swing open, and a pair of gleaming leather shoes stepped into a puddle. The man’s trousers were crisp, and he was holding a large black umbrella in his hand. Looking cold and dignified, he shielded her from the rain.

“This one’s mine. Who dares to lay a hand on her?” he declared.

It was so electrifying when she witnessed the scene for the first time that she had replayed and romanticized the scene in her mind countless times. It had left an indelible mark on her heart.

Half an hour later, Zara emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet. She popped a candy into her mouth and went to find some clean clothes to change into while Yosef continued his shower.

She pondered if she should share with Yosef the news of her pregnancy and the loss that followed.

After a brief moment of contemplation, she decided against it.

Three years ago, he rescued her, stood by her, and shielded her. He had made it clear back then—never cause him any trouble.

To him, she was nothing more than a tool—a tool for his pleasure, for his daily life, and for his business. A tool should know its place.

Besides, his attention had shifted to another woman now. He would not bother with Zara anymore. Speaking out would be pointless.

…

The following day, Zara showed up at the office like any other day.

There were three secretaries in the president’s secretary’s office, each handling different tasks for Yosef.

She had not actually skipped work. Her leave form had been submitted to HR the moment she was loaded into the ambulance. Yosef had not bothered to ask and just assumed she was playing truant.

She had managed the urgent paperwork from her hospital bed, but routine tasks had piled up after so many days of absence. She was swamped the entire morning, and she didn’t even have time to eat lunch.

At two o’clock, the manager of the finance department came to her, saying there was an issue with a document—a misplaced decimal point.

Zara’s brows creased as she glanced over the document. “I don’t think I worked on this one.”

“It was Beatrice, the new assistant.”

Zara paused before telling the manager, “I’ve got a bit of a rapport with Mr. Burner. I’ll take care of this mistake.”

The manager murmured, “Even if it’s fixed, someone’s got to answer for a blunder this big.”

Zara’s face showed no expression. “Whoever made the mistake will answer for it.”

According to company regulations, employees who made a big mistake within one month of joining the company would be fired.

It did not take long for HR to send Beatrice the notice.

In the midst of the chaos, Zara caught a quick glimpse of Beatrice, who was packing her things with a sniffle. Her movements were slow and hesitant.

The secretary’s office was a whirlwind of activity, and nobody had the time to spare a second glance at an assistant who seemed to have popped up out of thin air.

Beatrice, clutching a box, stepped out of the secretary’s office and bumped into Yosef.

A mere ten minutes later, Zara’s phone buzzed with a call from the president’s office, summoning her.

Documents in one arm, Zara walked into the president’s office and instantly spotted Beatrice off to the side.

Yosef, who was sitting on his office chair, was spinning a pen in his hand. His eyes were sharp and frosty. “Explain,” he commanded.