Chapter 1: The Pen That Changed Everything

The boss I secretly swoon over handed me a pen.

The box was cool in my hand, the velvet soft against my palm. I could feel every heartbeat in my fingertips. The pen inside was heavier than it looked, the bow a girlish touch that felt out of place in this glass-and-steel jungle.

Suddenly, comments scrolled across my vision, like I’d accidentally opened TikTok in my brain.

【LMAO, she has no clue this pen is basically wired to the boss】

【Girl, this is premium content! Don’t sleep on it.】

【Who needs Netflix? This is better.】

I stood frozen, fingers brushing the pen’s smooth body. The city skyline sparkled through the windows behind Ethan, and the faint scent of deep-dish pizza drifted up from the street below.

The next second, the boss sitting across from me let out a muffled groan, his jaw tightening as he gripped the edge of his mahogany desk. Did I just imagine that? Or did his knuckles really go white against the wood?

Rule number one in any office? Never crush on your boss. Guess I’m already doomed.

Except me.

Because he's really, really good to me—in ways that make my stomach flutter and my coworkers raise their eyebrows.

Ever since I graduated from State and joined the company, I've been working in the president's office on the fortieth floor of the Blackwell Tower in downtown Chicago.

Ethan Blackwell is usually cold and doesn't like to talk. He's got that whole tall, dark, and brooding thing down to an art form.

But when people below mess up, he’ll scold them until they're crying like sad kittens, mascara running as they scramble for the elevator.

But I always feel he treats me differently. There's something in the way his steel-gray eyes soften when they land on me.

It's normal for newcomers to be unfamiliar with procedures. God knows I spent my first week just trying to figure out the coffee machine.

The other seniors in the president's office all have their own busy matters—no one guided me. They were too busy kissing up to management or gossiping by the water cooler.

It's also my own fault. I actually made a huge mistake—accidentally sent confidential quarterly projections to the wrong distribution list.

When I was called into the president's office, the seniors all looked at me with farewell gazes, like I was walking to my execution. Jennifer from HR actually mouthed "good luck" with a pitying expression.

I was terrified, walking in anxiously, my heels clicking against the marble floor like a countdown.

But Ethan's expression was calm. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at Lake Michigan.

He only asked if I was adapting well to the company, if I was getting used to it here, if my colleagues were treating me well. His voice was gentler than I'd ever heard it.

That mistake—he didn't mention it at all. Not even a hint of disappointment.

After coming out, all the seniors turned to look at me, their faces a mix of shock and suspicion.

I quickly lowered my head and pretended to be about to cry, even dabbing at my eyes for effect. I dabbed at my eyes, channeling every sad-girl meme I’d ever seen. In this office, weakness is just another scent in the water.

Although I'm a workplace newcomer, I understand the unspoken rules.

Special treatment inevitably makes people jealous. And in this shark tank, jealousy gets you eaten alive.