Jack

Jack didn’t know what he was getting into when he accepted the job as the live-in assistant of a woman worth more than most small countries. He had just graduated from college, full of hope, ambition, and a mild sense of naiveté. The billionaire's mansion was as imposing as it was beautiful, a place where every detail—every thread, every curve, every piece of furniture—screamed wealth and control. Her name was never spoken in the same way one mentions their friends. It was always her—a command in itself. She was in her early 30s but carried herself with a gravity far beyond her age. Her elegance was sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. To anyone who came into her orbit, it was clear: she was always in charge. Jack had to quickly learn how to navigate the undercurrent of her presence. She was efficient, no-nonsense, and had the rare ability to make people feel both intensely admired and strangely insignificant. She didn’t need to raise her voice; her mere stillness carried a weight that silenced rooms. His role wasn’t complicated on the surface. He managed her schedule, arranged meetings, organized her files, and coordinated her personal affairs. But the true challenge lay in understanding the subtleties: when to speak, when to remain invisible, when to anticipate her needs before she even voiced them. There were no casual conversations over coffee. He never saw her without purpose, her every action deliberate. Yet, there were moments, fleeting and private, where he caught a glimpse of something beyond the polished exterior. When she would sit at her desk late into the night, a sliver of vulnerability would surface—a brief pause before the next decision, a look that hinted at loneliness. Jack’s respect for her deepened with each passing day. In a world where everything seemed transactional, she remained a mystery he couldn’t unravel, but he didn’t mind. Perhaps it was the mystery itself that made her so magnetic.