The day I stepped into Mazzus was the day my world changed forever. The towering glass building reflected the morning sun like a blade of glass cutting through the sky. My heart thundered in my chest. Every beat echoed my desperation, my fear, my silent prayers. My family needed me. I needed this job. I had no other choice.
My friend's words haunted me as I crossed the polished marble floor: Wear something tight, show your curves, attract the men in the interviewing team. But my mind was not yet ready to wear something like that. But as I stood there, I felt outcast. My top was loose, my skirt was too long, it even touched the floor. It was enough to make everyone think I borrowed it from my grandmother or something. And my simple sandals felt childish among the clicking heels of confident women who seemed born for this place. They were sleek, professional, bold. I felt small, out of place, like a girl pretending to be a woman.
The waiting hall of Mazzus felt like a different world, a place where confidence and charm filled the air so thick, I could hardly breathe. The women who sat around me weren't ordinary at all. They looked like they'd stepped right out of glossy magazines, every curve and edge of their bodies wrapped in sleek, tight fabrics that showed them off like gifts waiting to be unwrapped.
Their shirts were crisp, tailored so close to their skin that the outlines of their bras, the soft press of their chests, the slight strain at the buttons were impossible to miss. Each movement, the lift of an arm, the shift of a leg, made those shirts pull tighter, made their bodies speak louder than words. The pants they wore hugged their hips like a lover's hand, smooth fabric tracing every line, every dip, every soft swell. The zippers and seams seemed like they could barely contain them, as if they'd been stitched onto their skin.
And the heels, oh, those heels. Polished, tall, dangerous. When they crossed one leg over the other, the pointed toes peeked out like weapons of seduction. Their ankles arched gracefully, their calves flexed with every slight move. The soft sound of those heels clicking against the marble floor echoed like music in that silent, heavy room.
Their hair was glossy, their makeup perfect, but not overdone. Just enough to draw the eye, to make hearts skip. Lips with a soft sheen of gloss, eyes lined in a way that made their gazes sharp, hypnotic. And their perfume, light, expensive, the kind that drifts past and lingers in your thoughts long after.
I sat there, lost among them, feeling like a child playing dress-up. My loose girlish dress, soft pink with little flowers near the hem, hung gently on my frame. It didn't cling or reveal. It wasn't made to tempt or to impress. My shoes were simple flats, worn at the edges, nothing like their elegant heels. My hair was tied back plainly, no art in it, just neat enough not to embarrass myself.
They glanced at me some with kind curiosity, others with the faintest smirk of amusement, as if they saw how out of place I was. I clutched my file tighter, tried to shrink into my seat, tried to disappear into the wallpaper. But my heart pounded louder, my cheeks burned redder.
I was not like them. And at that moment, I was sure I didn't belong here at all.
The room was filled with the soft murmur of voices, the rustle of papers, the quiet confidence of those who belonged. I kept my head down, clutching my file, praying I wouldn't faint. And then, they called my name. Once. Twice. But I didn't hear it, I was too busy staring at her. The woman who glowed with power. Tall, elegant, her suit tailored to perfection, her gaze sharp and knowing. Our eyes met. She tilted her head toward the interview room. Only then did I realize they had been calling me.
My face burned with shame. I scrambled to my feet, my files slipping from my trembling hands. Papers scattered like fallen petals across the floor. A kind girl beside me helped gather them. Then she came, the bold woman, the one my heart had already chosen. Her hand on my shoulder steadied me. "You've got this. Don't you dare fail, I want to work with you." She winked, and somehow, I breathed again. I had to do this. For my family. For her.
I forced my legs to move toward the door. My palm was damp as I gripped the handle. I pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was cool, the light soft but clear. Three figures sat behind a long, polished table. And my fear betrayed me. My voice came out trembling, senseless:
"May you… may be… you come…"
I froze. My cheeks burned. The urge to run overwhelmed me. But then the man in the middle, William Moro, smiled. A kind, warm smile. His voice was soft, gentle.
"It's all right. Come in, take a breath."
I stepped forward, each move heavy as if I were wading through water. I sat on the edge of the chair they offered, my hands clenched tight. The woman watched me, her eyes sharp as knives. The other man scribbled notes, unreadable. But William… his gaze softened me. Or so I thought.
They began asking questions. What is your typing speed? What software do you know? Why should we hire you? My tongue stumbled over every answer. I mixed up my words, I spoke too fast, too soft. My fingers fidgeted with my skirt. My eyes stayed low. I was drowning. But William kept smiling, kept coaxing. His voice was like honey, drawing me in, making me feel safe.
They knew I wasn't qualified. I knew it too. But William spoke at last:
"Let's give her a chance. Sometimes potential hides behind nerves."
I could hardly believe it when William Moro's gentle voice sealed my fate.
Relief flooded through me so fast, I thought I might burst into tears right there. My heart raced, my hands trembled, and before I even thought about what I was doing, I rose from my chair. Instead of offering my hand as a polite, professional gesture, I did what came naturally, I moved forward, overwhelmed with gratitude, and hugged them.
The woman interviewer stiffened under my arms, clearly surprised, but she allowed it, giving me an awkward, polite pat on the back. The other man laughed, warm and easy, returning my hug with a quick squeeze, amused at my innocent excitement.
And then came William.
He rose slowly, as if waiting, as if knowing what was about to happen. I stepped toward him without hesitation, joy clouding every thought, every caution. His arms opened for me like a shelter, and I fell into them. His embrace was firm, warm… but there was more beneath it.
His hands moved gently at first, but then they began to roam, sliding across my back, down my sides, pressing at my waist, my hips. His fingers brushed the soft curve at the small of my back, lingered there just a little too long. One hand smoothed down over my skirt, stopping just where it would still seem innocent.
His cheek brushed mine as he held me, his breath warm at my ear. His lips grazed my skin, soft, slow, as if savoring the closeness. But I was too blinded by joy to feel anything but gratitude. In that moment, I was just a girl who'd gotten her chance, too happy to sense how personal, how intimate, his touch had become.
And when I finally stepped back, his smile was pure kindness. His eyes gentle. The world saw only a caring boss, a lucky girl. No one else noticed. No one else knew.
When I stepped out, she was waiting. Nancy. My bold angel. "So? You got it?" she asked, eyes bright with hope. I nodded. She grinned. "Good. Now let me go get mine. We're going to be coworkers, you know." She winked, and with the grace of a queen, she strode inside.
Later, she emerged victorious. We walked together, her arm brushing mine, our laughter mingling like music. She bought me coffee, listened to my nervous rambling, made me feel seen. When she offered me a ride home, I declined, not wanting to trouble her. That night, my family's embrace was the sweetest celebration. We had no sweets, no feast. But we had hope, and that was enough.
The next morning, I dressed modestly, but my body betrayed me. My blouse strained at my chest, my skirt hugged my hips. I had no choice. At Mazzus, Nancy waited at the door, tapping her foot. "What took you so long? I've been waiting for years!" Her smile weakened my knees.
We entered together. In the elevator, the other new hires stared at me, their gazes cold. I didn't care. Nancy's warmth was all I needed. When the elevator doors slid open, my world tilted, no, it shattered quietly in a way that no one else seemed to hear.
There they stood: William Moro and the woman from the interview panel. Naked. Entwined. His hands roamed her body as if it belonged to him, as if there was no reason in the world for modesty or shame. Her head rested on his shoulder, her lips parted in soft, endless pleasure. Their bodies moved together, slow and rhythmic, as if they were sharing secrets instead of intimacy.
Lust was filled in that hall more than air, everyone could clearly see William and the woman getting into each other. Her moan sounds echoed on the walls.
And yet, around them, the office lived on as if nothing unusual was happening. People walked by, coffee mugs in hand, files tucked under their arms, their footsteps calm, their faces blank. A few nodded to William as they passed. "Good morning, sir," they said, as if greeting their boss at his desk.
"Good morning," William replied, his voice steady, smooth, warm. His hands never paused, his rhythm never faltered. His power wrapped the room like a spell, making the impossible seem ordinary.
The woman beneath his touch moaned softly, but no one flinched. No one looked twice. To them, this was normal. As normal as breathing. As normal as the hum of the air conditioner or the beep of the printers.
Every new employee who stepped out of the elevator offered polite greetings, as if they'd been trained for this strange ritual. "Morning, sir." "Morning, ma'am." No shock. No shame. Just quiet acceptance.
But me? My heart pounded so loud I thought it might burst. My breath hitched in my throat. My legs felt weak. I could feel the wrongness like a storm brewing inside me, and yet I couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't look away.
Beside me, Nancy squeezed my hand. Her fingers were warm, steady. Her eyes, calm, knowing, deep with unspoken truths. There was no surprise in her gaze, no fear. It was as if she had seen this all before, as if this was the world she knew.
The fluorescent lights above flickered once, as if the universe itself hesitated. But then the moment carried on. William's eyes met mine for a heartbeat, his smile kind, welcoming. A smile that said this is normal. You are safe.
But I knew. I knew I was the only one seeing the truth. The only one untouched by his invisible chains. The only one who hadn't yet fallen under his spell.
And in that instant, I realized: Mazzus wasn't just an office. It was his kingdom. And I had just stepped inside the lion's den.
The world bent to his will, and no one knew. No one but me.
The game had begun.