Everyone watched Cassandra raise her hand, but only one waitress stepped in—and what happened when Damian Volkov arrived changed her life overnight.

By 8:00 AM the following morning, my life had completely transformed.

Instead of wearing my stained black-and-white waitress uniform, I stood in front of a full-length mirror wearing a tailored charcoal-gray trousers suit, a cream silk blouse, and minimalist gold jewelry. A professional stylist had arranged my dark hair into an elegant, low chignon.

When I walked down into the penthouse's private dining hall, Marco was sitting at a long marble table, eating fresh fruit and pancakes served by a private chef.

"Sofia!" Marco gasped, his mouth full of food. "You look like a CEO!"

"Don't get used to it," I smiled, kissing the top of his head. "How are you feeling? Did you sleep?"

"The bed is like a cloud," Marco said, his eyes shining. "And guess what? Mr. Volkov had a specialist deliver my new asthma medication this morning. I didn't even have to use my rescue inhaler once."

My heart softened slightly, but I forced myself to stay grounded. Damian Volkov wasn't doing this out of charity; he was building a debt I could never repay.

Damian walked into the room, holding a steaming mug of black coffee. He wore a crisp white shirt with dark gray trousers, looking impossibly sharp. He nodded at Marco, then handed me a leather folder.

"What is this?" I asked, opening it.

"Your contract," Damian said, leaning against the edge of the table. "Position: Private Executive Assistant and Personal Care Coordinator for Elena Volkov. Salary: Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars annually, plus full health coverage for your mother and an educational trust for your brother."

My breath hitched in my throat. "Two hundred and fifty thousand?"

"That is the base rate," Damian replied casually. "There is one additional clause."

I scanned the document down to the bottom paragraph. My eyes widened.

Clause 14: The Employee agrees to accompany Damian Volkov to all public engagements, charity galas, and press conferences for the next thirty days as an official representative of the Volkov Foundation.

"You want me to be your public partner?" I looked up at him, incredulous. "Why?"

"Because Arthur Vale is using the media to frame you as a violent, low-class thug and me as a mob boss abusing innocent citizens," Damian explained calmly. "If I present you as a dignified, highly educated executive assistant whom I hired specifically for her bravery and integrity, Vale’s narrative collapses."

"You want to use me as a shield," I said, narrowing my eyes.

"I want to use you as a weapon," Damian corrected softly. "Cassandra Vale tried to destroy your life because she thought you were defenseless. Show her she was wrong."

I looked down at the contract, then over at Marco, who was watching me with hopeful eyes. I thought about my mother resting comfortably at St. Agnes, finally receiving the specialized care she deserved without me dreading every phone call from the billing department.

I picked up the heavy Montblanc pen from the table and signed my name on the dotted line.

"Wise choice, Ms. Reyes," Damian murmured, stepping closer and taking the folder from my hand. His fingers brushed against mine, sending a sudden, unexpected jolt of heat through my skin.