Rima’s POVAs I walked into the bustling café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled my senses. I glanced around, searching for a quiet corner to focus on my job search. I had just moved to the city two weeks ago, leaving behind a life that was no longer mine, a woman who died tragically but found her peace and got away from a miserable existence filled with pain and suffering, seeking new opportunities in this unknown place. My name is Maria…. No wait.. Sorry.. My name is Rima Karam, and this was the beginning of my journey to reinvent myself.I finally found a small table by the window and settled down, pulling out my laptop and a stack of resumes. It was the last day of the weekend and the café was filled with a lot of people chattering and laughing without a care in the world and I couldn’t help but envy that. As I started browsing through job postings, my eyes were drawn to a man sitting a few tables away. He was tall and striking, exuding an air of authority that demande

Jacob's POVI stood by the window of my office, gazing at the bustling cityscape of Toronto. For some reason, I couldn't shake the memories of my first meeting with my new assistant Rima yesterday and the bustling café filled with strangers. It was strange – I never paid much attention to the women around me, having built a fortress around my heart. I have always preferred fleeting one night stands over relationships, knowing that no woman would ever put up with my relentless work schedule and inability to take a day off, even on weekends.That fateful day, I was supposed to be working. But, frustrated by the lack of an assistant, I decided to take a break at the café for a change of scenery. I planned to return home and continue working, but as soon as I saw her, my focus shifted. I couldn't help but observe every little detail about her. Her delicate beauty stood out to me, and although she might not meet the standards of the modeling world, there was an allure to her that surpass

Jacob’s POVA wave of unease washed over me the next morning when Rima didn't answer her phone. Yesterday, she had been eager to meet up and head to the firm together for her first day. She had picked up the phone almost immediately, but now, after two disconnected calls, there was no response.I wondered if she had forgotten to take her phone off silent and overslept. I was already preparing a lecture for her on punctuality when I left my apartment with a tense expression. As usual, Travis was by the door, ready to take my laptop bag "Good morning, Mr. Snow" he greeted cheerfully.I gave a terse nod, opening my front door before he could reach it and headed straight to Rima's apartment; which was directly on the right side of mine. Sensing my foul mood, Travis hesitantly asked "Is everything okay, Mr. Snow?"My frustration grew when Rima didn't answer her doorbell after a full minute "No, most certainly not" I muttered, pulling out my phone to call her again. I could faintly hear

Rima’s POV*The Night Before*A vivid flashback of one of my most harrowing memories infiltrated my sleep last night, taking me back to a month ago.I found myself holding my breath in the cramped space that served as my temporary refuge. I was hidden in the car trunk of one of George’s bodyguards, a man named Dominic. He was the only kind soul in the villa where George held me captive, forbidding me from ever leaving his mansion or, more critically, escaping his grasp. Dominic was the lone beacon of light who could see my suffering during the months I spent married to George. Every person in the villa knew I was there against my will, subjected to abuse, beatings, humiliation, and pain in all its forms, but no one dared to help me… except Dominic.Whenever George left for work, Dominic would check on me. He tried to keep me company and comfort me when he could. His kindness was my lifeline in the darkness that had consumed me. After a

Jacob’s POVRather than navigating the intricate networks of my professional realm, I found myself inexplicably drawn to Rima’s image on my monitor. There she was, every subtle movement spellbindingly captured by the subtle security camera nestled above my office door. My fixation, bordering on obsession, strayed into the territory of a voyeuristic stalker.Under normal circumstances, my surveillance of personal assistants was a strictly professional exercise, a bulwark against time wasted on frivolous smartphone activities or any suspicious undertakings that could become a looming threat. This vigilance was born from a bitter experience, a system devised and implemented a year after the birth of my firm.Back then, despite our small but dedicated team, we were steadily eclipsing our major competitors, pulling in the big fish from the corporate ocean of Toronto. Our surge in popularity was largely driven by a series of groundbreaking marketing campai