I've been trapped in this building for over two weeks now, and my mission progress could only be described as hitting a dead-end.

My mysterious target has yet to make an appearance, and I'm beginning to suspect he might be a figment of someone's overactive imagination. At this rate, I'll be retired before I even get a chance to complete this task.

Meanwhile, I'm becoming intimately acquainted with the coffee machine, which has been fueling me these days.

In my 23 years of life, I, Hazel Ripley, never imagined I'd find myself wearing kitten heels every morning for a reception job—a role I never aspired to, of all things.

But who can blame me? Apparently, the only way to get within shouting distance of my target was to infiltrate the ranks as a receptionist at his illustrious company. Because, you know, who doesn't dream of answering phones and making small talk in the hopes of uncovering secrets?

"Are you going to move, or should I start charging rent?" snapped an irritated voice from behind me, pulling me abruptly from my thoughts.

When I glance over my shoulder, I spot a woman, a head shorter than me, impatiently waiting for me to step away from the coffee machine.

Her face contorted into a frown, and her arms were tightly locked across her chest. Her right foot pounded irritably on the floor, each beat emphasizing her displeasure.

"Pardon," I deadpanned, strolling away from the feisty pocket-sized lady behind me.

"Do we just hire anyone these days?" As I returned to the reception desk, her words cut through the air, dripping with sarcasm and hostility. Her piercing gaze followed me, leaving me with a bitter aftertaste.

Damn, I wish I could throw my coffee at her.

As I took my seat, I felt a soft nudge on my shoulder. Turning around, I noticed my coworker in the neighboring seat, a cheeky smile on her face. She winked at me, her green eyes full of mischief. Her light brown hair fell in beautiful waves, framing her heart-shaped face, which was graced with a sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks and nose. Her friendliness and easygoing nature were clear in the way she greeted me, making me immediately feel at ease.

"I see you've met Sharon from PR," she said, nodding toward the arrogant woman. "Don't let her temper fool you. She's friendly—if you happen to be a male runway model. The rest of us ordinary people just get her fiery attitude."

I furrow my brow in displeasure. It irks me to no end when women, especially those in authority, make life harder for each other. My eyes track Sharon as she sashays off to her office, seemingly unconcerned about the mess she left behind on the coffee machine.

"Why hasn't she been fired yet?" I inquire, turning my gaze back to Gabbie, who slides her office chair closer to mine.

"She's clever. Knows exactly when to push buttons and when to play nice. She's been untouchable for as long as I've known her," Gabbie remarked, her expression dampened. I couldn't tell if it was from the injustice of it all or her secret longing for Sharon's eventual downfall. Perhaps she's already planning the perfect going-away party for her.

"Alright, anyone else I need to watch out for?" I asked, tidying up the desk as I continued my conversation with Gabbie.

"Haha, talk about perfect timing. Look who's back from vacation!" Gabbie whispered eagerly, leaning in closer to me to avoid being noticed by the approaching person.

I glance towards the entrance, my heart skipping a beat as I catch sight of the face I've been obsessing over for weeks now. Nero Montez.

His sun-kissed skin, warm brown eyes, and easygoing smile marked him unmistakably as the center of attention. Without fail, Gabbie's eyes locked onto him the moment he entered the vicinity.

Today, he wore a spotless white shirt that highlighted his muscular biceps, the fabric clinging just right. His gray blazer, loosely thrown over his arm, lent a touch of elegance to his look.

After catching sight of Nero Montez, my heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. I tried to appear nonchalant, pretending to focus on rearranging papers at my desk while stealing glances in his direction.

Gabbie nudged me with a knowing smirk, whispering something under her breath that I couldn't quite catch. As Nero approached, I couldn't help but ponder how I could find a way to get closer to him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Montez. How was your trip?" Gabbie's voice softened into a gentle, pleasing tone, accompanied by a sweet smile I hadn't seen from her before.

"The humidity in Tokyo was unbearable, almost enough to make me yearn for the office," Nero replied politely, his gaze settling on me with a hint of intrigue.

"Did the other one quit or something?" His attention swung back to Gabbie after he registered my presence at the front desk.

"Huh? Do you mean Candice? Yes, she handed in her resignation letter not too long ago. This is Hazel, our new receptionist," Gabbie responded smoothly, casting me a quick, reassuring smile.

"Hello, my name is Nero Montez. Pleasure to meet you," Nero said, extending his large hand toward me.

I reached out to shake his hand, but a wave of nerves hit me. What if my palm was sweaty? Would he notice?

My anxiety was heightened by the fact that I hadn't done this kind of spy work in a long time. The last time was during the Obama administration, and I was still wearing braces.

Our hands met in a firm handshake. His hand was so big that it almost completely engulfed mine, sending a jolt of awareness through me. What a tight grip!

"Nice to meet you too," I replied calmly, unsure whether I should keep my distance or try to get closer to him.

Nero nodded casually, though it felt more robotic, as if he were scanning a new character that had suddenly appeared in his workplace.

Without another word, Nero took long strides toward the elevator. He slipped through the door, his briefcase clutched tightly at his side. With a practiced motion, he flashed his ID badge, granting him access to the upper floors. He was clearly ready to dive into the mountain of work that had accumulated during his vacation.

Once he was gone, Gabbie let out a dramatic sigh and flopped back into her office chair.

I looked at her in confusion, and she quickly noticed.

"What is it?" Gabbie asked.

"If I hadn't seen you fangirling before Mr. Montez arrived, I'd swear you just met the devil," I replied with a smirk.

"There are a lot of things you don't understand, newbie," Gabbie said with a mysterious tone, practically begging me to ask more questions.

"What do you mean?" I played along, eager to gossip. Honestly, sharing a workplace with someone like her was a dream come true for any spy.

"Well, Mr. Montez might look like a friendly gentleman, but he's got a rough side if you annoy him," Gabbie remarked, her voice taking on a secretive tone. "It isn't as fiery as Sharon's, but more like a dangerous iceberg. He will not scold you, but every subsequent encounter will make you feel as if you are drowning in freezing water, thanks to his fake smile." Gabbie drew in, her voice lowering to a hush.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, glancing up and down at her.

"What does that look mean?" Gabbie asked, clearly puzzled by my reaction.

"Oh, nothing much," I replied with a chuckle. "I was just wondering if you were perhaps one of his victims." I reached for my coffee, now lukewarm, and took a sip.

"As if! You might not see it, but he has a soft spot for me, especially compared to Candice, who worked here before you. That girl never knew when to shut up and took every chance to chat with Mr. Montez. I just know he's relieved she's gone now," Gabbie said frankly, looking somewhat offended that I'd suggest she had ever been in the crossfire of Mr. Montez's icy smile.

"Sure, sure. I believe you," I said with a polite smile, already losing interest in the conversation. My mind was elsewhere, consumed with the realization that Nero Montez, my target, was finally back.

Others might have the headspace to gossip with colleagues, but I couldn't afford to be that carefree. My mom's livelihood—and mine—depended on the success of this mission. Nero Montez, my target, was back, and I needed to focus.

That lowlife who happens to be my father is the reason I'm in this mess. His gambling addiction and sticky fingers have plagued me for as long as I can remember.

Despite my mother's efforts to shield me from the harsh reality of my father, I couldn't help but notice. I would catch her stifled sobs over the phone to grandma when she thought I wasn't listening, and sometimes I'd find bruises on her forearms after my father returned home from his late-night gambling escapades.

As I grew up, everything valuable seemed to vanish one by one. The only new arrivals were the tough-looking men who streamed through our rundown house like a revolving door, attempting to intimidate my mother and me over my father's gambling debt.

My life was cruel, and sadly, it still is.

"Hazel!" Gabbie's voice jolted me from my daydream—or rather, my daymare.

"What?" I asked, looking at her in confusion, unsure why she had called out to me.

"It's your phone," Gabbie said, pointing at my bag nestled between our chairs. "It's been vibrating non-stop for a while now." Her words drew my attention to the persistent buzzing coming from within, a reminder of the world outside my distracted thoughts.

"Excuse me," I murmured, quickly retrieving my phone from my bag. I immediately sought out a quieter corner nearby, ensuring I could return swiftly to my desk if any higher-ups happened to notice my absence.

The caller's name on the phone was displayed only as "A".

"The clock is ticking, Miss Ripley," a husky voice warned as soon as I answered the call, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I understand, but he's just arrived. Furthermore, the deadline isn't until next month," I replied calmly, concealing any hint of panic in my voice.

The man on the other end of the phone went quiet, as if he were considering whether I deserved his mercy.

"Then I'll be waiting."

With a soft beep, the phone marked the end of our conversation, leaving me to ponder its lingering implications.