Mike's POV
The blaring of my phone ripped me from a surprisingly pleasant dream involving unlimited coffee and absolutely no schedules. I groaned, fumbling for the device on my nightstand. My assistant's name flashed on the screen.
"Nicole, this better be life or death," I growled into the receiver.
"Good morning to you too, sunshine. Your first meeting is in two hours. Alistair Wright's office. Don't be late."
I ended the call without responding, staring at the ceiling. Two hours. Barely enough time to make myself presentable. I dragged myself upright, running a hand through my disheveled hair.
You're probably wondering—am I not Alistair's assistant? Yes and no. Technically, for the next damn year, I am. And it's the most elaborate scheme I've ever cooked up.
Let me explain. Mike Chen, CEO of Chen Industries, reduced to fetching coffee and organizing schedules for my best friend. Why? Because there's a mole in my company. Someone feeding information to competitors, and my usual methods of detection weren't working. Alistair's network, however, is vast, ruthless, and terrifyingly efficient. So I struck a deal: one year as his glorified errand boy, and he helps me find the traitor and locate someone else—someone I've been searching for since I was ten.
The memory of that search made my chest tighten. Twenty years. Twenty years of looking.
I'd barely started my morning routine when Nicole's name flashed again—this time a text with my full schedule attached. I skimmed it while brushing my teeth. Meeting with Alistair at 10. Lunch with potential investors at 1. Another meeting at 3. Somewhere in between, I needed to check on the background search I'd initiated last week.
As I drove towards Alistair's subsidiary company, my mind wandered to the new nanny. Mitchell. Alistair had taken an unusual interest in her, though he'd never admit it. Who wouldn't? There was something genuinely lovable about her—a quiet resilience beneath that fragile exterior. I caught myself smiling at the thought.
Alistair probably thought I had romantic intentions. The man read too much into everything. It wasn't like that. With Mitchell, there was just this overwhelming sense of familiarity. Like meeting someone you've known for awhile.
I shook off the feeling as I entered the lobby, Nicole still chattering beside me about the meeting preparation. I tuned her out, my attention caught by a familiar figure near the reception desk.
Mitchell.
She was here, dressed professionally in a modest but well-fitted blouse and pencil skirt. Her hair was pulled back, revealing the delicate line of her neck. She looked nervous, clutching a folder to her chest like a shield. Interview attire. Of course—she'd mentioned applying for jobs.
I was about to approach when the receptionist's shrill voice cut through the lobby's ambient noise.
"I think you have a problem with hearing, madam. Dogs and people like you aren't allowed to enter here through the front."
I froze mid-step. The receptionist—a young woman with too much makeup and an inflated sense of importance—was sneering at Mitchell, who had gone still, her face pale.
Such audacity.
I walked forward, my footsteps deliberately loud on the marble floor. Both women turned. The receptionist's face drained of color when she recognized me.
"So I'm also a dog?" I asked pleasantly, my tone ice-cold.
"Mr. Chen! I—I didn't see you, I—"
These people knew my identity. When I'd started working for Alistair, the rumor mill had churned overtime—most assumed I'd gone bankrupt. The speculation amused me, but this? This was unacceptable.
I didn't give her the satisfaction of another word. Instead, I turned to Mitchell, who seemed lost in thought, perhaps replaying the humiliation. Something protective stirred in my chest.
"Don't you want to give your big brother a hug?" I asked, softening my voice.
She blinked, surprise breaking through her distant expression. The title felt right on my tongue. Little sister. The words carried a weight I didn't fully understand, but calling her that felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Could she be the one?
The thought struck like lightning. She was adopted, like the sister I'd been searching for. The timeline matched. The age matched. But what if I was wrong? What if I got my hopes up, only to crush my grandmother's heart again? The old woman had been searching for her granddaughter for two decades. She didn't deserve another false lead.
I pushed the thought aside for now. "Looking for Alistair? Come with me."
We walked to the executive elevator, the brass doors gleaming. Mitchell was quiet, composed despite what just happened. I admired her strength.
"You handled that well," I said as the elevator began its ascent. "But Mitchell..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "You're going to encounter people like that more often now. The Wright sphere is different from anything you've experienced. People will judge you by your proximity to power."
"I know." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "I've spent my whole life being judged."
The admission hit me harder than I expected. How many years had she endured exactly that—being measured and found wanting by people who should have loved her unconditionally? My respect for her deepened.
The elevator chimed, and I led her through the executive corridor. "Alistair owns this company," I said casually, injecting boredom into my tone. As a matter of fact. "Forty percent stake. He's in a board meeting, but he'll want to see you."
She stopped walking abruptly. "Wait. This company? The one I was interviewing for?"
I turned, allowing a sly smile to curve my lips. "The very same. Congratulations on your interview, by the way. You're early. That's a good sign."
I continued toward Alistair's office, leaving her standing there with her mouth slightly open. When I glanced back, she seemed flustered at the mention of him. A faint blush colored her cheeks.
A crush? I chuckled to myself, pushing open the door to Alistair's domain. Interesting developments indeed.
But beneath the amusement, a question burned: Could she really be my sister? Twenty years of searching, and she might have been right there all along, suffering in that cold Turnerstone mansion while I built empires trying to find her.
If it was her, the Turnerstones would answer for every tear she'd shed. And if it wasn't... I'd keep searching. But something in my gut said today was the beginning of an answer I'd waited two decades to find.