CHAPTER 8: Web of Lies

　　The sleek glass elevator doors slid open, revealing a gleaming lobby bathed in the cool light of morning. My stomach clenched, a fist of nervous energy tightening its grip. Today was the day. My first day as a personal assistant to the mysterious Alexander Westcott.

　　Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, the expensive perfume I'd found in the apartment earlier stinging my nostrils. I felt like a fraud, an imposter masquerading in borrowed clothes and a stolen identity. Every glance felt scrutinizing, every hushed whisper a potential threat to the carefully constructed facade I was about to present.

　　My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I navigated the maze of corridors, guided by the office directory Nicola had provided. The air crackled with a quiet efficiency, the only sound the rhythmic click-clack of heels on polished marble floors. Finally, I reached the designated floor, the air here buzzing with a different kind of energy.