The sun hung high over the skyline, painting the glass windows of Leighton Tower in warm amber. Inside Elena's corner office, however, the atmosphere was anything but warm.
"No one?" Qis's voice broke the silence, laced with disbelief.
Elena stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, eyes scanning the city below as if the right driver might appear among the crowd. "No one," she replied curtly.
Qis threw her clipboard onto the couch. "Elena, we've gone through twenty-seven interviews. Twenty-seven! There was that ex-army guy, the Oxford grad, the silent one you said had 'strange eyebrows'—"
Elena turned, her gaze sharp. "I said he blinked too much. I don't trust people who blink like that."
Qis groaned. "You don't trust anyone. Which is exactly why you need someone to help you."
"I'll know the right one when I see him," Elena said, her voice quiet but firm.
"And what if the right one never shows up?" Qis snapped, before catching herself. "Sorry. But you can't keep doing this. You're not choosing a husband. It's just a driver."
Elena said nothing.
A sudden knock at the door silenced the tension.
It opened without waiting for a reply.
A tall man in a navy-blue suit stepped in, his presence as commanding as the city he helped build. Charles Leighton, Elena's father—CEO, tycoon, perfectionist. His jaw was tight, and his eyes immediately sought his daughter.
"Elena."
She straightened. "Yes, Papa."
Charles glanced at Qis, who took the cue and quietly excused herself.
"I just came from the south wing. The MegaTech project breaks ground next week," he said. "You'll be on-site with the city council, architects, media. It's going to be chaos."
"I'm aware," Elena replied, folding her arms behind her back.
"Then explain to me," he said slowly, stepping closer, "why the hell you still don't have a driver."
She opened her mouth to respond—but there were no words. Just the weight of her silence.
Charles leaned in slightly, his voice low but steel-cold. "You've had weeks. This is not just about convenience, Elena. It's about trust, security, protocol. If you don't have a personal driver by tomorrow morning..." he paused, jaw clenched, "I'll assign one for you. Permanently."
Elena's stomach knotted.
She hated that tone. The way he stared not at her, but through her—as though she were a project yet to be completed. There was no room for rebellion in Charles Leighton's world. Only compliance.
"Yes, Papa," she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
He nodded sharply, then turned and left, the door closing behind him with a hollow thud.
The next morning arrived too fast.
Elena sat behind her desk, untouched coffee going cold at her side. She hadn't slept well. Her dreams were filled with piercing eyes and long strides disappearing into the crowd.
Qis entered quietly, holding a list. "You want to try interviewing again?"
Elena didn't answer.
Instead, she rose, walked to the window, and stared at the distant city street.
A quiet dread coiled in her chest.
Her father was on his way.
And she still had no driver.