Beneath the Billionaire's Gaze

The Lancaster building's architecture was first-class, and beyond what Adele could imagine, it looked like a building straight out of luxurious magazines, but even better. It was filled with glasses sharp enough to cut one’s self-esteem and individuals in suits and heels that radiated the confidence of empires. Adele Monroe hesitated on the threshold, clutching her thrifted leather tote as if it were a shield.

The air inside the lobby smelt rich and faintly citrus-scented. Everything gleamed—black marble floors, brushed steel beams, even the massive sculptural chandelier that hung overhead. She wondered just how much the company made. She felt her sneakers squeak embarrassingly against the polished stone, threading carefully and praying it doesn’t burst open, drawing a disapproving glance from the security desk. She she had never felt so out of place and was already sure she wasn’t getting the job,

Her sight landed on the gold-plated logo behind the reception wall: Lancaster Enterprises.

The name alone carried weight. Prestige. Power. And…rumors.

She swallowed. You made it inside. Just breathe. You can do this, and remember, you need this.

The internship offer had come out of nowhere—an email that looked almost too polished to be real. A six-week corporate communications program. Paid, And good pay! Full access to one of the most exclusive media conglomerates in New York. The offer felt too good to be through and the ran through the email severally times to be sure it was her it was really sent to and no one was trying to pull a fast one on her.

Adele hadn’t had the luxury of doubting it enough to delete it. She thought it better to accept it rather than saving it to drafts. . Desperately, she accepted it before rereading the terms. She needed this. Rent was late again, food was running low, she was also indeed of an outfit change. And more importantly…her mother’s hospital bills weren’t going to be paid on their own.

She approached the front desk and gave her name to the security guard. The man, who could easily pass out as a bouncer, handed her a guest badge and nodded toward the elevator bay.

“Forty-seventh floor. HR’s waiting.”

Forty-seven. She pressed the button and watched the elevator rise, floor by floor. She looked at the mirror of the elevator of a final analysis on her look, her frizzy curls she hadn’t had time to tame, a blazer that was a hand-me-down from her mum and exhaustion she’d woefully tried to mask with concealer.

The doors slid open. She stepped out—and walked directly into someone.

Not just anyone

Probably the most gorgeous man ever , dressed in perfect designer suit, she didn't need a side chick to tell her it was more expensive than everything she had ever owned. His gray eyes bore into hers clear cut arrogance.

She stumbled back as her tote spilled open, folders, pens, and a partially finished chocolate bar tumbling onto the hallway carpet.

“Oh my! I'm so sorry, I didn’t see you—”

“I can tell,” came a voice, annoyed and sharp.

He crouched and retrieved her folders with long, precise fingers.

“ Don't worry, I can pick it myself “ she said trying not to further annoy him. “ Maybe if you watched were you were going, I won't have to pick it” , he said as he continued.She reached out to grab the folder at the same time, and their hands brushed.

She flinched.

But he practically remained indifferent.

He stood and handed her the papers, his expression unreadable.

And that’s when she saw him fully.

Jet-black hair, sharp cheekbones, body sculpted like with so much intentionality like that of Michael B. Jordan. His eyes were an unsettling and intense shade of gray, it was stormy, intense, cold, and trained directly on her.

He had a dark aura that pulled you away from him, but beauty that was rather magnetic in a way that made one gasp for reasons you can't fully understand.

“Thanks,” she murmured, flustered. “Sorry again—I wasn’t looking.”

“You obviously were not.”

A beat passed.

Then, “ New here?.”

She nodded, brushing hair from her eyes. “It is my first day.I'll be interning in the communicatios department.”

His gaze lingered and it made her feel more self conscious. There was something calculating in the way he looked at her, there wasn't lust it attraction. It felt like he was assessing not just her outfit or her apology, but her entire soul.

“Try not to make a habit of bumping into people, especially executives ,” he said finally.

“ Sorry, Executives?”

His lips twitched, but he didn't smile. “Liam Lancaster to you.”

Her stomach flipped. She remember the gold inscription “Lancaster building “,

Oh, God.

The name. The building. The Lancaster.

He was the CEO. The young billionaire known for his coldness in which people crossed the street just to avoid making eye contact. Rumor had it that, he inherited the empire from his late father and tripled its value within five years. Others said he’d fired half the boardroom with a single email. Some said he did both .

Adele swallowed hard. “I—uh—didn’t realize—”

“ That goes without saying”

He gave her one last look, his expression, very unreadable, maybe uninterested—and walked away.

The rest of the morning was rather hectic, there was a bunch of HR paperwork, badge photos, and onboarding slides delivered by a woman who sounded both strict and strait forward like she an AI programmed to perfection. Adele was assigned a desk near the back of the open-concept communications department—an area with dim lighting and even older monitors, which seemed rather suprising for a building of such grandeur. Interns were kept here to fade quietly into the background.

She didn’t care and she didn’t mind fading, she just needed the job.

The team didn’t go out of their way to welcome her, not like she expected a welcome . She was the charity case who’d slipped in through a side door. They weren’t cruel. Just indifferent , like… Liam Lancaster. By lunchtime, she’d already heard three different whispered versions of her bump-in with the CEO.

“Did you see her? Walked into him like she owned the building. I’m sure there was an intention behind it”

“I heard she made him smile.”

“Then I guess, ice skating was formed in hell . He doesn’t do smiling.” Another scoffed.

Adele buried herself in the employee handbook and tried to pretend she wasn’t the hot topic of someone else’s joke, it was too early to be this unpopular.

That night, she walked back to her tiny sixth-floor walk-up in Queens, Back hurting and mind aching. She peeled off her shoes, microwaved instant noodles, which had become a regular dinner, and stared at the ceiling while the city howled outside her window.

This wasn’t going to be easy. But easy wasn’t an option anymore.

The next week passed rather slowly . Adele kept a low profile and worked late, volunteered for the work no one wanted. One day someone gave her a login to the internal campaign archive. Another day, someone asked her to take minutes during a pitch call. Little things, but they made her feel relevant, like she mattered.

On one of her the late nights…

Friday. 8:42 PM. Most of the floor had cleared out. She stayed behind, organizing files for a senior associate who doesn’t even regard her.

She was printing a media brief when a shadow crossed her desk.

“Working late?”

She turned. And there he was.

Liam Lancaster.

His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows.This was the most lax she had seen him look and he still made it work. The heat that rushed through her had nothing to do with the printer, he looked so hot even with the now obvious ingrown beards she hadn’t noticed before.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, trying not to sound breathless.

“ Well, you have a record for having your head in the clouds” he said as he glanced at the printed stack. “Corporate initiative briefs? That’s above intern paygrade.”

She shrugged. “Someone had to do it.”

He studied her again—like he couldn’t quite figure out what box to put her in. “ I never got your name”

She hesitated. “Adele. I am. Adele Monroe.”

He nodded once.

“I saw your internal suggestion notes,” he said.

“You did?” She asked, suprised he had bothered to look into it,

“The ones about restructuring the brand pitch for BelleVie Cosmetics.”

She’d written those in a Google form. It wasn’t meant to go beyond the intern coordinator.

“You have a mind for this,” he said simply. Wits too. Not even executives call out bad strategy on day three.”

“I wasn’t trying to criticize.”

“You were trying to improve. That’s the difference between ambition and noise. And I must say, I’m impressed”

Adele couldn’t help it—she stared at him. At the brutal elegance of his words. At how he seemed to present criticism in the most delicate way, but his compliment left her flattered.

Liam stepped back. “Come to the 50th floor at nine Monday morning. We’re reviewing the BelleVie pitch. You’re in.”

She opened her mouth. Then closed it almost immediately.

“Don’t be late,” he added.

And then he was gone.

Later that night, Adele stared at her ceiling again, heart hammering in her chest, her mind wandering to the first day of work, her emotions seemed to be struggling out of the walls she had built.

It had begun.

Not the internship.

Not the pay

But something else.

Something she loathed.

Something she has tried to avoid

Something that started the moment she crashed into him in the hallway.

…Liam Lancaster.