Today, every employee was as happy as if they had been given a second life. And in a way, they had—because John had finally returned, which meant they were finally rid of Derrick.
John sat in his office, engaged in a conversation with Derrick. No one knew what they were discussing, but honestly, no one cared. What mattered was that their ordeal was over.
Meanwhile, Emma sat anxiously in her cabin. Derrick had insisted—no, threatened—her into taking the job. And today was her first day as John's secretary. When she had asked Derrick about her duties, he had simply smirked and said, "John will tell you himself. Just relax."
Relax? How could she relax when he had turned her life into a nightmare?
After some time, she received a message. The boss wanted to see her in his office.
Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and stepped inside.
John was alone, engrossed in a file. There was no sign of Derrick.
Upon her entrance, John cast a brief yet piercing glance at her, sensing her nervousness.
"Yes, sir?"
He gestured toward the chair directly in front of his desk.
Emma hesitated and was about to sit in another chair when John's intense stare made her rethink. Swallowing hard, she obeyed and took the seat he had indicated.
"So, Miss Emma, today is your first day as my secretary. I will explain your duties to you once—and only once."
(As if I'll never get to hear them again!) Emma thought bitterly but nodded obediently, keeping her face blank. No way was she going to invite trouble.
"You must be here before I arrive."
(Oh, why don't I just live here? That would solve everything!)
"I drink black coffee in the morning. It should be ready before I enter the office."
(Oh, really? I thought you preferred drinking our blood first!)
John continued listing her responsibilities, and Emma kept responding in her head, though outwardly, she only nodded while staring down at her hands.
"Miss Emma, are you even listening to me?"
He finally paused, probably because she had remained motionless like a statue.
Emma simply nodded again.
"Open your mouth."
She looked at him, bewildered. Was he serious? Had he lost his mind?
"Don't just stare at me. Do as I say."
With the obedience of a child, Emma parted her lips.
"Stick out your tongue."
Now she was certain that Derrick's spirit had possessed John.
Her eyes widened as she did what she was told, waiting for his next bizarre command.
John found her so unexpectedly adorable that he struggled to maintain his composure.
"Hmm… Your tongue is there. It moves just fine. So why do you have trouble speaking?"
He smirked, clearly amused.
"Sir, you told me not to speak unless instructed," Emma responded, her large eyes blinking at him innocently.
For a moment, John was taken aback. He had completely forgotten he had given that order.
"Fine. You can speak now."
"Okay. So, sir, what do I do next?"
"For now, go pick up my outfit for tomorrow's party." He returned his focus to the file.
"But sir… how will I know what you like?"
"You'll figure it out. Now go."
Emma cursed him under her breath as she left. She had barely reached the door when his voice stopped her again.
"Oh, and Miss Emma, make sure to pick a dress for yourself too. I don't want to see you wearing something like… that."
He gestured vaguely toward her dark blue oversized jersey and pants.
Emma looked at him in shock. That was exactly what she had planned to wear. She always dressed the same way, no matter the occasion.
"I think you've stared at me enough, Miss Emma. You may leave now."
Flustered, she hurried out of the office.
(Does he have eyes on the back of his head?!) she muttered to herself, placing a hand over her racing heart.
---
To select John's suit, Emma had to beg Derrick to help. The downside? She had to officially acknowledge him as a friend.
But the upside? She didn't have to waste much time.
They settled on a black dinner suit. Derrick approved it as well.
"Where are we going now?" Emma asked, growing suspicious as Derrick walked into a women's clothing store.
"You need a dress too," he replied nonchalantly.
"I already have one. Let's go back."
Derrick stopped and turned to her. "John told you to shop for a dress, right?"
"Did he tell you that?"
"No, my disciples did."
"Who?"
"Satan, obviously."
And with that, he walked inside, leaving Emma no choice but to follow.
He gave some instructions to a salesgirl, who nodded and disappeared inside.
Emma just scowled at him. She had no intention of buying anything.
After a few minutes, the salesgirl returned with several dresses.
"Ma'am, please try these on and let us know which one you prefer," she said politely.
Derrick, meanwhile, had made himself comfortable on a sofa, scrolling through his phone.
Emma glared at him before reluctantly heading toward the fitting room.
The first dress was a deep red jumpsuit with full sleeves—warm and comfortable. She liked it.
But the moment she stepped out, Derrick rejected it with a single glance.
Scowling, she went back inside.
The second option was a blue knee-length dress with no sleeves.
She immediately rejected it herself.
The third was a long purple gown with a high slit and a deep neckline.
"Nope. The color is awful," Derrick commented casually.
(What a ridiculous reason!)
The fourth dress was a black long-tail gown with full sleeves.
"Perfect! This is the one!" Derrick declared, satisfied.
Emma had a sinking feeling.
(What if I trip and fall in this?)
She imagined herself collapsing at the party while everyone laughed.
"BOO!"
Derrick suddenly startled her out of her thoughts.
Clutching her heart, she glared at him.
"You are such a devil!"
"It's an honor," he said with a mock bow.
"Ugh, you are impossible!"
Shaking her head, she went to pay for the dress.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To pay for my dress!"
"Already done. Let's go." He grabbed the shopping bag and pushed her toward the exit.
"I could have paid for it myself," she grumbled.
"Oh, don't worry. I don't believe in debts. You can repay me by buying me a meal."
(How generous.)
"What if I poison you instead?" she snapped.
"I don't eat leftovers." He smirked.
Defeating Derrick in an argument was impossible.
Frustrated, she snatched the bag from him and stomped out of the mall.
---
Emma wanted to scream.
Just as she was about to get ready for the party, John called her.
"Miss Emma, have you ever seen me wear a dress meant for a woman?"
"Huh? No, sir… wait… what?"
"Then why is there a black gown in my bag?"
Emma's heart sank.
She quickly checked her own bag.
And there it was—John's suit.
She immediately knew who was responsible.
"DERRICK!"
She explained the mix-up to John, who ordered her to bring his suit to his penthouse.
And that was how she found herself standing outside his door, clutching the bag, waiting.
When the door opened, she looked up—
And instantly dropped her gaze.
John stood before her, shirtless, his toned muscles on full display.
She hadn't lowered her gaze out of modesty—
She had lowered it because—
(Damn it. Why does he have to look that good?)
It was just a short quick glanced but the eyes capture this moment like a camera and saved in in the corner of her mind .. at least that what she thought
Stepping aside to let her enter, he made room for her.
Emma hesitated before stepping inside.
"Here."
Emma extended the bag towards him, her head lowered. Her gaze was fixed on her feet.
"Hmm."
John took the bag from her while observing her bowed head.
"You can go change in that room. I don't want any more delays," he said, pointing towards the room behind her before walking away.
The moment he left, Emma finally released the breath she had been holding.
Now that she was a little more relaxed, she took a look around. The penthouse was quite spacious. There was a kitchen on one side, a dining area next to it, and three rooms. The entire penthouse was painted white. The sofa she was sitting on faced a large LED screen.
It was undoubtedly stunning.
"The life of the rich..."
Commenting on the grandeur of the penthouse, she walked towards the room John had pointed out to change.
---
"What is this?"
They had just reached the car when John, unlocking it with the key, noticed Emma's bare feet.
"Shoes."
Sensing his gaze on her shoes, Emma replied simply.
She was wearing a black long-tailed dress. Her hair was tied in a bun, with a few loose strands framing her face. Her face was free of makeup, yet she looked undeniably stunning in her simplicity.
But...
The white sports shoes she was wearing completely ruined the elegant look.
"Seriously, Miss Emma? Sports shoes?"
John looked at her with a sarcastic smirk.
"Yes, sir. Sports shoes. I'm used to wearing them. Besides, look how cold it is. This way, I won't feel the cold."
Emma gave a detailed response to his short remark.
This time, he said nothing. He just stared at her with a thoughtful expression before getting into the car.
Emma silently thanked God that he let her off easily. She took her seat beside him.
---
Lahore, Pakistan
He was back here after three years.
Back at the mansion where he had spent his childhood.
Where he had been pampered, where his every wish was fulfilled before he even voiced it.
He was the apple of everyone's eye.
Yet today, he was made to sit in the drawing room like an outsider.
How strange it was—one moment you were soaring in the sky, and in the blink of an eye, you found yourself crashing down to the ground.
The servant had already placed the tea before leaving, but he hadn't touched anything.
He just sat there in silence, staring at the gun placed in front of him.
Memories of his childhood came rushing back.
"Dada ji! Me too! I want to do dish-dish!"
(A three-year-old chubby little boy was tugging at his grandfather's arm, making a request in his baby talk.)
Dada ji, who was enjoying tea in the mansion's lawn with Bilal (Aahil's father), looked down at the little boy who had just arrived.
"Hahahahaha!"
Hearing his request, Dada ji burst into laughter and picked him up in his arms.
Bilal, on the other hand, simply smiled at his son's innocent demand.
"Oh really? And who will you do dish-dish to?"
"The bad ones!"
(Scrunching up his tiny nose, he answered wisely.)
Meanwhile, Bilal had taken out his phone to record the interaction between grandfather and grandson.
"Oh? So, you're the bad one?"
Dada ji playfully pulled his cheek.
"They will take my doll away, then I will do dish-dish to them... just like the uncle on TV did to the bad guys yesterday!"
Hearing this, Bilal, who had been casually recording, immediately sat up straight.
Dada ji also raised an eyebrow.
"And where did you see that?"
He asked seriously. He never liked such films.
"With Baba."
The boy answered innocently, completely unaware that his father had just landed himself in trouble.
And what followed was a long lecture from Dada ji to Bilal, which was also recorded in that video.
Later, when Bilal edited out his part and showed the video to Aahil after he had grown up, Aahil had felt so embarrassed.
Bilal would often tease him about it.
But when Dada ji showed him the full video, Aahil finally had the chance to tease Bilal instead.
He had always been closest to Bibi Amman and Bilal.
Dada ji was a strict man, so Aahil had always been a little cautious around him.
Thinking about the past, a small smile appeared on his lips.
But the moment Dada ji entered, his expression turned serious again.
To be continued...