I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

Chapter 86 Work contract and Cars

Barbara stood in the middle of the office, her posture straight but her pulse slightly uneven. In front of her stood a woman clad in a sleek Loro Piana blazer, tailored to perfection, its sharp lapels framing a silk Lanificio Colombo blouse that draped effortlessly over her frame. The Kito Hermès pencil skirt, with its subtle gold-thread embroidery, hinted at exclusivity only the truly affluent would recognize. On her feet, a pair of Ralph Lauren stilettos gleamed under the office lights—understated yet painfully expensive.

Yet, despite the woman's regal presence, it was him who commanded the room. Seated behind an imposing desk, he radiated a pressure that seemed to settle over her like an invisible weight. Barbara had been in rooms with her father and his business associates before, men who wielded influence like a weapon. But this—this was different. This was something else entirely.

Perhaps it was the daunting reality of working for a man at the pinnacle of the financial world—a world she had always longed to fully belong to. Or perhaps... it was simply him.

His presence was magnetic in an unsettling way. She could tell at a glance that he had been a pampered child, untouched by the hardships of the ordinary. His skin was flawless—so smooth it almost appeared airbrushed, a pale, porcelain-like perfection untouched by the sun. There was not a single blemish, not a hint of imperfection, as though he had been sculpted rather than born. His beard, meticulously groomed, framed his sharp jawline with an almost obsessive precision, not a hair out of place.

Barbara was enchanted by him. He appeared engrossed in his book, not sparing her a glance, yet she couldn't take her eyes off him.

As she stared, a voice suddenly rang out, firm and unwavering.

"Mrs. Longbottom."

It wasn't a question. It was a demand for attention.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Barbara turned toward the woman and responded, "Yes, ma."

"Come here," the woman instructed, already walking toward the desk.

Barbara swallowed, realizing her throat was dry despite the water she had drunk earlier. Taking careful steps, she approached, her gaze flickering back to him. He still didn't acknowledge her presence.

"Take a seat," the woman said.

Barbara obeyed, sitting opposite him.

The woman moved to stand beside him before speaking again. "Mrs. Longbottom, my name is Everlyn Hawthorne. Nice to meet you."

Barbara offered a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too, but you can just call me Barbara."

Everlyn gave a small nod. "No problem, Barbara."

Barbara smiled again, hoping—just hoping—that Everlyn's expression would shift from its current air of indifference.

Everlyn stood opposite the man, who still seemed completely absorbed in his book, his eyes never straying from the pages.

"We apologize for concealing our identities during the entire process," she said, her voice even. Then, gesturing toward the man beside her, she continued, "The gentleman sitting here is going to be your new employer. This is—"

Before she could finish, Barbara's voice cut through with quiet resolve.

"Mr. Alexander Blackwell."

Her gaze flickered back to Everlyn before settling on him again. "I figured that out, Miss Hawthorne," she added, her tone unwavering.

Internally, she berated herself. I should have known earlier—especially when we took a damn helicopter to the island. Who else lives on a freaking private island, away from all of society, except the Blackwells?

The realization hit harder as she recalled the countless rumors surrounding the infamous family. The father, who once dominated business headlines. The mother, whose high-profile divorce had been one of the biggest scandals of its time. Even as a teenager, Barbara remembered how the story had been everywhere. Then there was the sister, a fixture in the high-society scene, especially after marrying a renowned Hollywood director.

Yet, as her mind sifted through the endless gossip and speculation surrounding the Blackwell family, something struck her.

There wasn't a single rumor—nothing at all—about him.

Everlyn, unfazed by Barbara's response, simply nodded. "That's good, then. There are some tasks we'll require you to handle. But—"

She paused, reaching for a file from the neatly arranged stack on the desk. Picking it up, she handed it to Barbara.

"Before we proceed any further, we need you to sign this."

Barbara took the document, expecting a standard employee contract—nothing out of the ordinary. But as her eyes scanned the contents, confusion settled in.@@@@

The Employer retains full discretion in defining what constitutes a failure to meet expectations and in assessing the total reimbursement amount.

6. GENERAL PROVISIONS

6.1 The Employee acknowledges and accepts the nature of this Agreement freely and without reservation.

6.2 The Employer retains full authority to modify or expand the Employee's duties as he sees fit, without the need for an amendment to this Agreement.

6.3 Any disputes arising from this Agreement shall be governed by the laws of [Jurisdiction Chosen by Employer].

By signing below, the Employee confirms understanding and full agreement with the terms of this contract.

Employer:

Alexander Blackwell

Signature: A.B

Employee:

Barbara Longbottom

Signature: _______________________

was a fool?

Thanks to years of training under her father, Barbara could spot every hidden clause—some so blatant they weren't even disguised. This wasn't a job offer. It was a slave contract.

Her first instinct was to lash out, to demand if they truly expected her to sign something so absurd. But then her father's voice echoed in her mind:

"Barbara, whatever happens, make sure you get that job. It will be the cornerstone of everything."

She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the paper. Damn it.

Looking up from the contract, her gaze landed on him. Still reading. Still indifferent. Every bit of admiration she had earlier—his looks, his presence—vanished in an instant.

Barbara shifted her eyes to Everlyn, hostility flashing in them. But when she finally spoke, her voice betrayed none of it.

"Can I get a pen?"

The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

After signing, Barbara sat there, staring at the paper, a sinking feeling settling in her chest.

"Did I really just sign that? What was I thinking?"

The weight of her decision pressed down on her, but before she could dwell on it further, the woman who had taken the contract stepped back into the room, this time standing beside him.

Then—finally—he moved.

He set the book down with an effortless grace, and despite the resentment simmering inside her, Barbara found herself straightening, as if his presence alone demanded it.

And then he spoke.

His voice was exactly as she had imagined exactly how he looked—deep, commanding, and effortlessly smooth.

"Mrs. Longbottom, the first task will be about the cars."

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