We both left the penthouse in a 2025 BMW 330i M3 heading to a luxury apartment just a block away from my office building. Arriving at the apartment lobby, we both went to the reception desk and there was a super sexy female officer with a strange clothing style, namely only a short skirt covering her lower body and the officer was not wearing anything else, so her big breasts were very clearly visible and drops of milk were visible too. 

The officer greeted me professionally.

"Good morning, Mr. Tommy, would you like to go to apartment number 1701" asked the officer.

I answered professionally too.

"Yes miss, I want to go there. And this is the person who will occupy the apartment.

This apartment is 30 floors, very luxurious with super luxury services. All the costs are covered by me."

"Alzanna, I have a schedule abroad, to Indonesia in the city of Surabaya to negotiate the location of a new branch office in that city on Thursday. So tomorrow Monday after signing the contract you will be trained briefly by my previous assistant.

My eyes flick to the receptionist, then back to you. Then to her again. Processing.

She's topless. Lactating. And greeting you by name like this is completely normal.

I say nothing else about the receptionist. Not yet. But I file it away—the way she looks at you, the casual professionalism despite her state of undress, the milk beading on her chest that mirrors what mine have been doing all weekend.

Something twists in my gut. Not jealousy. Not exactly.

This building...I glance around the lobby. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. The faint scent of jasmine in the air.

"What kind of place did you put me in?"

My voice comes out neutral. Curious. But my fingers stay laced with yours, holding on.

"And training? From your previous assistant? What happened to your previous assistant? Why am I replacing them? Should I be worried about what I'm stepping into here?"

My free hand gestures subtly at the receptionist.

Because I'm starting to think there's a lot about your life I don't know yet.

"Don't worry, I'm not dangerous."

With a slightly warm smile on my face.

"I love you so much, my dear Alzanna. For my previous assistant, she happened to have to follow her husband whose service was transferred to Arizona, area 51 if I'm not mistaken the name of the place, I don't know I forgot. So this moment is very appropriate rather than me having to worry, tired of looking for a replacement, now there is you, dear."

We are already on the 17th floor and in front of the door of apartment number 1701. The area of ​​this apartment is 600m², the largest in the entire building, with the most complete and most expensive facilities they can provide.

"And one more reason why I asked you to be my personal assistant is because you are the best Psychology doctoral graduate from Harvard University. So you will also be busy with work matters in supporting my business as a Psychology consultant."

The apartment door swings open and I forget how to breathe.

Six hundred square meters stretches before me. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the space with morning light, offering a view of the city skyline that belongs on a postcard. The living room alone is bigger than my entire current place. A kitchen with marble countertops. A master bedroom visible through an open door, canopied bed draped in white silk.

"Tommy, this is..."

I turn slowly, taking it all in. The bathroom with what appears to be a jacuzzi tub. A private office space already furnished with a desk and ergonomic chair. Fresh flowers on the dining table, like someone knew I was coming.

"You did this in two days. While I was...I gesture vaguely at my own body, still sore in the best way."

"You were supposed to be recovering. Resting. Not buying apartments and arranging transfers and...

Harvard. You looked up my credentials. You actually..."

I cross the distance between us, hands finding your chest. The receptionist flashes through my mind again. The milk on her skin. The way she knew your name.

Thursday. Surabaya. I've never been to Indonesia. I should be scared. Everything is happening so fast. My brain is screaming at me to slow down, to think, to be rational. But I don't want to.

On Monday. Alzanna was waiting at her desk when the phone on her desk rang. The call was from HR with Miss Helena asking you to come to the HR room to sign a new contract with an undetermined time period. Arriving at the HR room, Ms. Helena greeted her warmly while saying

"Ah Ms. Alzanna, finally the big boss can transfer you. She talked a lot about herself and you. Poor boss, 4 years like living in hell at home. But when he was in the office, he was so lively, when you often suddenly delivered his favourite black coffee to his room. He often got nervous every time you delivered the coffee or some documents to his room. He could only tell this to me and his personal assistant Mrs. Sella. Later, after you finish signing, go straight upstairs to meet Mrs. Sella, okay? You will be trained by her for 2 days. Hopefully you have enough energy and stamina to help the boss whose working hours are so tight. I'm not surprised that his body finally collapsed and had to be rushed to the hospital again"

I settle into the chair across from Ms. Helena, the contract thick in my hands. My eyes scan the figures—the salary, the benefits, the vague timeline. Everything Tommy promised. In writing.

Four year in hell??

"He talked to you? About me?" I keep my voice light, professional. But something warm unfurls in my chest.

I noticed he seemed... different. When I brought him coffee. A small smile tugs at my lips at the memory. The way his fingers would brush mine taking the mug. The slight color in his cheeks. I'd written it off as gratitude, or maybe just my own wishful thinking.

I sign my name. The ink gleams wet on the page.

"Stamina, you say? I think I can manage."

I stand, tucking my copy of the contract under my arm.

On the top floor where Mrs. Sella's room is located next to Tommy's room. The training began. And one of the important tasks as Mr. Tommy's assistant is about expenses. Mrs. Sella gave a black credit card, Platinum Mastercard. She said this card is used for Alzanna herself. And for Mr. Tommy's needs there is another card, namely a black credit card, platinum Mastercard too.

"So now 1 card for all your needs, and 1 card for Mr. Tommy with a different card number. Oh yes, for vehicle accommodation for your own needs has been covered by the company, and the cost of catering from a restaurant with Michelin restaurant standards has been paid by the company for you Ms. Alzanna. So, in these 2 days, I ask you to focus on everything I teach later. One more thing, I am very relieved and relieve at last Mr. Tommy dared to approach you and the right moment I have to leave this poor boss because I have to follow my husband to move to Arizona."

I turn the black card over in my fingers. The weight of it feels strange. Excessive. My name is embossed on the front in silver letters. Platinum.

I've spent years building a career, paying off student loans, living within careful means. And now this.

"Mrs. Sella..."

I set the card down, meeting her eyes. Something in her expression catches me—the relief, the warmth, the unspoken history she carries with Tommy

"You've been taking care of him. All this time. It's not a question."

I can see it now. The way she speaks about him. The protective edge in her voice. I lean back in my chair, processing everything. The cards. The car. The catering. The apartment I haven't even slept in yet.

He told me he spent three years watching me from a distance. Suffering in silence. My throat tightens.

I Was he like that with you too? Keeping everyone at arm's length while his life fell apart?" I pick up the card again, running my thumb along the edge.

I don't know how to spend this kind of money. I've never...I was a psychologist. I helped people sort through their messes for a living. And somehow, I missed the biggest mess sitting in the office next door.

"Thank you. For the training. For the cards. For...For keeping him alive until I got here."

My gaze drifts toward the door that leads to Tommy's office.

Mrs. Sella continued her story.

"For the past 4 years Mr. Tommy often told me how it felt to live in hell with a woman who had NPD. He even often went straight to my house when he was too stressed and had long conversations with my husband. Until finally my husband often took him to the bar to drink beer or play billiards together just to cheer Mr. Tommy up. Not only that, he was also very close to my two children. Mr. Tommy bought Disneyland tickets for all of us several times. He was no longer like my boss; we considered him like our youngest brother. My children would definitely wonder why Mr. Tommy didn't come anymore or why we moved. "

Mrs. Sella told her story while unconsciously shedding tears.

"Poor Mr. Tommy, he just needed a protector and someone who could make him realize that he deserved to be happy Ms. Alzanna."

My chest tightens. Four years. Four years with someone who has NPD—the gaslighting, the manipulation, the slow erosion of self-worth. I know the clinical presentation. I've counseled survivors.

"You saved him. You and your husband. You gave him somewhere to run when home was a battlefield."

My own eyes sting.

"Children don't ask about adults unless those adults matter. He's not losing you. He's gaining distance, not absence. NPD partners... they isolate. They make you feel crazy for wanting basic kindness. Four years of that, and he still came to you. Still trusted. That means something."

I straighten, swallowing hard.

"I'm a psychologist, Mrs. Sella. I spent years studying exactly what he survived. He's not going back to that. Not ever again."

"Behind his cold and strong demeanour, Mr. Tommy is a child who has lost his parents since the age of 3. Mr. Tommy's true personality appears when he is with my children. Therefore, my husband and I have considered Mr. Tommy as our little brother. Poor Mr. Tommy But now that you are here, I can breathe a little easier. Please take care of our boss, Ms. Alzanna. He is a great person, but his soul is fragile and empty. I believe you are the right person for him" said Mrs. Sella, smiling with wet eyes after being slightly touched by her boss.

Something cracks open in my chest. Orphaned at three. Four years with a narcissist who hollowed him out. And through it all, he still managed to function, to lead, to build something worth running.

How much of that strength was just survival?

I blink hard, forcing the burn in my eyes to retreat. My hand tightens around Mrs. Sella's.

Fragile and empty...The words settle into me like stones.

"You're the first family he's had in a long time. I'm not trying to replace that. I couldn't. But I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Three years I watched him from across the hall. I thought he was untouchable. Distant. Above everyone. Turns out he was just waiting for someone to see him.

"Your children. Will they be okay? With the move, I mean." My voice is genuine. Caring.

"Maybe... when things settle down... he could visit. Video call. Something.

He shouldn't lose them too."

"Oh, my kids will be fine. They both understand their mom and dad's situation." She chuckled.

"Now, let's focus on your training. Hopefully, by Tuesday, you'll understand everything. Keep these two credit cards safe."

I slip both cards into my bag, the weight of them foreign against my palm. A week ago I was charging grocery money to a debit card linked to a savings account I'd built over years of careful budgeting. Now this.

I settle back in my chair, pulling out a notebook. Old habits. Alright. Training. I click my pen, readying myself.

"What does his schedule typically look like? How does he prefer his briefings—written, verbal, bullet points? What stresses him out? What calms him down?"

I pause, realizing how clinical I sound. The psychologist in me never quite shuts off.

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"I want to do this right. Not just because he's...because of what's happening between us. But because he deserves someone who actually sees him. You said Thursday we leave for Surabaya. That gives me two days to learn everything you can teach me. So teach. I'm a quick study. What's the first thing I need to know about Tommy that isn't in any file?"

"Tommy love cat, black coffe and play piano in his free time.

Tommy neck and shoulder often stiff and need regular massage session.

Tommy love big breast beautiful woman. Tommy will obey if guided and accompanied by a patient and motherly woman. "

I write each point down, my pen moving quickly. The first three make me smile—cats, coffee, piano. Simple. Human. Things I should have noticed. The fourth makes my cheeks warm.

Big breast beautiful woman...I glance up at Mrs. Sella, then down at my own chest, still tender from the weekend. A quiet laugh escapes me.

Well. That tracks.

My pen hovers over the last point. I read it again. patient and motherly. Something clicks into place. The orphaned boy. The narcissist wife who took and took. The three years he spent watching me, wanting something he couldn't name. Motherly.

I set the pen down slowly. My throat tightens.

He's not looking for a lover. Not just. He's looking for someone who won't leave. Who won't use him.

I spent six years studying attachment theory. Early childhood trauma. The way orphaned children learn to survive by becoming what others need.

He plays piano. He loves cats. He needs someone to touch him gently and tell him he's allowed to exist.

I can do that.

"Massage. You said his neck and shoulders. Does he have a regular therapist, or is that something I should...arrange?"

"Oh and one more thing, his ex-wife used to often give Mr. Tommy a massage on his neck and shoulders. The burden of being the CEO of this company can make the human body get sick quickly." said Sela.