Katherina dropped her mop. It clattered against the marble floor of the boardroom, but nobody even looked at her. Seven men in expensive suits stared at their boss, lying motionless on the ground, frozen like statues. Michael Owen, the youngest billionaire in West Africa, wasn’t breathing.

For three months, Katherina, the invisible cleaner nobody ever noticed, had scrubbed toilets in this gleaming glass tower. She was a shadow, furniture, someone seen only by the smudges she missed. But right now, she was the only one moving.

She pushed past the executives and dropped to her knees beside him. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. She pressed two fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse. Nothing.

Her mind flashed to the free first aid class at the community center she’d only gone to because they gave out bread afterward. The instructor’s voice echoed in her head: When everyone panics, someone has to act.

Katherina tilted Michael’s head back, pinched his nose, and breathed into his mouth. Once. Twice. Then she laced her fingers together and pressed hard against his chest, counting compressions out loud. Sweat dripped down her temples; her arms burned.

“What is she doing to him?” someone gasped. “Get her away from Mr. Owen!” another shouted.

But Katherina’s hands didn’t stop. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Thirty compressions. “Please. Please work.”

Michael’s chest suddenly jerked beneath her palms. A strangled gasp escaped his lips, followed by a violent cough. The room exploded in noise—shouts, phones dialing, someone crying—but Katherina barely noticed. She fell back onto the floor, dizzy with relief.

“He’s breathing!” she cried.

Two men in suits rushed forward, finally kneeling beside their boss. One checked his pulse; another barked into a phone for an ambulance. Katherina’s trembling hands were still smeared with the billionaire’s blood—no, not blood. Red wine. A broken glass lay near his hand.

Michael Owen blinked weakly, his sharp gray eyes struggling to focus. “Who…” he rasped, his gaze fixing on her. “Who are you?”

Katherina opened her mouth to speak, but before she could answer, a deep voice behind her said coldly,
“She’s the one who poisoned him.”

Every head turned. It was Leonard Hayes—the company’s chief financial officer. His gold watch gleamed as he pointed at her. “She brought the tea just before the meeting. I saw her.”

Katherina froze. “What? No! I—I didn’t—”

Security guards burst in, already grabbing her by the arms. The executives stepped back like she carried a disease. Michael tried to sit up, but his strength failed; he slumped against the wall, eyes locked on her face.

“Sir,” Leonard said smoothly, “we’ll handle this.”

Katherina’s pulse thundered in her ears as they dragged her away. “You’re making a mistake! I saved his life!”

But as she was pulled through the glass doors, she caught one last glimpse of Michael—half-conscious, yet still watching her with something fierce and confused in his eyes. He managed to whisper, barely audible:

“Wait… don’t let them—”

The doors slammed shut.