It all started with a simple mistake.
An administrative mix-up, a system glitch, human error—whatever you wanted to call it. But somehow, here I was: standing on trembling knees in my office—my office—perched like a crown jewel at the top floor of the Lang Group headquarters, the same mega-corporation that practically ran the country.
I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to be anything, really. I came to the capital to disappear.
Instead, I had a corner office with glass walls and a view of the sky that made me feel like I'd been pulled out of the atmosphere. I placed a hand against the window, half expecting the whole illusion to ripple like a dream. It didn't. The glass was cold. Solid. Real.
I closed my eyes and shook my head, but it only made me dizzier.
"Miss, are you sure you are well?"
The voice came softly beside me, closer than I'd realized. It was low and husky, but sharp around the edges, like a scalpel made of velvet. I flinched hard enough to almost fall against the window.
"P–please! Don't sneak up on me like that!!" I yelped. My voice cracked. It sounded high and ridiculous in this quiet space built for power and poise.
"My deepest apologies, Miss," she said, with a fluid bow of her head. "I shall never do that again."
I turned, only to stumble back at the sight of her suddenly kneeling—yes, kneeling—on one knee before me. Like a knight from a fairytale.
"No, no, no! No need to kneel! Please get up!" My arms flailed, trying to wave her upright like a lunatic.
She looked up from below, unbothered, composed. Behind me, the endless blue sky reflected faintly in her pale gray eyes, which were unlike anything I had ever seen. They weren't cold, exactly. Just… ancient. Like eyes that had seen too many truths and no longer cared for lies.
I'd never seen eyes like this in my life.
She wasn't pretty. She wasn't beautiful. Those words were too small, too flimsy, almost insulting. Her presence didn't shine. She was a knight in a jet black suit that seemed to absorb all light. I felt like if I extended my hand and dared to try to touch her, I'd get sucked in, never to return to the reality again. Not that the situation I was in right now felt like reality in any form and shape at all.
I took another step back, bumping against the glossy black desk behind me.
"This… I'll say it again… is all a big mistake."
"If that makes you feel better, Miss," she said without hesitation, "then let us call it a mistake."
"No! I mean it!" My voice cracked again. "I'm just—just an intern! I'm not supposed to be here. None of this makes sense. I don't know how I got this office. Or why people are bowing. Or why you're kneeling in front of me!"
The assistant didn't flinch. Instead, she stood gracefully, like water rising. There was no awkward movement, no readjusting of limbs. Just seamless grace. She adjusted the cuffs of her black blazer and said, "I understand. This must be difficult to accept. I'm terribly sorry for your loss, and it is extremely harsh and unfair for you to be burdened with this responsibility. But, Miss, you are the heiress of the great Lang family. I will assist you in any way I can to ensure that you achieve everything you are capable of."
My brain completely short-circuited at the word heiress. It echoed around the room like a slap.
I covered my face with both hands and pressed hard against my eyelids, as if I could squeeze reality into shape. Maybe if I pushed hard enough, I'd wake up on the floor of my tiny apartment with a stiff neck and an untouched bowl of instant noodles waiting.
But nothing changed.
"You don't look well." Her voice came closer again. "Please, take a seat."
I felt the gentle tug on my sleeve before I could resist.
I let her guide me—almost against my will—to the large chair behind the desk. It wasn't a chair. It was a throne. I could feel its authority soaking through my spine.
I sank into the softest leather I had ever touched. My knees, my bones, my will all melted into it.
The assistant stood nearby, still as stone. Watchful.
I stared at the desk—this impossibly sleek, dark thing with carved edges and what looked like gold trim underneath the surface. It reflected the light like water and on that reflective surface, I caught a faint glimpse of myself. A blur of unkempt black hair, a pale, stunned face that probably looked like a baby deer staring into the approaching lights.
My name is Lin Lang.
A 23-year-old nobody from a village no one can pronounce properly. I graduated from a university that didn't even crack the top 100 and had a GPA just barely high enough to not be funny. I had no technical skills. No elite connections. No secret talents. Just a desperate hope that maybe I could get some kind of job where no one would bother me.
And somehow, I ended up here.
I'd applied to 21 different companies and got ghosted or rejected by every single one.
Except Lang Group.
The biggest, richest, most cutthroat conglomerate in the nation. I applied almost as a joke. Just one more shot in the dark before I gave up and went home.
They called me back within two hours.
I thought it was a phishing scam. But then I went. They smiled. They nodded. They asked strange questions. And then they hired me—on the spot. I even pinched myself right there in front of them. One of the interviewers laughed softly and said, "She's the one."
That was last Monday.
And now, seven days later, I'm in a skyscraper I shouldn't even be allowed to enter, sitting on a chair worth more than my life savings.
Outside, the city blinked like a machine. Inside, my heart did the same.
The only thing of note that happened between the interview and now was… a disaster.
The Lang family—the old CEO, the heirs, all the board-level descendants—died in what news outlets called a "freak incident."
And now, somehow, they believed I was the only surviving Lang.
Except I wasn't.
I wasn't anyone.
I was just Lin Lang.