The room was a concrete box, painted in shades of absolute
black. A single square window, set over four meters high, allowed a sliver of
grey light to cut through the oppressive gloom. The space was completely empty,
devoid of even a chair or a rug.
Mr. and Mrs. Grays, their eyes blindfolded, were shoved
inside. Mr. Grays stumbled and fell hard onto the cold floor, a stream of
curses erupting from his lips.
A bodyguard hauled him up roughly and ripped the blindfold
away.
Mr. Grays's curses died in his throat. His eyes widened in
primal fear as they landed on the figure by the doorway. It was Ben, his
delicate, almost boyish face a mask of ice, casually holding a metal baseball
bat.
Screech—
Ben dragged the tip of the bat against the concrete floor,
the sound screeching through the silence like nails on a chalkboard.
"D-Don't... don't come any closer," Mr. Grays
stammered, his body trembling as he scrambled backward.
"How much do you want?" Ben's voice was flat,
devoid of all emotion, as he took another step forward.
"Nothing! I don't want it! Not a single penny!"
The man was consumed by regret, his desire for money utterly eclipsed by the
need to survive. This man wasn't human; he was a demon.
"What a pity," Ben halted, his expression
unchanging. "Too late."
"No, it's not too late! Please, spare me! It wasn't my
idea—it was that woman! She's the one who came up with this whole scheme! She's
the one who wanted to extort money from Elara! Go after her!" he shrieked,
pointing a shaking finger at his wife, who was cowering in the opposite corner.
"You snivelling coward, shut your mouth!" Mrs.
Grays snarled, her eyes burning with a hatred so pure it could have melted
steel. "If you want to die, die alone. Don't you dare drag me down with
you."
Before the echo of her words had faded, Ben moved with
chilling speed. The baseball bat whistled through the air and came down with a
sickening thwack on Mr. Grays's forearm, which was braced against the floor.
A sharp, guttural cry of agony tore from the man's throat.
"Rest assured," Ben said coolly, his gaze shifting
to the terrified woman, "neither of you will escape."
The woman's blood-curdling screams intertwined with her
husband's wails, creating a symphony of terror that was swallowed by the
soundproofed, gloomy walls.
The following day, Elara walked through the polished halls
of Aeternum Corp. There were no whispers, no sidelong glances about the
commotion from the previous day. Silas had, as expected, efficiently sanitised
the incident. She put the vile couple out of her mind; they had received the
only language they understood.
With the matriarch's funeral behind them, she could finally
focus on work. Her first order of business was a long-delayed meeting with The
Ark Fund regarding a feasibility study for a promising AI software platform. It
was a prestigious project, but one detail nagged at her: why had they
specifically requested her for the business analysis?
Brooke by her side, Elara entered the spacious conference
room. The discussion with The Ark Fund's lead representative was proceeding
formally when the door opened.
A secretary ushered in three people.
Elara glanced up, and her professional smile solidified,
then vanished from her face.
Leading the group, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit
that couldn't hide his newfound hollowness, was Julian. No—Julian Cohen.
Their eyes met. A flicker of surprise, then bitter
recognition passed through Julian's gaze. He hadn't known she would be the lead
analyst. He'd known she was an intern, but this? A business associate leading a
major proposal? A sour tang of regret filled his mouth. He had always
diminished her, viewing her as a beautiful accessory, a shy girlfriend to be
paraded, her intellect and ambition something to be stifled and controlled.
The introductions were made. Julian was the newly appointed
project manager for this venture. The sharply dressed woman beside him,
introduced as his analyst, immediately began laying out their stringent terms.
As she spoke, it became clear: Elara's role would be to rubber-stamp a
pre-determined outcome. Her analysis would be a prop, a facade of legitimacy
for a decision Julian would ultimately make.
This wasn't a collaboration; it was a puppet show. And she
was expected to be the puppet.
A dry, humourless laugh threatened to escape her. She let a
faint, cynical smile touch her lips instead, ignoring the warning pinch from
the junior analyst beside her.
"My apologies," Elara said, her voice clear and
cutting. "But your company would be better served by finding another
analyst. It seems your temple is too small to house me."
The room went still. Apart from Julian, the other two Ark
Fund representatives looked utterly affronted.
"Miss Hayes," the woman sneered, her contempt
palpable. "Our company is doing you a honour by commissioning this report.
You should understand that there are dozens of consulting firms begging for our
business. We don't need you. But for you, this is the opportunity of a
lifetime."
She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with a blatant threat.
"Think very carefully. If you walk away from us, you might not get another
chance in this industry."
The BA beside Elara tugged frantically at her sleeve.
"Elara, don't! They're a major fund! The fees are huge! If we lose this
client, the team's quarterly targets will be destroyed! The fallout would be
catastrophic!"
Elara's brow furrowed in thought.
The woman across the table mistook her hesitation for fear
and smirked in triumph.
Instead of capitulating, Elara rose to her feet in one
smooth, decisive motion. Brooke, instantly understanding, gathered her things.
"What is the meaning of this?" the woman demanded.
Elara placed her hands flat on the conference table, leaning
forward to look down at the arrogant woman, her smile now cold and sharp.
"It means that plenty of companies are eager for my
expertise. Whether or not we cooperate isn't your decision to make—it's
entirely mine."
"Hmph. And you think you have that power?" The
woman crossed her arms, looking Elara up and down with disdain. "A rookie
business analyst. You should look into our company's standing before you dare
to speak such nonsense."
Unshaken, Elara's smile only deepened. She let her gaze
drift to Julian, whose face was a complex canvas of frustration and something
akin to shame.
"Is that so?" she replied, her tone dripping with
cool amusement. "I may be unaware of your company's precise standing, but
it's clear your company is profoundly ignorant of mine. Perhaps you should ask
your manager, Mr. Cohen, whether I possess the standing to refuse you."