The elevator climbs smoothly, too smoothly—like I'm being carried upward by money itself. Mirrors line three of the walls, reflecting the image of someone who doesn't quite belong here.
Me.
Erivin Hale.Eighteen years old.Five foot eleven.Golden-blond hair down to my shoulders, slightly wavy.A face that looks just a bit too sharp, too symmetrical—nothing insane, but enough that people sometimes stare a second longer than normal. Golden irises I've never seen on anyone else.
Some call it striking.I call it suspicious genetics.
Right now, though, none of it matters. The thrift-store suit I'm wearing is doing everything it can to drag my attractiveness score back into the negatives.
The elevator dings softly.
The doors part into a quiet, pristine lobby—white marble floors, ceiling lights embedded into geometric metal panels, and a single curved desk of dark oak sitting like an island of elegance in the center.
Behind it stands a woman.
Tall. Sleek. Long black hair in a tight twist. A fitted blouse and pencil skirt that look like they cost more than my car. Her presence is razor-clean—professional, severe, beautiful in that intimidating "do-not-waste-my-time" way executives love.
This is Ana, the secretary.
Her eyes, sharper than her heels, flick up as I step forward. For a moment, I freeze—not from attraction (though that's definitely involved), but because her expression makes me feel like she can see every lie I've ever told.
"Erivin Hale?" she says.
Even her voice is efficient.
"Yes," I manage.
She gestures gracefully toward two towering black steel doors at the end of the lobby. "Mr. Halden is ready for you."
No smile. No warmth.Just icy professionalism framed by perfection.
As I walk past her, I keep my gaze forward—but a part of me, the cunning part, registers everything. Her posture. Her control. The way her fingers rest near a keypad built into the desk's underside.
She's not just a secretary.She's security dressed as beauty.
And judging by the faint twitch of her brow when she looks down at her screen, she's already evaluating my worth.
I push the doors open.
Halden's office looks like the lair of a man who replaced his soul with stock portfolios. Marble floors, polished until the sky reflects in them. A panoramic window wall overlooking the awakening city. Sculptures in each corner—bronze curves shaped into forms I don't understand but definitely can't afford.
And there, behind a smoked-glass desk as big as a dining table, sits Damien Halden, the founder of PowerPlate Industries.
The power rolling off him feels almost physical.
He lifts his gaze. "So. Erivin."
He says my name like a command, not a question.
"Tell me. Why should we hire you?"
I steady myself.Show no fear.Show no weakness.
"Because when force fails," I say, "persuasion succeeds. I'm good at reading people. Good at diffusing tension. Good at turning conflict into cooperation. If you need someone who can move people without ever touching them—"
He raises a hand, stopping me mid-sentence.
"Words are cheap."He reaches into his pocket and places a silver dollar on the desk. It gleams sharply under the lights."Convince Ana to take this coin."
The door opens behind me.
Ana steps in.
And for the first time, I really look at her.
From up close, she's even more beautiful than before—sharp cheekbones, cold eyes, porcelain skin, posture carved from discipline itself. The bottom half of her outfit is even more precise than the top; the subtle curve of her hips contrasts with the rigid line of her skirt, creating a contradiction that's both distracting and threatening.
Her presence is like a blade sheathed in silk.
I shouldn't stare.I shouldn't react.But I'm human, and she's… well, Ana.
She stands with her hands folded, expression unreadable.
"Relevance?" she asks coolly.
I flip the coin onto my knuckles.A simple motion—but it catches her eye immediately.
"Miss Ana," I say, "are you familiar with market volatility?"
Her gaze narrows, assessing.
"Answer the question," she says. "Relevance."
I smile, slow and deliberate. This is familiar ground—the dance of words, the shift of attention, the gentle tug on a person's thoughts.
"Everything has value," I say softly. "Objects. Time. People."
The coin gleams as I spin it across the back of my hand.
"This coin is worth a dollar today. Tomorrow, it could be more. Not because it changes—but because people do. Value," I toss the coin lightly toward her, "is driven by perception."
She catches it instantly.
Her eyes widen—just a fraction—as she realizes she accepted the object without meaning to.
Halden's lips twitch into a rare smile.
"Impressive," he says. "When can you start?"
"Whenever you need me."
It's only when I leave the room that my legs decide to remember how to be legs.
Ana walks me back to the elevator. She swipes a badge across a hidden scanner—one I didn't notice on the way in—and the elevator doors slide open.
"You'll receive your employee badge in one to three business days," she says, voice still cool. "For now, that visitor badge gets you to the lobby only."
Right.That explains why I didn't need to use mine inside the building.
"Thank you," I reply.
She nods once.No smile.No judgment.But something in her eyes lingers, faint and calculating.
The elevator ride down feels like returning to my own world—one made of cracked pavement, secondhand suits, and responsibilities that don't care if I'm ready or not.
Outside, the morning air is crisp. My beat-up black BMW waits across the street, looking like a sad stray animal parked among corporate sports cars.
Inside the car sits Ani.
My little sister.Fifteen years old.Golden-blonde hair brighter than mine, spilling like silk over my jacket. Golden irises identical to mine—rare, shining, almost unnatural.
She's absurdly beautiful for her age—11/10 levels of stunning, the kind of beauty that makes strangers assume she's an actress or model. She looks older than she is, but when she sleeps, curled up like a child, she looks small and fragile.
I open the door quietly.
Her nose scrunches before her eyes open.
"Mmm… you got the job?" she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
I smile, ruffling her hair. "I think so."
She beams—messy, bright, and genuine.
That smile alone makes every lie worth it.
I check my bank app.
Balance: $0.00
Still zero.Great.
I pull into the road as the light turns green.
And then—
Something slams into my peripheral vision.
A truck.Rusted.Weaving.Driver unconscious.
Running the red light.
Straight at us.
"ANI!"
I reach across the seat—
Impact.
The world erupts. Glass shatters. Metal screams. My vision fractures. My thoughts scatter like broken pieces of myself.
Blood fills my mouth.
I can't breathe.I can't see.Ani—Where—?
Darkness drags me under—
Until a mechanical voice slices through the void.
[System has found host]
What…?
[System synchronization in progress… 1%]
[18%… 72%… 99%]
Synchronization failed. Attempting again.Failure.Failure x10.Failure x999.
What the… is my system drunk?
[SYSTEM ERROR][CORRUPTED BOOT SEQUENCE DETECTED][REBUILDING FRAMEWORK… FAILED][PATCHING FUNCTIONS… PARTIAL][WARNING: Host vitality critically low][WARNING: Cognitive link unstable]
My consciousness trembles.
Great. I'm becoming an overpowered protagonist. Plot armor, divine destiny… maybe a harem…
[System synchronization completed][ERROR: 67% OF CORE MODULES UNRESPONSIVE][ERROR: Emergency authority override engaged][WARNING: System architecture unstable][STATUS: UNDEFINED][HOST BODY COMPROMISED]
[Initiating failsafe…][Goodbye]
The world collapses.
Into silence.Into cold.Into nothing.