One look. One accusation. And suddenly, her life belonged to him—and she didn't even know the punishment awaiting her.
The hum of the central air conditioning in the Axin Tech corporate headquarters was a low, predatory purr. At 11:47 PM, the 50th-floor executive wing was usually a tomb of glass and shadows, but tonight, the lights were blinding. They bounced off the white marble floors, reflecting the sweat beaded on Avana Dermis's forehead.
She stood in the center of the lobby, her small, calloused hands trembling at her sides. Surrounding her was a ring of security guards, their faces grim, and three high-level executives who looked at her as if she were a smudge of dirt they had failed to scrub away.
"Empty it," Miller, the Head of Security, barked. His voice echoed, harsh and metallic. "Now, Dermis. Or we'll have the police do it for you."
Avana swallowed hard, her throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. "I told you... I don't have anything. I was just finishing the south lounge. I've worked here for two years. Why would I—"
"Empty. The. Bag."
With trembling fingers, Avana reached for her canvas backpack. It was frayed at the edges, a stark contrast to the luxury of the corridor. She unzipped the main compartment, her heart drumming a frantic, uneven rhythm against her ribs. She dumped the contents onto the pristine marble.
A heavy textbook on structural engineering thudded down. A bundle of charcoal pencils rolled across the floor. A half-eaten granola bar. A stack of hand-drawn blueprints for her senior project at Upperhill University—her ticket out of this life.
"See?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "There's nothing—"
Clink.
The sound was small, but in the oppressive silence of the hallway, it sounded like a gunshot.
A side pocket of the bag, one Avana never used, had slumped open. Sliding out from the frayed polyester was a streak of cold, brilliant fire. It was a pocket watch, encased in heavy platinum and encrusted with rare, baguette-cut diamonds that seemed to drink the overhead light and spit it back out in a blinding spray of blue and white. The Slein family crest—a silver hawk with wings spread—was embossed on the casing.
The executives gasped. Miller's eyes widened.
"The Aeon," one of the VPs breathed, his face pale. "It's been in the Slein family for three generations. It's priceless."
"I... I didn't..." Avana felt the world tilt. The air left her lungs. "I've never seen that. I swear on my life, I didn't put that there!"
"Liars always swear on their lives," Miller sneered, reaching for his handcuffs. "You're done, Dermis. You're going to rot for this. Do you have any idea whose time you just tried to steal?"
The guards moved in, their shadows stretching long over her like bars of a cage. Avana backed away, her heel catching on her own textbook, her eyes darting around the cold, glass-walled prison of the 50th floor.
Then, the elevator chined.
The sound was soft, melodic, and terrifying. Every person in the hallway froze. The security guards dropped their arms to their sides, snapping to attention. The executives straightened their silk ties, their expressions shifting from outrage to pure, unadulterated fear.
The doors slid open.
A man stepped out.
Avana had seen his face on the covers of Forbes and Global Tech Monthly, but those glossy images were pale imitations of the man himself. Francis Slein was a god of industry carved from ice. He was tall—impossibly so—wearing a bespoke black suit that seemed to absorb the light around him. His features were dangerously handsome, defined by a jawline that could cut glass and a nose that was straight and aristocratic. His hair was a dark, controlled wave, and his skin had the pale, polished sheen of marble.
But it was his eyes that stopped Avana's heart. They were a piercing, crystalline blue—the color of a frozen lake deep enough to drown in.
He didn't look at his executives. He didn't look at the guards. He walked slowly, his handmade leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor, creating a countdown that only Avana could hear. He stopped inches away from her. The scent of him—expensive cedar, cold rain, and something sharp and metallic—overwhelmed her senses.
He was so handsome it was a violence. It was the kind of beauty that felt like a warning.
Francis Slein looked down at the diamond watch lying on the floor. Then, he looked at Avana. He didn't look angry. He looked... focused. Like a scientist examining a fascinating new specimen under a microscope.
"Is this the one?" Francis asked. His voice was a rich, low baritone that vibrated in the air, smooth as velvet but heavy with the weight of absolute power.
"Yes, Mr. Slein," Miller stuttered, stepping forward. "We caught her red-handed. The watch was in her bag. I've already called the precinct; they're five minutes away. We'll make sure she's prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. A scholarship student, too... what a waste."
Francis didn't acknowledge Miller's existence. He reached out, and for a terrifying second, Avana thought he was going to strike her. Instead, he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. His fingers were cold, his touch feather-light, yet it felt like a brand on her skin.
Avana couldn't breathe. She looked up into those icy blue depths, her eyes swimming with tears. "I didn't do it," she whispered, her voice so small it was almost lost. "Please. I didn't do it."
Francis's gaze raked over her—from her trembling lips down to her stained cleaning uniform, then back to her eyes. A strange, unreadable shadow crossed his face. It wasn't mercy. It was something far more complex.
"Silence," Francis said softly. It wasn't a shout, but the entire floor fell into a deathly hush.
He turned to the Head of Security. "Cancel the police."
Miller blinked, his mouth falling open. "Sir? But the theft... the evidence is right here. She was trying to flee—"
"I said," Francis repeated, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a serrated blade, "cancel the police. All of you... leave."
"But Mr. Slein—" the VP started.
Francis turned his head slightly, a predatory stillness settling over his frame. "Am I no longer the owner of this building? Or this watch? Or your contracts? Leave. Now."
Within thirty seconds, the hallway was a desert. The guards, the executives, and the cleaning supervisor vanished into the elevators, leaving only the soft hum of the lights and the crushing weight of Francis Slein's presence.
Francis picked up the watch. He didn't look at the diamonds. He looked at Avana, who was still huddled on the floor amongst her scattered life's work.
"Get up, Avana Dermis," he commanded.
She pushed herself to her feet, her legs feeling like lead. She felt exposed, a rabbit caught in the sights of a wolf who had decided to play with his food before the kill.
He turned on his heel without another word and walked toward the double mahogany doors of his private office. He stopped at the threshold, the golden light from inside spilling out to frame his silhouette. He didn't look back.
"In my office. Now."
Avana looked at her blueprints on the floor—the dreams she had worked years for, now trampled and dusty. She looked at the elevator, then at the broad shoulders of the man who held her entire destiny in his hands.
She walked forward. Each step felt like she was walking toward a ledge. She crossed the threshold into the massive, darkened office. The scent of old books and power was suffocating. Behind her, the heavy doors swung shut with a final, heavy thud, locking her in with the Glacier of Axin.
Francis walked to his desk, sitting in the high-backed leather chair. He placed the diamond watch on the desk between them, the gems mocking her. He didn't speak. He simply watched her, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers, his icy eyes tracking the frantic beat of the pulse in her neck.
Avana stood in the center of the rug, her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for the sentence that would end her life.