The lobby of Velmora Corp. did not welcome.
It evaluated.
Polished obsidian floors shimmered like still oil, veined with silver runes that pulsed faintly beneath Kael Drayven's worn shoes. Above him, a crystal chandelier hovered midair without chains or fixtures, suspended by something unseen. It turned slowly, casting sharp fragments of light that danced like blades on the walls.
Every corner of the place whispered perfection. Precision. Control.
Kael stood still, out of place, a pulse of uncertainty in a space designed to erase flaws. His blazer was borrowed—well-pressed, but frayed at the cuffs. The ink-stains on his fingers told of desperation: he'd filled out the job application hours ago at a dingy café table, gripping the pen so tightly it bled.
This was his tenth interview in four weeks. And if it didn't go well, it would be his last.
Behind him, a cleaner moved quietly—an older woman with skin the color of roasted coffee beans and a scarf tied tightly around her crown of greying braids. She pushed her mop in slow, even strokes.
"You're not from here," she murmured, without looking at him.
Kael turned his head. "Neither are you."
The woman gave a breathy laugh—short, knowing. Then returned to her work like nothing had happened.
From behind a curved obsidian desk, the receptionist flicked her gaze at Kael with the disinterest of someone bored with watching the hopeful fail. Her headset was silver and sleek, molded perfectly to her platinum hair. She didn't smile when she spoke.
"You're here for the executive assistant position?"
"Yes."
Her manicured fingers slid a keycard across the desk like it was a poker chip in a game he didn't know he was playing.
"Room 42-B. Top floor. Good luck."
A beat.
"You'll need it."
Kael took the keycard. She didn't meet his eyes. He noticed that. He noticed the way the security guard's stare lingered longer than necessary. And he noticed the whisper—soft, almost imperceptible—as he stepped into the elevator.
"Another one's about to be fed to the dragon."
The doors closed with a whisper of finality.
And the lift rose.
Glass walls framed a city twisted by ambition. Stormclouds loomed above towers etched in magical glyphs. Down below, shimmering transport runes flickered between streets like veins of light. But Kael wasn't looking.
His own reflection held him hostage.
Sharp cheekbones. Tired eyes. A jaw set with defiance.
He had one reason to survive this interview: his mother. Two weeks left until her next round of blood-purges. Two weeks before her body gave up for good. And the cost of those treatments was more than ten months of rent. Velmora was the only employer left that paid enough—and desperate enough—to consider someone like him.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Don't think.
Just breathe.
Just walk.
He'd heard of her, of course. Everyone had.
Aurelia Voss.
CEO of Velmora Corp.
Heiress to the Voss industrial dynasty.
The woman who reshaped the city's economy like it was clay under her fingernails. She had no husband. No children. No scandals she didn't orchestrate herself. Her power was absolute. Her reputation, monstrous.
"She'll eat you alive," a man in the lobby had muttered earlier. "She's not just beautiful—she's lethal. Like a storm wrapped in silk."
Kael had only smirked.
Let her try.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened to a hallway darker than the lobby—quieter, heavier. Golden filigree etched the velvet wallpaper like veins, and the carpet swallowed every footstep.
At the far end: double doors of blackwood. Wolves carved in silver faced each other across the threshold.
He knocked.
Silence.
Then:
"Enter."
Her voice slid under his skin like cool water—low, smooth, edged with expectation.
Kael opened the doors and stepped into her world.
The office was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows spilled light onto a black marble desk that looked carved from a single obsidian block. Storm clouds stirred beyond the glass, swirling as if summoned. The air hummed—not with sound, but with force. The kind of force that warned you to tread carefully.
And then—her.
She stood behind the desk like a statue carved from willpower.
Her suit was wine-dark and sharply tailored, cinched at the waist, the collar stiff like a blade. Her dark hair was slicked back in a braided knot. No earrings. No visible jewelry. Her lips were painted the color of crushed plums.
But it was her eyes that trapped him.
Silver-gray. Piercing. Unapologetic.
Kael's spine straightened. She looked at him like she already knew everything he was about to say—and was already bored with it.
"A name," she said, not asked.
"Kael Drayven."
She clicked a pen once against the glass surface of her desk.
The sound echoed more than it should have.
"You read the disclaimer."
"I did."
"And still you came."
"I did."
"Why?"
Kael met her gaze with no flinch, no tremble.
"Because I'm not afraid of you."
There it was.
Silence stretched. Her eyes narrowed—not in offense, but in curiosity. Amusement flickered, dark and fleeting, across her mouth.
She moved—slowly, deliberately—from behind the desk.
Each step toward him was measured, heels making no sound on the carpet. She stopped two feet away. Too close for comfort. Not close enough to retreat.
"Confidence is cheap," she murmured. "But compatibility is rare."
Her fingers reached up—unexpectedly—and brushed the lapel of his blazer. Not in affection. In assessment.
She looked down at the frayed thread at his cuff.
Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"I don't hire by resumes. I hire by instinct. By alignment. If you and I are not synced—here—" she tapped his chest, then hers, "—then this ends before it begins."
He swallowed once.
"Then test me."
She smiled. Not a pleasant smile.
A dangerous one.
And Kael understood then that he had not walked into a job interview.
He had walked into a storm. One that wore heels and red silk and commanded cities.
The wolves carved into the desk seemed to watch them both.
Aurelia turned and walked back behind the desk, her hips swaying with terrifying precision.
"You have one hour," she said without looking up. "To prove that you belong here."
She sat.
"And if I decide you don't?"
Her pen moved.
"You'll know."
Kael stepped forward.
Not with confidence.
With something deeper.
Conviction.