Morgan's POV
The letter was still on the bed where I'd left it. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands before sliding a finger beneath the flap.
My breath caught tight and uneasy as I unfolded the paper.
Fear prickled along my spine, but curiosity pushed me forward.
It read:
"Morgan Devon, your presence is expected in Vale Tower at five AM. Transportation will be provided."
No phone number. No return address. No sender. Just my name, the time, and the venue.
That was it.
What is this about? Should I go? What if it's some twisted setup? A trap? A scam?
What if the person is a psycho or worse, a serial killer?
But Vale Tower… It's not some rundown motel in the middle of nowhere. It's a towering monument of wealth and prestige.
An elegant structure reserved for the rich and powerful.
People like me don't even walk past its gates without being watched.
Whoever sent this whoever wanted me there had to be someone with status.
Could it be a donor? Someone who's heard about my mom's condition and wants to help? A miracle in disguise?
It might be too good to be true. Maybe it is a scam. But can I afford to ignore it?
The hospital bill is $47,000. Just the first installment. If she doesn't start treatment soon… I don't even want to think about it.
My head spun with questions and doubts, looping like a broken record.
I stared down at the envelope again it smelled expensive, like clean paper and rich cologne.
The quality of the letter, the embossed print it radiated money.
"What do I stand to lose?" I murmured.
With a shaky breath, I kicked off the blanket, stepped out of bed, and crossed the room to my small closet.
I pulled out the only fancy dress I owned a gift from Mom when I turned eighteen.
She worked a double shift for three weeks just to afford it.
It was simple: a black, body-hugging gown with a round neckline and a low back. Modest and graceful. It wasn't designer, but it was beautiful.
I laid it on the bed and moved to the mirror. My reflection looked tired, worn out. I did the best I could powder, light liner, a touch of color on my lips.
Just enough to hide the exhaustion clinging to my skin.
Afterward, I packed a small handbag. Phone. ID card. Pepper spray. Taser. I wasn't going anywhere unarmed. Not in this city.
I brushed my hair down to cover my back. I didn't want to stand out any more than I already would.
At exactly 4:45 PM, a knock echoed through the apartment. I froze.
Then I moved quick, quiet so whoever it was wouldn't knock again and risk waking Mom.
I opened the door.
A man in a perfectly tailored suit stood there. Tall, composed.
His posture screamed butler. His expression was unreadable.
"Miss Devon?" he asked, voice low, polished.
"That's me," I said with a polite smile. He didn't smile back. He just extended a gloved hand.
I took it, and he led me to a sleek black car waiting by the curb.
Without a word, he opened the door for me. The gesture felt… surreal.
For a moment, I almost felt like someone important. Like a woman out of a storybook.
It chased the doubts from my head just a little.
The car door shut with a soft click behind me. I was alone in the backseat.
The man who fetched me sat in the front passenger seat beside the driver. Neither said a word. Not once.
The silence was stifling.
I glanced around the car, trying to seem unbothered.
A fashion magazine sat beside me. I flipped through it, not seeing a single word. My spine pressed stiff against the seat. My palms dampened.
My heart pounded like a frantic drum. I kept my face calm, unreadable like I wasn't falling apart inside.
The city blurred past the windows.
And then… Vale Tower came into view.
Majestic. Gleaming. Towering like a god made of glass and steel.
It was taller than I remembered, humming with the kind of wealth I couldn't even imagine.
The car stopped. The butler stepped out and opened the door again, offering his hand.
I took it, my movements measured, controlled. I whispered a quiet "thank you," but he didn't respond.
The cold air bit through my thin dress, making me shiver. I looked around the city was waking up slowly.
Street sweepers passed by. Newspaper trucks rumbled in the distance.
Normal life, still untouched by whatever this was.
I stood frozen in front of Vale Tower. What if I was wrong? What if this was a mistake? A setup?
A trap? What if I walked into that lobby and never came out again?
But then another voice whispered: "What if this is your chance? Your way out?"
I gripped my bag tighter, inhaled deeply, and stepped forward.
The glass doors parted. Two large men held them open. I nodded in thanks. My palms were slick again.
The lobby was enormous, cavernous in its design. The floors gleamed like polished ice pure marble.
Sculptures stood at intervals, spaced with meticulous care.
Everything here was deliberate, perfect. Security guards lined the walls, unmoving, eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
Earpieces in. Hands clasped in front. Watching. Waiting for any wrong move. None of them looked at me.
"Miss Devon?" A woman in black approached, heels silent on the marble. Her dress was fitted, her hair pulled into a sleek bun.
She had the kind of composure that made people pay attention.
"We've been waiting for you. Please this way."
She led me toward the elevators. I followed.
As we rose, I caught sight of faces I recognized.
Powerful men and women from finance and tech names I'd only seen in headlines.
They glanced at me as I passed. Curious. Discreet. A poor girl in a black dress, out of place among giants.
The elevator chimed softly. The doors opened.
I stepped into another world.
Walls covered in priceless art. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing city below. The silence was profound, almost sacred.
It pressed against my ears. The air smelled like clean linen and cedarwood.
"Please wait. He'll be with you shortly," the woman said.
Then she turned and left with the butler, their footsteps vanishing behind the closing doors.
And just like that, I was alone.
Standing in the middle of luxury I couldn't comprehend.
I didn't know what to do with my hands. I folded them.
Then unfolded them. They were shaking again. I pressed them together tightly.
My heart pounded louder than the silence. Each second dragged.
The weight of the unknown pressed on my shoulders like gravity.