The elevator ascended in silence, floors ticking past like seconds on a timer I couldn't stop.
Sixty-seven. Sixty-eight. Sixty-nine.
My heels sank into carpet so plush it swallowed sound—charcoal gray, threaded with subtle silver that caught the light from floor-to-ceiling windows.
The lobby stretched vast and minimalist, all clean lines and Nordic wood accents. A living wall of ferns breathed green into the monochrome palette.
Employees moved with hushed efficiency, voices low, footsteps measured.
If you're early, you're on time.
I'd heard that phrase somewhere. Augustus's mantra, probably.
The biometric turnstiles gleamed like sentries. Augustus pressed his thumb to the scanner without breaking stride.
It blinked green.
He gestured for me to follow.
I remembered this place differently.
Warmer. Less... sterile.
When Daddy and Mr.Richard Evans held their quarterly strategy sessions here, I'd been maybe twelve. Augustus was fourteen.
We'd wander the old executive lounge—back when it had leather club chairs and oil paintings of ships, back when it felt like someone's study instead of a design magazine spread.
I'd sprawl on the sofa, flipping through fashion magazines I'd smuggled in.
Augustus would claim the opposite corner, buried in some dense economics textbook or historical biography, barely acknowledging my existence.
Sometimes I'd kick his ankle just to get a reaction.
He'd look up, unimpressed, then return to his book.
Good times.
Strange times.
The top floor opened into Augustus's domain.
Floor-to-ceiling glass framed Shorebridge like a conquest—the harbor glittering beyond, Summit Heights rising in terraced elegance.
His office occupied the corner, walls of smart-glass currently transparent, revealing a space that somehow managed to be both massive and austere.
Scandinavian desk. Two monitors. A single pen in a marble holder.
No photos or personal touches. Just Augustus, distilled into furniture.
He moved behind the desk, fingers already reaching for his laptop.
I stood in the doorway, clutching my bag.
Everything felt wrong.
Not the space—the dynamic.
Last time I'd been here, we were equals in irrelevance. Two kids waiting for the adults to finish talking.
Now Augustus was the adult.
The one in control.
And me?
I glanced at the smaller desk positioned outside his office, visible through the glass.
"Stop guessing."
Augustus's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
I blinked.
He gestured toward the smaller desk outside his office—sleek glass and chrome, positioned like a guard post.
"That's where you'll be working."
Of course.
Right under his nose.
Maximum visibility. Minimum dignity.
I forced my expression neutral, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
"Your first order of business—" He glanced at his watch. "Report to Human Resources. They'll process your credentials, biometrics, the standard onboarding."
"Where's that?"
"Fortieth floor." He looked up, and something flickered in those brown eyes. "Do I need to escort you there myself?"
Heat flared in my chest.
Patronizing bastard.
"I think I can manage an elevator, Evans." I adjusted my bag, chin lifting. "I did graduate with honors, remember? Pretty sure I can navigate a building."
"Noted."
That almost-smirk returned, tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turned back to his laptop, dismissing me without another word.
I spun on my heel, stilettos clicking against polished floor, and walked out.
The elevator couldn't arrive fast enough.
My reflection stared back from the chrome doors—composed, professional, perfectly put together. Only I could see the fury simmering beneath.
The fortieth floor hummed with actual life.
Cubicles stretched in neat rows, phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the smell of burnt coffee drifting from a break room somewhere. Fluorescent lights replaced the natural glow of the executive floor.
This was where real work happened.
Not the pristine silence of Augustus's glass tower, but the trenches—account managers hunched over spreadsheets, junior associates juggling client calls, someone cursing softly at a jammed printer.
I wove through the maze, following signs toward Human Resources.
A few heads turned as I passed.
One woman's gaze lingered on my Louboutins.
Another whispered something to her cube-mate, who quickly looked away.
The HR office sat tucked in a corner—modest glass door, nameplate reading David Chen, Director of Human Resources.
I knocked.
"Come in."
David stood as I entered, extending a hand with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Mid-forties, sensible tie, kind face.
"Ms. Harper. Welcome to Ever Holdings." His handshake was firm but not aggressive.
"Thank you."
He gestured to a chair across from his desk.
"Let's get you sorted." He pulled up something on his computer. "I'll need to process your credentials, set up biometrics for building access, go over our policies and procedures."
I nodded, settling into the chair.
David walked me through the standard litany—confidentiality agreements, code of conduct, emergency protocols, benefits enrollment.
His tone remained pleasant throughout, never patronizing, never overly familiar.
Professional and respectful.
I was halfway through signing digital forms when the door opened without a knock.
This woman swept in like winter made flesh.
Sharp black suit. Geometric bob that could cut glass. Dark eyes behind minimalist frames that somehow made her look even more severe.
"David." She didn't spare him more than a glance before those eyes landed on me. "Ms. Harper."
The temperature dropped ten degrees.
"Vanessa." David stood, slightly flustered. "I was just finishing—"
"Mr. Evans asked me to ensure Ms. Harper's transition goes smoothly." Her smile was all edges. "I thought I'd introduce myself personally."
She extended a hand.
I stood, meeting her grip with equal pressure.
"Chief of Staff," Vanessa continued, releasing my hand.
"I oversee operations for the executive floor. You'll report directly to Mr. Evans, of course, but any questions about procedure—well, I'm here to help."
Help.
The word dripped with something else entirely.
"I appreciate the warm welcome." I matched her smile.
"We're all very excited to have you." Her gaze swept over me, assessing. "It's wonderful when Mr. Evans takes on… development projects. He has such patience for mentorship—and such faith in potential."
Development projects. Translation: pity hire.
"I'm sure I'll learn a great deal." I said sweetly.
Vanessa's smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh, you will.