DISCLAIMER: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
THE FINAL DEADLINE
The wall clock in the office pulsed instead of ticking.
It sounded to Samantha Lim like a hammer striking a nail. She was the only person left beneath the loud, flickering hum of the fluorescent lights at 11:47 p.m. on a rainy Tuesday. Crumpled sticky notes and lukewarm coffee cups littered her desk.
She muttered to herself, "Just one more sheet," her voice hoarse from lack of usage. "Just one more file, and I can go home."
However, "home" was merely a place to rest for five hours until the cycle restarted. Samantha felt like a ghost haunting her own life even though, at twenty-eight, she was successful by every contemporary measure. Her only means of escape was the shattered screen of her phone, where she buried herself in the pages of the trashy historical romance novel The Lion of the North throughout her commute. She was envious of the characters' wild, unreserved excess rather than their drama.
She was very envious of Reinn Hylde.
Reinn had never worked a day in her life and was the daughter of a Duke. She was lively, pampered, and exuded a fierce energy that Samantha had long since exchanged for a reliable income. Silk ribbons and pursuing the most attractive men in the empire were more important to Reinn than "efficiency" or "key performance indicators."
What a waste, Samantha thought, her eyes blurring as she stared at a complex formula on her monitor. If I had that kind of wealth and power, I wouldn't waste it on men. I'd use it to buy the most expensive earplugs in the world and sleep for a century.
Abruptly, she felt a searing, electrifying agony in her chest.
Samantha's hand sprang to her heart as she gasped. The numbers and cells in the spreadsheet started to dissolve into blue and white streaks as it swirled on the screen. The strong, overpowering smell of fresh flowers and pricey perfume abruptly replaced the office air, which often smelled of ozone and dust.
Her vision wavered. Beneath her fingertips, the chilly plastic of the keyboard softened into something cool, metallic, and smooth.
Even as her awareness started to fade into a warm, golden vacuum, she told herself, "I'm just tired." All I need is a rest.
The buzz of the office air conditioner was not the last sound she heard. The voice sounded high-pitched, terrified, and far away.
"My Lady! My Lady Reinn! Please wake up! The Duke has agreed to buy you the sapphire necklace, just please, stop holding your breath!"
Samantha tried to chuckle, but she was out of breath. One last thought crossed her mind as the darkness engulfed her: I hope there are no spreadsheets in the afterlife.