Daylight spilled softly through the tall windows of the Lewis mansion, but Daniel Lewis was already gone before the sun fully rose. The mansion was quiet, the staff just beginning their morning routines, yet the man at its helm had left on the first crook of dawn.
A call from Thomas had interrupted his usual rhythm, something about a slight complication in the NeuroSpeak development phase. Daniel didn't ask too many questions over the phone. He preferred to see the problems himself.
His car cruised through the thinning early traffic, and within the hour, the sleek black vehicle pulled into the secure gates of LewisTech's AI Development Subdivision, a separate, high-security facility on the outskirts of the city. It was where the company's most advanced, sensitive projects were handled, including Project NeuroSpeak.
Unlike the corporate headquarters, this facility felt more like a hybrid between a think-tank and a high-end tech lab. No grand receptions. Just glass, metal, and minds that barely slept.
As Daniel stepped out, the security at the door gave him a sharp salute and opened the biometric gates.
"Good morning, Mr. Lewis."
"Morning," he replied curtly, heading in without pause.
He was dressed in dark slacks and a crisp, collarless shirt, business casual by his standards ,but there was a sharpness in his walk. One that said today wasn't just another day.
Ibrahim, head of the developing division was already waiting outside the main lab door with a tablet in hand and an anxious glint in his eyes.
"Thanks for coming early, sir."
"Let's get to it," Daniel said without slowing his pace.
They stepped into the heart of the project wing, where holograms hovered mid-air, monitors blinked with neural patterns, and half a dozen engineers moved like shadows behind frosted glass.
Something wasn't working. And Daniel wanted to know exactly what.
Thomas stood near the interactive board, scrolling through data.
"So what's the problem?" Daniel asked
"The algorithm is sound," Ibrahim said, pointing to a highlighted section. "We've cleaned up signal-to-speech lag by 32% since the last build. But…"
He sighed, flicking to a new chart. "We still have serious inconsistencies in user-emotion mapping, especially with children or emotionally distressed subjects."
Another developer chimed in, arms folded.
"It's not just about accuracy anymore. The speech comes out too robotic, detached. It's not them. It doesn't feel human."
Daniel leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.
"What about the latest beta test with the Lovet Academy feedback group?"
"Mixed results," Ibrahim admitted. "Some progress with adults. But the kids? Nothing consistent. Betty's trial this week? A mess."
Daniel's jaw clenched subtly at the mention of his daughter.
She had been more than just a test case, she was the reason the project even existed. NeuroSpeak wasn't born out of market demand or corporate strategy. It had begun in the quiet of a hospital room two years ago, the day a trauma-induced neurological shutdown took Betty's voice and left her locked inside her own mind.
Specialists were baffled. Therapists tried their best. But after months of silence and frustration, Daniel, ever the innovator, stopped waiting for answers and started building one.
He assembled a small team of neuroscientists, software engineers, and AI developers, giving them one goal:
"Build something that can hear what the body can't say."
NeuroSpeak became that mission. It was meant to interpret neural signals not just brainwaves, but subtle eye movements, muscle twitches, and instinctive patterns, and translate them into speech output through an intelligent interface.
Betty was its first subject, but Daniel never allowed the word "test" to be used around her. For her, it was simply "a tool", a way to talk again. But for Daniel, every breakthrough came with guilt.
He had allowed his daughter to be used, not just as a prototype, but as a hope.
Ibrahim hesitated, then continued:
"With all due respect, sir, we've taken the tech as far as we can without deeper psychological input. We need someone who understands how these children actually process emotion, not from a clinical distance, but from a close, behavioral standpoint."
Silence fell.
"So you're saying we need… what? A therapist on staff?"
"Not just a therapist," Ibrahim said carefully. "A bridge. Someone who understands the child's world, someone who's worked hands-on with kids like Betty. Who knows their language before they speak a word."
Daniel leaned back, mind turning.
Mis Cole.
She'd helped Betty make more progress in two months than years of private therapy had. She had real-life experience from Lovet Academy. And she was studying child psychology. Not just theory , instinct.
He didn't say her name out loud, but the decision settled quietly in his mind.
"I'll handle it," he said, closing his tablet. "Meeting adjourned."
Back at the LewisTech headquarters, Harriet's presence was met with a mix of shrugs and scowling gazes. Whispers had already made their way through the halls, the entire marketing department had been sipping the tea on how she mysteriously landed the internship.
"This is the marketing department," Hawa said, her tone clipped as she led the reluctant tour through the office space. Though she despised the underhanded method Harriet had used to get the job, she was still professional enough to do hers.
"And this is Sir Moses, your departmental head," she added, gesturing toward a tall man sorting through files. "Sir Moses, this is Harriet, the new marketing intern," Hawa said flatly, her hands loosely at her sides, clearly eager to wrap up.
"If you have any questions, ask him."
And with that, she spun on her heels and walked away without a second glance.
Left in the thick silence, Harriet stood awkwardly, scanning the room as colleagues barely spared her a glance before returning to their monitors. Her polite greetings were ignored. Her attempt to introduce herself was swallowed by the passive hum of office noise.
Around her, phones buzzed subtly. The department group chat was alive with gossip, filled with snide remarks about Harriet's qualifications, or lack thereof.
She finally settled at the desk assigned to her, staring at the computer screen like it was a foreign device. She knew how to use a phone well enough, but computers… that was another story.
Harriet sighed, rubbing her hands together for warmth or comfort, she wasn't sure which. Her eyes drifted to a nearby desk where a female colleague typed away. Gathering courage, she whispered a request for help.
She was completely ignored.
Time passed painfully slow, and no one gave her a task. The message was clear: this was intentional.
She stood eventually, intending to escape to the bathroom for a breather, when she spotted Sarah emerging from the marketing head's office.
"Sarah!" Harriet called, drawing the attention of several heads in the room. Sarah's steps quickened. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to know there was any connection between them.
"Sarah!" Harriet chased after her.
With no choice, Sarah finally stopped and turned around, her expression tight. She clutched the folders in her hand like armor.
"What's your problem?" she asked flatly.
"Come on, won't you even say hi to me?" Harriet pouted as she approached.
"Listen, Harriet," Sarah's voice dropped low but sharp, "the deal was helping you get the job. The rest is on you. I don't want you calling my name or giving anyone the idea we're associated."
"I get it. But everyone's distant… they're ignoring me."
"And?" Sarah scoffed, raising her brow. "This is the corporate world, Harriet. No one's going to hand you anything. If you want to be seen, you've got to demand your space and earn it. Show them you belong here."
"But how?" Harriet whispered. "They won't even give me something to do. They look down on me."
"Of course, they do!" Sarah snapped. Her voice cracked with irritation. "Did you look in the mirror before you left your house?"
Harriet blinked, then glanced down at her clothes. A faded white shirt, worn-out ankle-length A-line skirt, and scuffed school shoes. Her wig sat crooked, its age and wear impossible to miss.
"You look miserable," Sarah said bluntly. "Do you really expect people in this building, people who fought tooth and nail for a seat, to take you seriously? This is LewisTech, Harriet. Not a charity house. People here dress the part because they know how the world works. People treat you how you present yourself."
Harriet swallowed hard. She couldn't even argue, the bitter truth hung in the air.
"I'll try… maybe go shopping after work," she said quietly.
"You don't just try, Harriet. You fix it." Sarah softened slightly, but only for a second. "And one more thing, don't approach me in public again. If you have anything to say, use the number you already have."
With that, Sarah turned on her heels and disappeared into the elevator, leaving Harriet alone in the corridor.
The elevator came to a stop on the twenty-third floor.
Sarah stepped out, heels tapping with quiet precision, her mind still brooding over Harriet's nagging voice. If that girl didn't learn to shut up soon, she'd drag them both into trouble.
She entered her office with a groan, slamming the door shut behind her.
"Someone looks irritated."
Sarah flinched, startled by the familiar voice. Her gaze snapped toward her desk, where John sat casually, grinning like a cat that caught a canary.
"What are you doing in my office?" she snapped, instantly on edge.
"Waiting for you," he replied with a wink that made her skin crawl.
"And why would you be waiting?" Her arms folded across her chest defensively.
"To check on you. After all," he took a slow step toward her, "you got me feeling things no woman ever has. I thought maybe we could grab dinner. Pick up where we left off…"
"Well, you thought wrong." She brushed past him, stalking toward her desk. "That night was a deal, John. One that's over. Don't get any ideas about it happening again."
Unfazed, John followed, his eyes gleaming with arrogance. He leaned in, his voice lowering.
"You don't get to call quits, sweetheart. Once you make a deal with me, it lasts until I say it's over."
"You're insane," Sarah shot back, her fury rising. "If you think I'll let you blackmail me, then you clearly don't know who you're dealing with. I'm not one of your other victims. I'll fight you."
He chuckled, the sound thick with menace. "Feisty. Just how I like them." He stepped closer. "But you won't do a damn thing. You had to sleep with me to get Harriet into this building, and we both know it wasn't out of generosity. She has something on you, doesn't she?"
Sarah froze.
John leaned even closer, the predator in him surfacing.
"Whatever it is, I don't care. Because now, I have something on you."
Her throat dried.
"I record everything, Sarah," he said smugly. "That night? I got it all on video."
Her chest tightened. No. No, he couldn't have. She had checked the room thoroughly. She knew men like John couldn't be trusted. She'd been careful, hyper-alert.
"I checked. There was nothing there," she said, trying to steady her voice.
John grinned. "I had a camera on my shirt button."
Her stomach sank.
And then she remembered, the shirt he'd carelessly tossed on the table near the bed. A stupid prop… or so she thought.
"You bastard," she hissed, hand swinging toward his face.
He caught her wrist midair.
"Easy now, Cinderella." His tone was mocking. "It's simple. Do what I say, and your little home movie stays between us. Win-win."
He released her and headed for the door.
"Oh, and don't threaten me with my fiancée," he added without looking back. "Worry about your own secrets first."
The door clicked shut.
Sarah stood frozen, a cold sweat prickling her skin. Her legs trembled, but she wouldn't fall. Not now. Not ever. The rage boiled inside her, unseen, unheard, but it was there.
She wanted to scream. To break things. In her mind, she trashed the office. Flipped the desk. Tore down the walls.
But in reality, she stood still, face unreadable, breath shallow, fingers clenching into fists.
She had survived worse.
And this wasn't going to be her downfall.
The hallway outside Sarah's office was quiet, too quiet.
Thomas stood a few feet away, arms crossed as he waited for the elevator when the door to Sarah's office swung open.
Out stepped John, straightening his jacket and wearing the smug smirk that always rubbed Thomas the wrong way. Their eyes met briefly. John gave a lazy nod before walking past, the scent of arrogance trailing behind him like cheap cologne.
Thomas's brows furrowed.
What was John doing in Sarah's office?
Without wasting another second, Thomas turned back and knocked once before opening the door.
Sarah stood with her back to him, seemingly calm, though her clenched fists betrayed otherwise.
"Hey," he said gently. "Everything okay?"
She spun around, forcing a smile onto her face. "Yeah. Just… work stress."
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I saw John leaving your office. What did he want?"
She waved it off with a dismissive flick of her hand. "Nothing important. Just being… John."
Thomas didn't move yet something about Sarah's response didn't sit still. He was connected enough to know John didn't just visit her without a purpose.
"I see" His voice lowered. "I would advise you be careful. John isn't someone you want to get involved with, professionally or otherwise. He's dangerous."
Sarah scoffed and turned to her desk, faking nonchalance. "What, are you jealous?"
Thomas blinked, caught off guard. "Jealous?" He laughed lightly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No. Just concerned."
She studied him for a moment, her playful expression faltering. There was something about his steady gaze, something that made her feel… seen. Not judged. Not used. Just seen.
But Sarah wasn't ready for that kind of vulnerability. Not because she could not but because she didn't see him worth it.
Her target was set higher, Mr Lewis was the goal and nothing less.
"You don't have to be concerned about me," she said, voice cool as she turned back to her files. "I know how to handle myself."
Thomas sighed. "I hope so because it's get frustrating watching you get mixed up with someone like him."
Her lips twitched, resisting the urge to defend herself. But she didn't, because deep down, she knew Thomas meant well.
Thomas hesitated a moment longer, then stepped back toward the door. "Just… be careful, okay?"
She didn't answer.
With one hand on the door handle, he paused again. "Also, Mr. Lewis wants to see you in his office. He said it's urgent."
Sarah looked up sharply. "Did he say what it was about?"
"Nope. But you might want to put on your game face. You know how he gets when he's not in the mood for nonsense."
A small smirk played on Sarah's lips. "Thanks for the warning."
Thomas nodded and lingered for just a second. "And Sarah, just because you've made some questionable choices doesn't mean it's too late to start making better ones."
She looked at him then. Really looked at him.
And for a fleeting second, the wall around her cracked.
But before she could say anything, he gave a brief nod and stepped out, closing the door behind him.
Sarah exhaled, pressing her palms to the desk. The silence felt heavier now. Her reflection on the black monitor screen stared back at her, eyes filled with secrets and regret.
She straightened her skirt, ran fingers through her hair, and headed for the thirty-third floor.
It was time to face Daniel Lewis. Her target and goal.