Liam's Pov
As Louis disappeared into the crowd, I felt Eve's voice slide into my mind like a calm ripple across still water.
"That was… an unexpected outcome. Statistically, Louis Litt's advice was correct."
I smirked faintly. 'You think I should've gone corporate right away?'
"From an efficiency standpoint, yes. Pearson Hardman is an elite firm with a high-profile clientele. Your early career momentum could've been maximized. A public sector role in the DA's office offers prestige, but slower upward mobility and lower financial gain."
'And yet,' I thought, pulling out Louis's card again and turning it over between my fingers, 'there's something the numbers can't account for — instinct.'
"You believe the DA's office will give you intangible experience," Eve said, sounding more like she was logging my reasoning than judging it.
'Exactly. Louis wasn't wrong about playing a strong hand early, but winning big in law isn't just about the cards — it's about how you play them. I want to gain that instinct that allows me to play that game how I see fit.'
There was a pause before Eve spoke again.
"Noted. You also responded positively to his genuine concern for your career trajectory."
I nodded slightly to myself. 'Yeah. He's… interesting. Doesn't hide his ambition, but I could tell he actually wants me to succeed, whether I join him or not. That's rare and unlike anything i expected out of a young Louis'
Eve's voice softened, if only slightly.
"Possibility remains that your professional paths will cross again. However, this world's composition is unpredictable. Marvel, DC, sitcoms, legal dramas… the probability models are unstable."
I smiled faintly. 'Meaning nobody knows for sure where this all leads.'
"Precisely," she replied.
I slid the card back into my pocket. 'Then I'll just make sure when the time comes, I'm the one holding all the cards.
Eve's voice rang in my head. "Liam, you should call Cameron Dennis. The sooner you lock it in, the better."
I sighed, pulling my phone from the table. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
The line rang twice before a smooth, commanding voice answered. "Cameron Dennis speaking."
"Mr. Dennis, this is Liam Harper. I'm calling to accept your offer for the assistant DA position."
There was a pause, then a low chuckle. "Well now… I thought I'd lost you to the sharks in corporate. Why the DA's office? You could have had a six figure salary and half the hours."
I leaned back in my chair, smirking at my untouched Americano. "Because winning isn't about the size of the paycheck. It's about showing skills where it matters and making sure the verdict comes down in the desired way."
There was another pause — longer this time.
Then Cameron laughed again, sharper, approving. "You've got some fire in you, Harper. I like that. Stick with me, and I'll guide you toward greatness."
"Greatness is good," I replied casually. "But I'm here to learn first. The rest will follow."
That seemed to land. "Monday morning, nine sharp," Cameron said, his tone shifting into business mode. "I'll have everything arranged for you."
"See you Monday," I replied before ending the call.
Sliding the phone back onto the table, I leaned forward, fingers tapping lightly against the glass. I knew Cameron Dennis didn't always play by the cleanest rules — but that didn't mean I couldn't learn from him.
I tossed a few bills onto the table, not bothering to count them, and slid out of my seat. The door's little bell jingled as I stepped outside — and there it was.
My bike.
A sleek black beast crouched at the curb, gleaming under the late afternoon sun. Matte-black fairings with faint gloss accents, aerodynamic curves that looked like they were built for speed, and a low, aggressive stance that promised it could devour asphalt without breaking a sweat. The chrome exhaust caught the light like a razor's edge, and the thick Pirelli tires still had that deep, fresh tread.
I couldn't help but grin. "Now this… this I like."
Eve's voice came through, curious. "Your expression suggests this motorcycle pleases you."
"'Pleases me'? Eve, this bike is a work of art. Fast, loud, and unapologetic. Just like I plan to be."
"A machine with no compromises… fitting," she replied in that calm, robotic hum. "Although, statistically, motorcycles have a higher fatality—"
"Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture," I cut in, walking up to it. "I've got a second life now, remember? I'm not wasting it driving a beige sedan for now."
Reaching for the seat, I grabbed the glossy black helmet resting there, its visor a deep reflective tint. I slipped it on, the world dimming to a sharp, focused tunnel.
Swinging a leg over the bike, I felt the familiar weight settle beneath me. My hands wrapped around the grips, the leather of my gloves creaking softly. The engine roared to life with a twist of the throttle — a deep, throaty growl that made a couple of heads turn.
"Destination?" Eve asked.
"My apartment," I said, the location already crystal clear in my mind.
"Understood," she replied, and in the corner of my vision, a small glowing arrow appeared on my HUD, pointing the way.
I kicked the stand up, rolled out into traffic, and let the city blur past as I opened the throttle.
The underground parking garage was clean and well-lit — the kind of place where you didn't have to worry about your ride being stolen or scratched.
I slid the bike into my reserved spot, the low rumble of the engine echoing off the concrete walls before I cut it.
I took the elevator up, watching the numbers tick until 4. The familiar hallway smell — faint detergent and fresh paint — greeted me.
Flat 401. Keys out, lock clicking open.
This Manhattan apartment Emma and I shared isn't ours–it was rented.
The apartment was exactly how I remembered it in my new memories… and better than most people my age could dream of
The living room was open and inviting, with a large sectional sofa in deep charcoal, angled toward a 65-inch flat-screen mounted on the wall. A few throw pillows in muted blues broke up the dark tones, and a low glass coffee table sat perfectly centered. Against one wall, a tall bookshelf mixed business manuals, law journals, and a suspiciously large section dedicated to movie box sets and collector's editions.
To the right, the open kitchen flowed seamlessly into the living space. Matte-black cabinets, marble countertops, and stainless-steel appliances gave it a modern, slightly aggressive edge. A sleek dining table — polished walnut with four high-backed chairs — stood by the balcony doors, catching the last light of day.
The balcony itself had a killer city view — high enough to avoid street noise but low enough that the skyline felt close, personal. A small table with two chairs sat there, perfect for morning coffee or late-night whiskey.
The apartment had two bedrooms, both with attached bathrooms. Mine was at the far end — a minimalist setup: king-sized bed, black-and-white sheets, a wall-mounted TV, a desk with a laptop, and a closet big enough to house half a boutique.
The other room? That belonged to Emma Frost.
But this Emma Frost doesn't have any telepathy powers or diamond skin. She is very smart and has a passion for games.
This Emma was the same age as me, a long-time school friend who somehow turned her love for gaming into a real business.
We share a bond that can't be explained with simple words
Sharp as a wizard when it came to understanding games' minds and delivering what they seek.
She built a startup from the ground up, and it was working.
Her company was already making waves in the e-gaming field, and I owned 50% of it because I'd been the crazy one to believe in her early and write the first big check.
She came from a normal, working-class family, so no silver spoons, no trust funds. Just hustle, brains, and an annoying habit of being right.
Her room was easy to spot — a hint of vanilla scent in the air, the door slightly ajar.
I peeked in. Neat, but with personality: a sleek desk with two monitors, gaming peripherals neatly arranged, and a corkboard full of sketches and notes.
She was clearly out as her leather jacket was missing from the hook by the door.
I let the door swing shut and headed into my own room, dropping my keys on the desk.
The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you think. 'Not bad for a second life… not bad at all.'
-----END-----
Read 10 advanced chapters at:
patreon.com/Dreamwalker1