Dealing with Lacey was going to be challenging. Unlike Diana, she didn't have a secret sex scandal that he could threaten to expose, and unlike Alison, [Sovereignty] wasn't making her any more friendly with him.
It was a confusing Skill. A Skill that made his presence draw attention, but never specified whether it was positive or negative.
Then again, it could just be that Ashley found herself attracted to guys who had a magnetic presence.
After last night, he had decided on not doing anything with her. Making her a Bride Target would certainly incur the wrath of the CEO.
But making Lacey a Target was almost just as risky.
Hmm…
Full of thoughts, Dylan picked up the mug, taking a slow sip of the hot, bitter liquid, the steam curling around his chiseled face.
It didn't taste bad. It was nice. He'd almost expected Lacey to poison it. Then again, the only people who knew what poison tasted like were too dead to tell.
As the warmth from the coffee spread through him, his mind wandered back to Diana.
'Why does she want me to never skip work? Why insist I inform her every time?'
Again, it wasn't like his role was pivotal. Managing Director of Investor Relations, even with such a jam-packed name, was a glorified paper-pusher, high in title but low in impact.
Yet Diana had come to his apartment personally, acting like his absence threw the whole division into chaos.
For a moment, Dylan wondered why he was even questioning this now. He had never done it before. He had been living as a simple yes man, who just wanted to get through life.
It was definitely this new found freedom of expression, this personality bubbling up inside him. The Incubus King's Soul doing.
It was like a cage had burst open, the invisible bubble that had trapped his thoughts for years shattering in a rush of clarity.
Free thought poured out now, unrestrained and vivid, making him question things he'd never bothered with before.
He saw opportunities where he'd once seen walls, wanted change where he'd once accepted stagnation. The Incubus King's soul calibration, even at 2%, had cracked the shell of his old self, letting ambition and curiosity flood in.
Why settle for this limbo? Why let the whispers of "nepo baby" define him?
He could do something. Something to prove them all wrong.
That was when the idea came: since everyone thought he was a nepo baby, handed his position on a silver platter, the best way to prove them wrong was to start all over.
Go to the Head of Departments and ask for a demotion: start from the bottom, build himself up on his own merit.
Besides, he didn't exactly need this job anyway; with over 40 million sitting in his bank account, courtesy of the 10x Wealth Multiplier, he could walk away tomorrow.
But he wouldn't.
He wanted to start all over, and climb on his own.
That would certainly shut everyone up.
Thinking about it, Dylan was sure it wouldn't even take that long to climb back up. In fact, it would be faster than just staying here.
Promotions came monthly, and despite making this job his life, he'd never been considered for a promotion, not even once.
In hindsight, it felt deliberate, like they all wanted him stuck here in this almost fictional position, a token role to keep him out of the way.
Dylan made up his mind. He set the mug down with a decisive clink, pushed back from his desk, and stood.
He looked around his small, confining office. This wasn't the office of a manager, but he had never questioned that either.
It felt smaller now, confining.
'Well, goodbye to this office then,' he thought as he strode out.
Heads turned once again, driven by [Sovereignty] as he walked past them. They whispered to each other, even Lacey was giving him the side eye.
Dylan ignored it all and headed to the elevator, pressing the button with a firm jab. The doors slid open, empty, and he stepped in, watching the floor numbers climb as it ascended to the upper floors, the executive levels where the real power pulsed.
The elevator dinged, opening onto the Head of Departments floor.
It was a world apart from the bustling cubicles below. The space was grand, almost intimidating, with an exceptionally clean metal flooring that gleamed under recessed lighting.
Massive windows stretched floor-to-ceiling, offering panoramic views of the city skyline, sunlight filtering through tinted glass to cast a golden hue over everything.
The air smelled of expensive leather and subtle cologne, the walls lined with abstract art and awards plaques in gold frames.
Desks were sparse but massive, manned by sharply dressed assistants who glanced up with practiced indifference, their workspaces equipped with dual monitors and ergonomic chairs that screamed corporate luxury.
It was clear that everyone here was more important to the company. It was the Head of Departments floor, the top of all Divisions in the company.
It felt like stepping into a fortress of power where decisions shaped the company's fate.
Dylan walked down the wide hallway, his strides confident, hands in his pockets.
Many spared a glance at him, which was an accomplishment because the workers here tended to look down on lower divisions or not even care.
He finally arrived at the corner office. It was a spacious suite with frosted glass doors etched with "Head of Departments" in Times New Roman script.
The secretary — a skinny male — informed the H.O.D of Dylan's presence. Once given permission, Dylan pushed through, entering a grand room.
Anyone who worked in a company dreamed of an office such as this: there was a massive oak desk dominating the center, leather armchairs and bookshelves lined with industry tomes.
It was utterly beautiful and professional. A space that instantly yelled powered compared to Dylan's cubicle-like office.
Behind the desk sat the H.O.D, an extremely thick, hot Wasian woman whose presence commanded the space like a hentai fantasy brought to life.
Her Asian-European features were stunning. She had almond-shaped eyes with a sultry tilt, full lips painted a deep crimson, high cheekbones, and long, silky black hair cascading over her shoulders.
Her body was a voluptuous masterpiece: massive breasts straining against a tight white blouse, the top buttons undone just enough to hint at deep cleavage, her waist curving dramatically into wide hips and a fat, round ass that filled her pencil skirt to bursting.
The skirt hugged her thick thighs, riding up slightly as she shifted, revealing sheer black stockings and heels that accentuated her long legs. She exuded raw sex appeal, her skin a flawless golden tan, her posture regal yet inviting, like a goddess of corporate dominance.
Dylan knew who she was. Asami Tachibana. The woman who oversaw all the other divisions in the company. Diana's boss.
He cleared his throat, standing before her desk.
She looked up from her computer, her expression cold and recognizing, her dark eyes appraising him with a flicker of disdain. "Mr. Lee," she said, her voice smooth but icy. "How can I help you?"
Dylan kept a steady voice. "I wish to be demoted from my job to a smaller one, maybe something in file structuring and management, that way I can build myself up."
She stared at him, silent for several long seconds, her full lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes unblinking as she processed his words.
Dylan wondered what she was going to say and why it was taking so long for her to say it.
But then, plainly, without inflection, she replied, "No."