I stared at the pile of files on my desk, the fluorescent light of the office casting a sickly yellow sheen on the cheap paper. Blinking at the endless rows of numbers that made no sense anymore, they swam together into an indecipherable, gray blur. Another soul-crushing Tuesday at Kat Lion Company, and the oppressive monotony was already weighing me down. I let out a long, quiet sigh, the sound muffled and swallowed by the carpeted cubicle farm, and leaned back in my worn, squeaking chair, running a hand through my messy, ink-black hair.
Twenty-two years old, a year out of university, and somehow I'd managed to land a "real job." Not bad for a decidedly normal guy like me. My life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad either. My apartment was small, my salary modest, yet it was mine—my cramped, private space, my predictable routine. Most days, that was enough.
But my mind wandered, as it often did, back to that slick, chilling rainy night I couldn't forget.
The air had been thick with the smell of wet concrete and exhaust. The old woman lying on the wet pavement while everyone else hurried past, shoulders hunched, pretending she didn't exist. I'd been the only fool who stopped. I still remembered the shockingly icy chill of her hand when I helped her to her feet, the way her cloudy, ancient eyes seemed to pierce right through me, pinning me in place. She had whispered words I hadn't understood at the time, her voice like dry leaves rattling in the wind:
"You are kind. For you, no desire shall be denied. Speak it… and it shall be done. But beware, every gift has a price."
I chuckled softly, almost embarrassed by the memory, shaking my head at myself. A fantasy, nothing more. Funny how a single, random act of kindness could stick with you.
"Luke."
Her voice cut through my thoughts, a sharp, silver thread that snagged my attention.
"What? Lost in a daydream again?" she sneered, the word dripping with disdain, stepping into my line of sight.
Anna. The CEO's niece. Twenty-four, and apparently perfection had been genetically gifted to her. A waterfall of pristine, ice-white hair that shimmered under the harsh office lights, piercing sapphire eyes that seemed to see right through me, a small, straight nose, and lips that curved into a smile only when she chose. And then there were her curves—impossible, dangerous curves that could stop any man in his tracks. My gaze lingered for a forbidden second on the perfect architecture of her collarbone. I hated noticing it, but I did.
She dropped a folder onto my desk with a faint, satisfied thud. "Finish these by evening," she said, her voice smooth but commanding, each syllable polished and cold, just enough to sting. Her white hair caught the fluorescent light as she turned to leave, hips swaying with a confident, predatory rhythm that made my chest tighten.
I forced my gaze back to the spreadsheets, blinking rapidly, the numbers refusing to come into focus, trying to shove my wandering thoughts away. Focus, you idiot. Luke. She's the boss's niece. She's a sculpture of ice and unattainable privilege. Untouchable.
But no matter how hard I tried, my eyes betrayed me. I watched her walk, the sway of her hips, the subtle bounce that made it impossible not to notice. The air in the cubicle felt suddenly thin. My mind drifted back to the old woman's words, echoing like a dangerous whisper:
No desire shall be denied…
A cold, electric shiver ran down my spine. My pulse quickened, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. Could it really be true? Could a simple wish, a single word… make someone obey? My rational mind screamed at me to stop. This was Anna—beautiful, untouchable Anna. The thought alone was reckless, insane even.
Yet, there it was, that dangerous, thrilling spark of curiosity. It was a tiny coal, glowing hot in the darkness of my ordinary life. What if it worked? What if, just once… I tried?