Valemont City bled silver beneath the rain.
From the hills, the skyline looked like a constellation trapped in glass—towers rising like frozen lightning, their reflections trembling in puddles below. The storm had come without warning, draping the city in a curtain of water and whispers. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled like a memory trying to speak.
Inside the obsidian fortress of Dravien Industries, the world was still.
Too still.
The kind of silence that didn't belong in a building full of ambition. It was the silence of breath held. Of secrets waiting to be heard.
Virelia Dravien stood alone in the boardroom, her silhouette framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city she ruled. Her heels clicked against the marble like a metronome of control. She was dressed in black—sleek, unyielding, like mourning wrapped in power.
Her eyes, sharp as cut glass, scanned the horizon as if searching for something she couldn't name.
She had built this empire from ashes. From betrayal. From the kind of pain that didn't scream—it whispered, quietly, until it became the voice in your head.
Three years ago, she had been someone else.
A wife. A partner. A believer.
Julian Corven had changed that.
He hadn't just betrayed her. He had dismantled her. Sold her designs to a rival firm, walked away with her trust in ruins, and left her to bleed in the spotlight of a very public divorce. The tabloids had fed on it for weeks—"The Ice Queen Melted," they'd said. "Dravien's Downfall."
But she hadn't fallen.
She had risen.
Higher than anyone dared to reach. Colder than anyone dared to touch.
Now, she ruled alone. And she liked it that way.
A knock broke the silence.
Her HR director entered, placing a folder on the table with the kind of reverence reserved for sacred things. "Your new executive assistant is waiting outside," he said. "Temporary placement. Highly recommended."
Virelia didn't look up. "Name?"
"Knox Vancewell."
Her fingers froze.
Vancewell.
The name struck her like a whisper from the grave. She opened the folder slowly, her breath shallow. The photo showed a man with sharp features, a composed expression, and eyes that seemed to know too much. Not Julian. But something in the gaze—steady, familiar, haunting—made her pulse skip.
Coincidence. It had to be.
She closed the folder. "Send him in."
The door opened.
He stepped inside like he belonged there. Tall. Controlled. Dressed in tailored gray with a silver tie that matched the storm outside. His movements were precise, deliberate—like someone who had studied her. His voice, when he spoke, was calm. Professional.
"Ms. Dravien," he said. "It's an honor."
She nodded, dismissing the chill that crept up her spine. "Let's see if you're worth the recommendation."
Knox Vancewell didn't flinch under her gaze.
Most people did. They blinked too fast, shifted their weight, glanced at the windows as if the skyline might offer escape. But Knox stood like he'd been carved from the same obsidian as the building itself—still, polished, unreadable.
Virelia gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit."
He did, folding himself into the chair with the kind of grace that came from discipline, not charm. His hands rested lightly on the table, fingers interlaced, no jewelry, no watch. Clean. Intentional.
She opened the folder again, scanning the résumé with clinical precision.
Psychological background. Intelligence division. Then a pivot to corporate logistics. High-level placements in three Fortune 500 companies. No red flags. No gaps. No obvious ties to Julian.
Still, something was wrong.
"Why did you pick permanent and not temporary?" she asked.
Knox's voice was smooth, but not soft. "I prefer long-term contracts. It allows for flexibility."
"Or detachment."
He smiled faintly. "Sometimes both."
She closed the folder. "You'll find this place doesn't tolerate detachment. Dravien Industries is not a permanent stepping stone if you are unworthy. It's a crucible."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Her voice sharpened. "Because people don't walk in here and walk out unchanged. They either evolve or burn."
Knox met her eyes. "Then I'll evolve."
The storm outside thickened, rain streaking the glass like veins of mercury. Virelia stood, walking to the window, her arms folded. She didn't like how he said it. Not the words—the tone. Like he already knew the outcome.
"You've read about me," she said.
"Yes."
"Then you know I don't trust easily."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
She turned. "And yet you're here."
"I go where I'm needed."
"Who says you're needed?"
Knox didn't answer immediately. He let the silence stretch, like a wire pulled taut between them.
"Sometimes," he said, "need isn't declared. It's felt."
Virelia's jaw tightened. She hated riddles. Hated people who spoke in half-truths and shadows. Julian had been like that—always dancing around clarity, always hiding something behind his smile.
She walked back to the table, leaned forward, and placed both hands flat on the marble.
"Let's be clear," she said. "You're here to assist. Not to advise. Not to analyze. Not to play games. I don't care how many languages you speak or how many secrets you've kept. You're here to make my life easier. Not more complicated."
Knox nodded. "Understood."
She studied him for another moment, then straightened. "You start now."
He rose. "Where would you like me?"
She handed him a tablet. "Everything you need is on here. Calendar. Contacts. Protocols. You'll shadow me for the first week. After that, you'll be expected to anticipate."
"Anticipation is my specialty."
She didn't smile. "We'll see."
He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Ms. Dravien?"
She looked up.
"I don't mean to overstep, but… the storm. It's not just outside."
Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
He gestured subtly toward the skyline. "Valemont's weather patterns are rarely this erratic. And the power grid's been flickering across three districts. Someone's testing something."
Virelia's pulse quickened. "How do you know that?"
"I read patterns. It's part of my training."
She walked toward him slowly. "And what kind of pattern do you see here?"
Knox met her halfway. "A city on the edge. A company with too many enemies. And a woman who's preparing for war."
The silence between them was electric.
Then, without another word, he left.
Virelia turned back to the window.
Lightning split the sky.
And for a fraction of a second, the skyline flickered.
Not the lights.
The buildings.
One tower—her tower—shimmered unnaturally. Like a mirage. Like it wasn't really there.
Then her tablet buzzed.
UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED.
LOCATION: BOARDROOM.
She turned slowly.
The door was closed.
And the folder on the table was gone.