The stack of documents hit the desk with a thunderous thud, pages scattering across polished wood like confetti from hell.
I froze, hands clenched on my lap. Not because I cared about the papers… Why would I? But because the man behind the desk was looking at me like I'd just crawled out of a gutter and onto his carpet.
"Tell me," Lucian Drake drawled, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Where exactly did you dig up this… defective phoenix?"
I blinked. 'Wait. What?'
Phoenix?
I almost laughed out loud, except he didn't look like the kind of guy who tolerated laughter. Or breathing, for that matter.
Beside me, Sebastian, the human-shaped statue who passed for his head secretary, remained perfectly calm, as if insults and airborne paperwork were just another Monday.
Meanwhile, I sat there, heart hammering. 'Phoenix? What phoenix? Was this some kind of code word? Corporate lingo? A pet name for employees they hated?'
Because I sure as hell wasn't a bird.
The CEO's gaze sharpened, icy and merciless.
"Phoenix." Lucian spat the word like an insult, not a title.
"Glorified healers playing at importance. Birds who burn themselves out patching up wounds, clinging to the illusion of rebirth just to stay useful. Nothing worth admiring. Nothing worth keeping."
His lips curved into a blade-thin smile as he flicked his hand at the mess of papers.
"And you?" His gaze cut through me like frostbite. "You can't even manage that pitiful trick. Defective. Useless. Not fit to be here. Not fit to stand beside me."
No tears ever came, not even now.
Even though my chest ached with a pain that didn't feel entirely mine, the sting of his words cut deeper than they should have. Maybe that was the defect he meant, a heart that wasn't really mine, a body that wouldn't even let me cry.
But none of that mattered.
Because all I could think was… 'How the hell did I end up here?'
=====
A ago, I wasn't a "phoenix."
I was just Seraphina Vale, a struggling writer, professional procrastinator, and part-time ramen enthusiast.
"I swear, I'm done," I groaned into my laptop's camera, glaring at my best friend on the screen. "I can't make a single cent from writing. Nothing… Zero… Nada…"
Vivian, who was currently living her best life overseas, munched on chips with all the sympathy of a rock. "Then stop writing that stupid multimillionaire romance."
I sat up straight, trying to object. "Excuse me? That's not stupid… that's manifesting! Dating a millionaire is my dream. So until the universe delivers, I'll keep writing it."
"Yeah, well, your stupid dream doesn't pay." Vivian licked chip dust off her fingers, grinning. "Try something people actually buy. Apocalypse. Or…" she leaned in wickedly, "werewolves. Angsty, cliché, shirtless werewolves. Instant cash."
I gagged. "Over my dead body."
Vivian cackled. "Suit yourself. But when you're broke and crying to me again next week, don't say I didn't warn you."
I dropped my chin onto the desk dramatically. "You know what you could do for me? Send money. Rent is scarier than zombies and werewolves combined."
She smirked and popped open a can of cola like a queen. "Dream on. But… I did send you something. A souvenir. Should be arriving today."
My cheek thunked against the table. "Vivian, do you think I can eat a keychain? Pay rent with a fridge magnet?"
"Maybe it's more useful than you think."
As if on cue, my doorbell rang.
I snapped my head toward the sound, eyes narrowing at her smug little face on the screen. "No way. Don't tell me that's your souvenir."
"Go on," she said, practically vibrating with mischief. "Open it."
So I did. I rushed back with a small cardboard box and plopped it in front of my laptop like it was a treasure chest. Tearing the tape open, I dug through crumpled wrapping until my fingers closed around a tiny glass bottle.
I held it up, dangling the keychain in front of the camera. Inside shimmered a faint golden liquid that caught the light, glowing almost unnaturally.
My brows shot up. "Vivian. What the hell is this?"
"Cute, right?" She leaned closer, grinning. "I found it at a night market. The seller swore it was phoenix tears."
I snorted, turning the bottle between my fingers. "Phoenix tears? Are you trying to scam me long-distance?"
"Please. Of course I didn't believe it. But you love weird little keychains. It was unique, so I grabbed it."
"Unique, sure. Also completely useless. You could've sent me twenty bucks instead."
"Where's the fun in that?"
I sighed dramatically, dangling the bottle. "A magical bottle of tears. Just what I needed. Maybe it'll pay my rent."
Vivian suddenly lowered her voice, like she was about to tell me Area 51's darkest secret. "The seller did say one thing, though…"
I raised a brow. "What, handcrafted in—"
"Tchh... Listen first..." She wagged a chip at me. "He said phoenix tears are powerful. If you use them properly, they can grant a wish. But…" she smirked "only if the phoenix chooses you."
I stared. "Vivian. You bought a scam in a bottle... With actual money?"
She shrugged. "Hey, don't knock it till you try it... wishing didn't cause you money. Maybe you'll get your billionaire boyfriend after all."
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "Right. And maybe I'll sprout wings and start paying rent in feathers."
But that night, as the apartment went quiet, I found myself staring at the bottle. The golden liquid shimmered faintly in the dark, almost like it was… breathing.
My chest tightened. Ridiculous.
Still, I picked it up, cradling it between my palms. "Fine," I whispered. "Let's pretend. Dear almighty phoenix tears… Please make me the heroine of my own story. Preferably with a rich, ridiculously handsome man who falls madly in love with me. Amen."
I opened one eye. Nothing.
I groaned and set the bottle down. "Puff… Figures. Can't even get scammed properly."
And yet… when I woke up the next morning, it wasn't to the sight of my messy apartment.
It was to a desk buried under documents. A man's voice was colder than ice. And a pair of glacial eyes boring straight through me.
"Sebastian!" the white-haired man barked, slamming a hand against the desk. "Why is there a homeless woman sleeping in my office? What is security even doing?!"
I gaped.
Because apparently, this "homeless woman"... was me?