The bus doors hissed as they opened to the rain-damp streets of Helmsworth, a city that never seemed to sleep or forgive. Leah Morgan stepped down, dragging behind her a suitcase that wobbled on one stubborn wheel. She looked up. Steel, glass, and light towered above her—the skyline cutting into the clouds like ambition made visible. Somewhere among those mirrored facades stood the building she had dreamed about for months: Voss Tower.
It was more than an address. It was a chance to start over.
Her entire life had folded into this moment: one suitcase, a folder of credentials, and the half-written promise she had made to her late father that she would fix everything. She still owed his debts. She still carried his name—something that opened no doors in Helmsworth.
The drizzle clung to her hair as she reached the foot of the tower. Fifty floors of mirrored confidence rose into the clouds, crowned with the gold-lined logo she had stared at on countless job boards: Voss Group. Inside those walls, people made fortunes in an hour and lost them in a day.
She whispered to herself, "You can do this." Her voice came out small, nearly lost under the noise of passing cars.
The revolving doors swallowed her into air-conditioned silence. The lobby was a cathedral of corporate design—marble floors, glass elevators, soft music humming from unseen speakers. She hesitated by the security counter until a uniformed guard gave her a polite nod.
"Interview?" he asked.
She nodded quickly. "Leah Morgan. Human Resources."
The guard handed her a visitor badge. "Eighteenth floor. They'll be expecting you."
She thanked him and stepped into the glass elevator. As it rose, she watched the city shrink below, every floor revealing another world—marketing, finance, design—each filled with people who belonged here. Her own reflection in the elevator wall looked too hopeful, too fragile.
The doors opened to the eighteenth floor. She was greeted by a hallway lined with glass offices and sharp-eyed assistants moving at calculated speed. A woman in a headset motioned her forward. "Please wait here. Mr. Voss will be with you shortly."
Mr. Voss? Leah's stomach tightened. She had expected an HR assistant, not the man himself.
She sat, palms damp, folder balanced on her lap. The minutes stretched, filled only by the sound of keyboards and the faint hum of the air-conditioning. She had rehearsed her answers on the bus: confident but humble, professional but grateful. She was ready—until the door opened.
The door clicked open, and the air changed.
Adrian Voss stepped in like someone who owned oxygen. He didn't shake hands. Didn't smile. "You type fast?" His voice was even, stripped of curiosity.
Leah blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness. "Yes."
"Twelve-hour shifts. Travel on short notice. Confidentiality absolute."
"I understand."
He circled the table once, scanning her résumé as if it were a stock report. The silence pressed against her ribs. She could hear her own heartbeat, the faint hum of the ceiling vent, the slide of his pen across paper.
Outside the glass wall, the office floor froze—people pretending not to watch.
He looked up again. The gray in his eyes was metallic, deliberate. "Start Monday. Probation for two weeks."
No handshake. No signature. Verdict delivered.
He left the room before she could thank him, the scent of cedar and rain lingering behind him.
Leah stood motionless for a full breath, waiting for someone to tell her it was a mistake. The HR officer appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand. "Please take the elevator to Level 18. Mr. Voss requested a walk-in interview slot at ten."
The words barely registered. She had been hired—and somehow interrogated—at the same time.
Downstairs, the drizzle had turned into rain. She stepped out under a flickering streetlight, the badge still pinned to her jacket like proof she hadn't imagined it. Adrian Voss himself hired me.
She almost laughed. It felt impossible.
The hostel she checked into that evening smelled of damp carpet and fried onions. But to her, it felt like the first step away from the ruins of her past. She hung her jacket carefully, then opened her folder on the small desk, going over the company details again—names, departments, corporate history.
Her eyes paused on a photograph clipped to one of the pages: Adrian Voss, CEO. Younger, unsmiling, flanked by executives. She traced the image with her thumb. The name tugged at something distant in her memory, like a half-remembered tune. She shook it off. It didn't matter who he used to be. What mattered was surviving two weeks in his company.
Rain tapped against the window. Somewhere outside, the lights of Voss Tower blinked through the mist, steady and untouchable. Leah watched them until her vision blurred. She didn't know yet that the man in that tower was the boy she had once saved from a storm fifteen years ago—or that the secret she carried in her father's old letter would soon set both of their worlds on fire.
She closed her eyes and whispered again, "You can do this."
The city kept raining. Somewhere above the clouds, fate began to move.