6:00 PM.
Northwind Interactive Headquarters.
Official business hours had ended an hour ago, but the executive floor remained bathed in the pale glow of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, Halcyon City’s skyline shimmered beneath the fading evening light.
Chloe had left some time earlier, practically floating out of the building. Her pitch had gone smoothly, and with Roxanne’s recommendation backing her, the corporate sponsorship was all but secured. In Halcyon City’s competitive media industry, connections could make or break a career. Chloe had just landed one that could change everything.
Behind a massive desk of polished dark walnut, Daniel Fletcher leaned back in his chair, his fingers loosely interlaced as he watched Roxanne prepare to leave.
"Your little friend has an interesting energy," he remarked. "Backing her streaming venture might actually be a good investment."
Roxanne slipped her phone into her designer tote and checked that everything was in place before answering.
"I wouldn’t have put her file on your desk if I didn’t believe she had real potential, Mr. Fletcher."
Daniel’s lips curved into a faint smile.
At barely thirty, he had already established himself as one of the city’s most influential businessmen. Under his leadership, Northwind Interactive had grown from an ambitious startup into one of the crown jewels of Halcyon City’s tech industry. He was demanding, calculating, and notoriously ruthless with his subordinates. A single displeased look from him could send an entire department scrambling to correct its mistakes.
Yet Roxanne, his personal executive assistant, seemed entirely immune to his authority.
From the moment she had walked into his office for her interview, Daniel had been fascinated by her. Her beauty was certainly striking, but it was her composure that truly caught his attention. She possessed a quiet, almost predatory confidence, the sort that made people think twice before underestimating her. Beneath her polished exterior was a razor-sharp mind, and despite being in her early twenties, she carried herself like someone accustomed to running a boardroom rather than taking notes in one.
What is a woman like her doing working for someone else?
The question had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit.
Roxanne was ridiculously overqualified for the position. That alone would have made her a valuable hire, but it wasn’t the only reason he’d brought her into his inner circle. He wanted her close, where he could see her every day and perhaps, eventually, persuade her to look at him as something more than her employer.
Unfortunately for him, Roxanne had figured out his intentions within ten minutes of their first meeting.
She simply had no interest in entertaining them.
Over the past few months, she’d turned the art of professional rejection into something approaching perfection. Whenever Daniel attempted to push their relationship beyond the boundaries of work, she redirected the conversation with such effortless courtesy that he could hardly accuse her of being rude.
He was used to people yielding when he applied enough pressure. Roxanne never did.
"Just as expected," Daniel said, a trace of amusement appearing at the corner of his mouth. "My personal assistant never disappoints."
Roxanne straightened her blazer and slipped her bag over her shoulder.
"I’ll be leaving now. If any urgent documents or correspondence come in tonight, I’ll forward them to your terminal. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Fletcher."
She turned toward the double mahogany doors.
"Wait a moment." Daniel straightened in his chair. "What about the quarterly rollout report for the..."
"You’ll have the complete comparative report in your inbox by midnight," she replied without missing a beat.
He sighed.
"Roxanne, you push yourself too hard."
She paused and glanced back at him, her expression politely puzzled.
"Sir?"
"Let me take you to dinner tonight."
She resisted the urge to sigh.
Adrian had called her barely an hour ago to follow up on the arrangement she’d proposed. She’d promised to get back to him with the details that night, and she already had enough on her plate without adding an unwanted dinner date with her boss.
"I still have a mountain of paperwork to clear," she explained smoothly. "The operational audits are piling up."
Daniel tilted his head.
"Then don’t submit them tomorrow."
One delicate eyebrow rose.
"Submit them whenever you have the time," he added, leaning forward with a practiced smile. "There’s no need to put yourself under so much pressure."
"Really? That’s very considerate of you, Mr. Fletcher."
Roxanne gave him a flawless corporate smile.
"Well, in that case, I’ll be going."
Daniel rose from his chair, momentarily caught off guard.
"And dinner?"
"Oh, something urgent has just come up." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "My evening is already booked with prior engagements that can’t be rescheduled. Perhaps another time."
His jaw tightened for the briefest moment before he concealed his irritation behind another easy smile.
"Then at least let me drive you home. My car is downstairs."
"I brought my own vehicle today, so that won’t be necessary."
She rested her hand on the door handle.
"Goodnight, Mr. Fletcher. And thank you again for your generosity with the reports."
Before he could find another excuse to keep her there, she opened the door and stepped out. It closed behind her with a quiet click, leaving the office in silence.
Daniel remained standing beside his desk, his eyes fixed on the empty doorway. Slowly, a smirk spread across his face.
’That little devil. Still putting up walls.’
He returned to his leather chair and began tapping his fingers against the polished wood.
’Let’s see how long you can keep that up.’
...
The underground executive garage was considerably quieter than the streets above. Roxanne walked briskly toward her matte-black Mercedes-AMG G-Class, already mentally reviewing the evening ahead.
She had just reached the driver’s door when her phone vibrated inside her purse.
Digging it out, she glanced at the screen.
[Mr. Vale]
She answered while searching her bag for the key fob.
"Good evening, Mr. Vale."
"You sounded pretty confident earlier about wanting to rub shoulders with the high rollers," she remarked. "I hope you haven’t changed your mind."
"Not a chance." Adrian’s voice came through the speaker, energetic and clear, as though the day had barely begun for him. "Name the place and time. I’m ready."
"Nine Dragons Casino. Eight o’clock sharp." She pressed the unlock button, and the G-Wagon’s lights flashed. "That’s when the real sharks start gathering around the tables. It’s just off the Halcyon City freeway bypass."
"Got it. One thing, though. I’m bringing a plus-one. He won’t have any trouble getting past the velvet ropes, will he?"
Roxanne pinched the bridge of her nose.
"He can enter through the main entrance, but the private high-roller salon where we’ll be playing is restricted to qualified guests. He won’t be allowed inside."
"That’s fine. He’s not much of a gambler anyway."
There was a brief pause before Adrian continued, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
"He only agreed to come because I promised him the place would be crawling with gorgeous women. There’ll be plenty of those, right?"
Roxanne closed her eyes.
"There will be plenty of women."
"Excellent."
"Mr. Vale, would you kindly allow me to operate a motor vehicle now?" she snapped, her patience finally wearing thin.
"Understood, understood. Eight o’clock sharp. Jacob and I will see you there."
The call ended.
Roxanne stared at the dark screen for several seconds before lowering her head with an exhausted groan.
"Why do I suddenly feel like an unpaid babysitter to overgrown delinquents?"
She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, climbed behind the wheel, and started the twin-turbo V8. The engine rumbled to life, and moments later, she was pulling out of the garage and merging into the cool evening traffic.
...
8:05 PM.
The silver Ferrari rolled to a stop beside the curb outside Nine Dragons Casino. Its low exhaust note echoed through the grand arrival court, drawing a few curious glances from nearby guests.
The casino was a spectacle of unapologetic extravagance.
Golden and crimson LEDs illuminated the sprawling pavilion, making the entire entrance glow as brightly as midday. Luxury sedans and imported supercars filled the valet lane, their polished bodies reflecting the elaborate lighting. Men in tailored tuxedos and women in glittering evening gowns moved through the gilded revolving doors while broad-shouldered security personnel watched the arriving guests.
Adrian rested his arms on the steering wheel and looked up at the enormous neon sign.
"Jacob, we’re here."
His passenger let out a low whistle.
"Damn. That’s aggressively bright."
Jacob stared at the entrance, taking in the expensive cars, the lavish architecture, and the steady stream of beautifully dressed women. His eyes lingered on the latter for a moment before he slowly turned toward Adrian.
Then he extended an open hand.
"Give me the keys."
Adrian frowned.
"What? Why the hell would I do that?"
"Just hand them over." Jacob wiggled his fingers impatiently.
Adrian leaned back against his headrest, eyeing his friend with growing suspicion.
"Are you going to explain your reasoning, or have you finally lost your mind?"
"It’s called tactical risk management." Jacob wore an expression of such angelic innocence that Adrian immediately distrusted it. "I’m being a responsible wingman. Someone has to make sure you don’t gamble away our only set of wheels before midnight."
Adrian let out a dry snort.
’Risk management, my ass. The parasite just wants to wave the Ferrari keys around at the lounge bar and impress some women.’
He shook his head in disbelief.
"Jacob, you are genuinely, completely shameless."
"I asked a simple question, Adrian."
Jacob’s expression remained perfectly serious, his hand still extended between them.
"Are you giving me the keys or not?"
Adrian stared at him.
For a moment, he couldn’t decide whether he was more exhausted by his friend’s audacity or impressed by the sheer confidence with which he was trying to steal the keys to a Ferrari that wasn’t even his.