Ch. 90 – Mr. Omen

The heavy glass doors of the massive commercial tower slid open, and Rhys stepped into the sprawling, high-ceilinged atrium of the investment firm. He wasn't alone; striding right beside him was Marcus, his ever-reliable best friend. The moment Rhys had realized he was stranded without a vehicle, he had called Marcus in a panic. True to form, Marcus had a rare free shift, dropped everything, and literally flew over to pick him up in an instant, getting Rhys to his destination with minutes to spare.

"Thanks again for the lift, man. Seriously," Rhys said as they crossed the polished marble floor.

Both men stopped for a second, their eyes drifting upward to take in the sheer scale of the lobby. It was a towering, architectural marvel teeming with people of every imaginable race and species. Floating magical dossiers drifted between desks on invisible currents, pneumatic message tubes whistled overhead, and sleek, glowing elevator platforms hummed as they teleported personnel across dimensional floors.

Marcus let out a low whistle, looking around with a grin. "Damn, Rhys. Very swanky. You sure you didn't accidentally apply to a wizarding syndicate?"

Marcus nudged him playfully, then lowered his voice, his expression turning sincere. "Hey... you sure you don't need backup in there? I can stick around."

Rhys felt a genuine swell of appreciation for his old partner. Looking at Marcus—who was still unknowingly trapped in the web of Vespera’s manipulation, a mess entirely because of Rhys’s own cascading secrets—made a wave of protective guilt hit him. I still gotta free you from her clutches, buddy, Rhys thought smugly and grimly to himself.

Aloud, Rhys offered a confident, reassuring smile. "I'll be totally fine, Marcus. I've got more than enough backup than I'll ever need," Rhys said, holding up his thick leather briefcase filled with business proposals.

In truth, Rhys wasn't just talking about his paperwork. Looking past Marcus’s shoulder into the bustling crowd, he could faintly make out the shimmering, silent silhouette of the dark figure, watching him with unwavering, possessive focus.

Marcus smiled, satisfied with the answer, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Alright, man. Good luck. I'm gonna go hunt down the building's food court with extreme prejudice," he laughed, flashing a ravenous grin before turning toward the grand concourse.

Rhys left him to find his meeting place, turning down a labyrinthine hallway. Armed with only his briefcase and his nerves, Rhys nearly got lost within the first two minutes. He checked his watch—he was early, but the sheer size of the corporate maze was rapidly eating away at his buffer time.

Standing in front of a massive, holographic directory map, Rhys scratched the back of his neck, completely puzzled.

"Looking for Suite 404, or did you just wander in here to admire the architecture?"

Rhys jumped slightly, turning around to find someone standing right behind him. He hadn't even noticed her approach. "My bad—what was that?" he stammered, blinking.

It was a stunning businesswoman with sharp, shoulder-length brunette hair and piercing, intelligent eyes. She wore a sleek, impeccably tailored pinstripe suit that screamed executive authority.

She crossed her arms, looking him up and down. "I asked if you were lost. You certainly look like it."

Rhys actually got flustered, rubbing his jaw. He was flustered, but not simply because she was drop-dead gorgeous—though she undoubtedly was. What really made his skin crawl was the way she looked at him. It wasn't the warm, curious gaze of a stranger; it was an unnervingly knowing, ancient gaze that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Without waiting for an answer, the woman turned on her heel. "Follow me."

Rhys blinked, completely baffled. He hesitated, watching as the shadow of the dark figure materialized briefly in his peripheral vision, standing directly in his path and shaking its head as if frantically trying to warn him away from her.

I'm totally fine, Rhys thought defensively, trying to brush off the unease. She's just helping me.

He hurried to catch up with her brisk, purposeful stride. "Uh... which way is it?" he asked, trying to keep pace.

"Just follow. I know the way," she replied smoothly over her shoulder.

How the hell could she possibly know the way? Rhys thought, narrowing his eyes as a spike of paranoia hit him. I didn't even say jack shit about where I was going!

Still, there was an undeniable, magnetic confidence in the way she moved. As she led him down a series of private corridors, bypassing security checkpoints and even walking straight through an active, high-level board meeting in progress, Rhys’s eyes accidentally strayed down her silhouette. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat and mentally chastising himself. Get it together, man. You have way more than enough female complications in your life right now.

Trying to break the heavy, mysterious tension, Rhys attempted some polite small talk. "So... you work here long? What's your name, by the way?"

The woman remained entirely curt, not even glancing back at him. "Keep walking."

Finally, after what felt like a mile of walking, they arrived at a heavy, frosted-glass double door just as Rhys’s watch ticked to the exact minute of his appointment.

Rhys let out a breath of pure relief and beamed at her. "Well... we made it on time. Thank you so much for leading the way. I really appreciate it."

The woman stopped, turned around, and offered him a slow, genuine, radiant smile. It was a disarming expression that instantly made Rhys feel like he had just earned some profound, hidden validation.

Oh no, Rhys thought, panic flaring in his chest. You gotta stop doing that. Why do all these terrifyingly attractive women keep doing that to me?

She held his gaze for a second too long, her piercing eyes glittering with amusement. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Omen."

Rhys’s jaw nearly unhinged. The blood drained entirely from his face.

You said WHAT now? Rhys blurted out loud, his eyes widening in horror as one eyebrow shot straight up toward his hairline.

Without missing a beat, the woman reached out, turned the heavy brass handle, and pushed the grand boardroom doors wide open. The massive, mahogany-lined room was already packed to the brim with senior executives and investors—every single seat at the long table occupied, save for one high-backed leather chair sitting dead center at the very top.

She walked past him with absolute, unbothered grace, strode down the length of the silent room, and calmly pulled out the main chair, seating herself at the head of the table.

She rested her elbows on the armrests, folded her hands, and fixed her piercing, intelligent eyes entirely on the paralyzed, shell-shocked man standing in the doorway.

"My name is Isha," she said smoothly, her voice echoing in the quiet, tense boardroom. "I am the CEO of this company... and I am more than happy to hear your proposal."