Ch. 91 – You Really Don’t Recognize Me?

Rhys stood in the center of the sprawling, high-tech boardroom, feeling as though he had just stepped straight into a gladiator pit. To his mind, Isha was the empress presiding over the arena, and the sharp-suited board members seated around the mahogany table were the lions circling the perimeter. He paused for a brief, tense moment, his eyes scanning the room. Off to the side, the shadowy silhouette of Omen shook its head in silent disapproval, as if muttering I told you so.

Gritting his teeth, Rhys pulled himself together. He didn't know how this woman had pegged him as Omen, but he had spent months maintaining a double life; he could sell a legitimate business pitch.

Shaking off the bizarre psychological games she had tried to play on him earlier, Rhys stepped smoothly into his presentation. He delivered his opening introduction with practiced, flawless poise, laying out his vision: a mobile, community-focused catering enterprise designed to reach underserved populations and feed those who didn't know where their next meal was coming from.

As he spoke, he paused to look around the room. The board members still wore hungry, predatory expressions. At the head of the table, Isha watched him with rapt attention, her gaze unreadable. Catching his own reflection in the sleek glass partition behind the projection screen, Rhys momentarily felt like he looked defeated—until he saw the dark figure lingering just behind his shoulder.

Steeling himself, Rhys clicked the remote, advancing to his next slide. He turned around calmly, his hands clasped behind his back, slipping fully into his commanding alter-ego mask.

"We will maximize investor capital by revolutionizing logistics through the use of enchanted flying carpets," Rhys stated crisply, his voice echoing in the quiet room.

The board went utterly still. Isha leaned forward on her elbows.

"Our primary operational model," Rhys continued, pacing steadily, "relies on nimble, high-speed magic carpet fleets. This will make us the most mobile catering service in the city—and eventually, nationwide once we scale."

He racked his brain, frantically searching every memory of every face he had ever encountered, trying desperately to place Isha. Who are you? he thought, his mind racing.

"This mobility allows us to reach vulnerable communities through targeted charity programs and local events," Rhys said.

One of the senior board members scoffed, leaning back in his chair. He snidely interrupted, asking if Rhys genuinely expected them to foot the bill for such an extravagant fleet—all that capital just to feed a bunch of random, impoverished people.

A flash of raw irritation sparked in Rhys’s chest. He glared down at the man. Without Rhys even realizing it, the air in the boardroom began to crackle, static electricity snapping as his latent superhuman power pulsed through his veins. Isha noticed the shift immediately, her eyes narrowing slightly, though she remained silent to see how he would handle it.

Keeping his voice chillingly calm, Rhys stared the investor down. "Are you suggesting you can't afford it? Especially after your firm has profited so heavily off the backs of those very same 'random people'?" He punctuated the air with his fingers, the quiet menace in his tone silencing the entire room.

The man stammered, sputtering in shock as he tried to formulate a defense. Rhys didn't give him the chance to recover, pivoting swiftly back to his presentation.

"Naturally, I wouldn't present an investment opportunity where you lose money. That would be idiotic," Rhys said, letting his eyes linger on the flustered board member to drive the point home.

He advanced to the final phase of his pitch. "The second tier of our model utilizes heavy-duty, bus-sized transport carpets. These will be deployed for high-profile, high-end galas and corporate charity events, the proceeds of which will fully subsidize our community outreach programs."

Rhys delivered his closing remarks with a resounding boom, commanding the room entirely. For a fleeting second, he caught Isha's eye, still completely baffled by her identity. He clicked to the final slide, revealing an expansive, glowing logistical map of his future business footprint.

"This is what our catering business—our business—will look like the moment you give me a chance and invest today."

When Rhys finished, the room fell dead silent. It was the proverbial moment when the lions could either pounce or accept the kill. The board members began looking sideways at one another, slowly nodding in reluctant agreement.

Isha broke into a genuine, radiant smile.

Oh, stop, Rhys blushed inwardly behind his mental mask. No, seriously, stop smiling like that... because who the hell ARE you?

Finally, Isha cleared her throat and spoke. "It's a brilliant proposal," she announced.

Rhys let out a sharp, audible sigh of relief. "Thank you. I'm glad to have you on board as investors—"

Isha raised a single, manicured hand, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Ah, ah. I haven't signed the papers just yet," she said with a knowing, teasing smile.

Rhys’s eyebrows furrowed. Of course there's a 'but,' he thought smugly.

"The idea is brilliant," Isha continued, pantomiming thoughtfully. "And it can undeniably work. But the logistical overhead is immense. The upfront cost of acquiring and enchanting heavy-duty transport carpets alone would take more than a full fiscal year to recoup."

Rhys dropped his internal joking tone. He needed to figure out who she was, right now. Frustrated by the mind games, he blurted out the first thing on his mind, completely derailing the meeting.

"Do I know you?"

The abrupt, totally off-topic question caught Isha completely off guard mid-sentence. She blinked, stared at him for a second, and then burst out laughing. Rhys’s eyebrows shot up in bewilderment.

As Isha finally composed herself, her cold corporate facade melted away, replaced by a hauntingly familiar warmth. She looked at him with an expression that bridged years of history. "Oh, come on now, Rhys," she smiled softly. "I know it’s been a long time... but you really don't recognize me by my face?"

Rhys froze, his brain screeching to a halt. He looked around the room, feeling completely lost.

In his peripheral vision, the dark silhouette of Omen stepped forward, its glowing eyes fixed on him with cold dissatisfaction. You really aren't as sharp as you used to be, the dark entity muttered mentally.

Rhys opened his mouth, but absolutely nothing came out.

Isha’s expression shifted from amusement to a flicker of quiet disappointment. She sighed, resting her chin on her hand. "Well... I suppose that's that, Mr. Omen. I suppose we'll be staying in touch."

Rhys stood aghast, the crushing realization hitting him like a physical blow: he had completely, unequivocally choked. He had lost the match. Without saying another word, feeling hollowed out and defeated, Rhys turned on his heel and walked out of the boardroom.

We obviously won't be staying in touch, Rhys thought bitterly as the heavy glass doors hissed shut behind him.

He took a long, steadying breath in the corridor, trying to process his catastrophic failure. Even his dark, internal companion couldn't be bothered to have his back this time. I don't even have my own back, Rhys thought in a rising panic, running a hand through his hair. That is majorly fucked up.

Straightening his jacket, Rhys set off to track down Marcus. Knowing his best friend's lightning-fast metabolism, Marcus was probably completely lost in the corporate food court, eating his weight in free samples.