Investing In My Three Crippled Wives Get 10,000x Times Return
Chapter 184 | Are You Sure?
Chapter 184: 184 | Are You Sure?
Stargate City — Main Hero Association Headquarters
Stargate City.
The heart of the world’s hero industry.
At the center of the city stood the Main Hero Association Headquarters, a massive structure that dwarfed nearly every branch headquarters scattered across the various regions.
This was not a branch.
It was the central headquarters of the Hero Association, the place where major decisions were made and where countless departments worked around the clock to keep the organization running.
Inside one of the administrative departments, the atmosphere was busy.
Dozens of people in suits sat at their desks, typing on computers, writing reports, submitting forms, and conducting the thousands of small, unglamorous tasks that kept the Hero Association functioning. The sound of keyboards clicking filled the room like mechanical rain. Occasional murmurs. The rustle of paper. The soft ping of arriving emails.
In one corner of the office, a young woman sat at her desk.
She was not typing.
While every other person around her was engaged in the steady, productive rhythm of morning work, she was staring at a document.
The document lay flat on her desk. A single sheet of official Hero Association letterhead, filled out in neat handwriting and signed at the bottom in blue ink.
Her eyes were fixed on the title printed at the top.
REQUEST FOR TRANSFER
Below the title, in the same neat handwriting:
Requesting transfer from Main Hero Association Headquarters to Branch Office, Lower District.
She stared at the words.
She had been staring at them for fifteen minutes.
She was twenty-three years old, slim, dark-haired and pretty, in the kind of way that drew attention without trying to.
She wore a standard Hero Association administrative uniform. A fitted grey blazer over a white blouse and a pencil skirt. Her employee badge hung around her neck, the photograph showing a younger version of herself with a slightly forced smile.
She had worked at the Main Headquarters for eight months. She had fought for the position. Made calls. Pulled favors. Endured three rounds of interviews and a background check before finally being offered a junior administrative role in the Personnel Division.
It was not a glamorous job. It involved processing hero registration forms, filing mission reports, and maintaining the personnel database. But it was a position at the Main Headquarters. The center of everything. The place where careers were built and futures were shaped.
Her name was Jasmine Constance.
And now she was leaving.
She picked up the letter. Stood up. Her chair rolled backward slightly.
She took a breath. Held the letter against her chest. And walked toward the department manager’s office at the far end of the floor.
She had taken three steps when a figure stepped directly into her path.
Darren.
He was tall. Well-built. Clean-shaven. The kind of man who looked like he belonged on a recruitment poster rather than behind a desk. He wore his blazer with the casual confidence of someone who knew he looked good in it. His dark hair was styled with expensive product. His cologne was subtle but present.
He was also, as Jasmine had learned over the past four months, persistent to the point of obstruction.
His brow furrowed as he looked down at her.
"Jasmine. Are you sure you want to do this?"
His voice was low. Intended to be private. But in an open-plan office where every worker within ten meters had enhanced hearing or simply well-trained ears, low voices didn’t stay private for long.
Jasmine stopped. She looked at him.
"Yes," she said. "I’ve made my choice."
Darren’s frown deepened. He glanced around the office, noting the subtly tilted heads and the suddenly very interested typists who were absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent focused on their screens and not on this conversation.
"You struggled to get here," Darren said, his voice dropping further. "You made calls. You pulled strings. You were lucky to get a position at the Main Headquarters. And now you want to transfer to a branch office? In the lower district?"
"Yes."
"Just yes?"
"Just yes."
Darren’s jaw tightened. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
The grip was not aggressive. It was the grip of a man who was accustomed to getting his way and was genuinely confused when things didn’t go according to his plan. It was also a grip that Jasmine did not appreciate.
"What about me?" he said.
Jasmine looked down at his hand on her wrist. Then up at his face.
"What about you?"
Darren’s eyes flashed. "What about what we have?"
Jasmine stared at him.
Then she shook her head slowly.
"You have quite the imagination," she said. Her voice was flat and tired. The kind of tired that came from having the same conversation multiple times. "There is nothing between us. There has never been anything between us."
She held his gaze.
"Please get your hand off me. Unless you want to embarrass yourself in front of the entire office."
Darren’s face went red.
He looked left. He looked right. The nearby typists had suddenly become very interested in their screens, their typing speeds increasing dramatically as they pretended to be deeply absorbed in quarterly personnel reports.
But their ears were perked. Every single one of them was listening.
Darren released her wrist.
He opened his mouth to say something. Then closed it. Then opened it again. Then closed it again.
Jasmine didn’t wait for whatever was going to come out of his mouth.
She turned and walked away.
Her heels clicked against the grey carpet with a steady, unhurried rhythm. She passed rows of cubicles where her colleagues suddenly developed intense fascination with their monitors. She walked the length of the office floor without looking back.
She reached the department manager’s door, knocked once, and entered.
The door closed behind her.
Darren stood alone in the middle of the office floor, his hand still hovering in the air where her wrist had been, his face the color of a ripe tomato.
Nobody looked at him.
Everyone was typing.
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