The television painted my apartment in a cold blue light.

“—the deaths of biotech pioneers Elizabeth and Charles Vale continue to raise questions after their private jet disappeared over the North Atlantic last week. Authorities—”

I killed the screen and silence rushed in. For a moment I just sat there in the dark, elbows on my knees, staring at the reflection in the dead TV. I barely recognized the man looking back at me. Hollow eyes. Unshaven face. A week-old grief hanging off him like wet clothes. One week. Seven days since my parents vanished somewhere between Switzerland and California. Seven days since I inherited Vale Biodyne Systems.

It sounded wrong. CEO. I am the guy who argued with suppliers over soy sauce prices in a Chinatown restaurant. I had spent time wiping tables, then managing the people who wiped tables. My parents had built one of the most powerful biomedical corporations in the country, and somehow they’d decided I should run it immediately after they died.

The apartment smelled stale. Curtains shut. Dishes stacked in the sink. I’d barely stepped outside since the funeral. Lawyers and well-wishers called everyday. Reporters camped outside my building twice this week. I dragged myself into the bathroom and splashed water across my face. The mirror showed the same thing the television had; someone exhausted enough to disappear inside himself.

I noticed that my eyes looked different for half a second, Sharper somehow. Almost gold. When I blinked, it was gone. Normal. Lack of sleep. That was all.

I changed clothes and pulled on the cleanest shirt I could find. My father used to wear tailored black suits that made him look born for power. I looked like a guy heading to a late-night grocery run. The difference was, my father understood Vale Biodyne. I didn’t even know what half the company actually did. Growing up, they kept me away from the deeper side of the business. When I asked questions, my mum would tell me to focus on school. She'd tell me to focus on my health too. And always take my medication. A tiny white capsule every month since childhood “for your condition”. I never knew what condition.

Outside, rain hammered the city. I locked my apartment door and headed down the stairs because the elevator had died sometime last year. By the time I reached the street, my lungs burned harder than they should have. Another thing that's been happening lately.

The black Mercedes waiting at the curb looked wildly out of place beside my apartment building. The driver stepped out before I reached it. Tall. Bald. Black suit. The kind of posture that screamed military.

“Mr. Vale.”

“Just Ethan.” I corrected him. “Don't tell me I get to have my own chauffeur?” I asked in disbelief.

“You’re the CEO now, Mr. Vale”, he opened the rear door with a smile. “A CEO should arrive in style.”

“Alright,” I said, and I couldn’t fight the brief grin on my face as I buckled up. It must have been the first time I’d smiled since the news of their deaths.

I couldn’t stop moving during the drive downtown. My knees bounced. My fingers drummed against them in uneven rhythms that matched the chaos in my head. Grief sat in one corner of me, numb and heavy, while somewhere beneath it another feeling kept trying to rise. Anticipation. It made me feel guilty.

“Would you like some music, Mr. Vale?”, the driver asked.

“Yes, please.”

Soft music filled the cabin, something modern and forgettable, but it helped. I leaned back and lowered the window halfway. Cold wind rushed in and carried away the stale feeling that had been clinging to me all week. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how badly the apartment had started to feel like a coffin.

Downtown rose around us in steel and glass. Tower after tower climbed into the gray California sky while rainwater slid down mirrored windows like tears. Somewhere beneath the music and traffic, I felt a strange pulse under my skin, as though the city itself had a heartbeat I could hear if I concentrated hard enough. I rubbed at my temple and looked away. Sleep deprivation and stress. That was all this was.

The closer we got to the financial district, the more familiar the streets became. My parents had brought me here a few times as a kid. I remembered polished floors, security badges, adults speaking in low voices that always stopped the second I walked into the room. Back then Vale Biodyne had felt less like a company and more like a cathedral.

Then the building appeared ahead of us. Glass and black steel stretched upward into the clouds, so tall I had to tilt my head to see the top. Blue-tinted windows reflected the city in warped fragments, making the tower look less like architecture and more like something alive. The Mercedes rolled to a smooth stop beneath the front entrance.

Rain misted against my face as I stepped onto the pavement. For a moment I simply stood there, hands in my pockets, trying to accept the fact that this impossible structure belonged to me now. A week ago I’d been managing restaurant schedules and arguing over late produce deliveries. Now reporters said my name on national television beside words like inheritance, biotech empire, and billion-dollar corporation. Nothing about it felt real.

The glass doors slid open before I reached them. The lobby was massive. Black marble floors reflected the chandeliers overhead in fractured shards of white light. Everything smelled expensive. Polished wood. Clean stone. The faint trace of perfume drifting through conditioned air. Even the silence carried weight. At the far end sat a receptionist behind a dark oak desk, typing quickly across a holographic monitor. She looked up as I approached.

For a second her professional smile stayed perfectly intact. Then confusion flickered across her face as she took in my clothes.

“Good morning,” she said carefully. “Can I help you?”

“Uh… hopefully. I’m Ethan Vale.”

Her expression changed instantly.

“Oh. Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Mr. Vale.”

“Just Ethan.”

“Of course.” She recovered fast, though I noticed the faint embarrassment in her eyes. “Welcome to Vale Biodyne.”

Her nameplate read Kira. Up close she looked effortlessly composed, the kind of person who probably belonged in buildings like this. Meanwhile I felt like an intruder who’d wandered in from the street.

“You’ll want the ninety-ninth floor,” she said. “Lucy is waiting for you.”

The name tugged at my memory. Lucy. My mother’s executive assistant. She had called me every day since the crash, balancing condolences with board meetings and legal briefings.

Kira’s expression softened slightly. “She’ll help you settle in.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Three elevators stood beyond the lobby, framed by exotic plants growing from crystal planters. Real plants. Not the plastic kind you find in cheap office buildings trying to imitate luxury. Everything here was real. That was the unsettling part.

The elevator arrived almost instantly. Inside, mirrored walls reflected a version of me that looked exhausted and misplaced. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair still messy despite my attempt to fix it in the car. I looked less like a CEO and more like someone recovering from a bar fight. The ride up was unnaturally smooth. Floor numbers flashed past faster and faster until my ears popped slightly from the speed. When the doors opened onto the ninety-ninth floor, silence greeted me. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city. Rain clouds hung low over the skyline while distant thunder rolled somewhere beyond the bay.

Straight ahead stood a pair of dark wooden doors large enough to belong to a king. My office. Outside the doors sat a smaller desk tucked neatly against the wall. Lucy’s, apparently. The workspace was immaculate. Laptop aligned perfectly beside a leather notebook and fountain pen. Everything arranged with surgical precision except for one thing. A worn hiking guidebook. California trails. The edges were frayed from use. I reached toward it absentmindedly, then stopped. A scent lingered faintly in the air around the desk. Pine. Smoke. And something wild I couldn’t place. For some reason, the smell made the hairs rise along the back of my neck.

“Mr. Vale?”

The voice startled me badly enough that I nearly jerked away from the desk.

“It’s just Ethan,” I said automatically as I turned.

A woman stepped through the double doors behind me, closing them softly at her back. She wore a calm, practiced smile that somehow felt genuine at the same time.

She was striking!

Golden-blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail that framed a sun-warmed face with sharp cheekbones and intelligent green eyes. Not the cold kind of green, either. There was something alive in them, something vivid and untamed, like sunlight cutting through a forest canopy.

For a second, I forgot where I was.

Her outfit was sharp and professional without trying too hard—a fitted white blouse beneath a tailored black jacket, dark skirt, opaque tights, and black heels that clicked softly against the marble floor as she approached. Everything about her carried confidence.