Smiling had spent the last six hours in a state of hyper-focused flow. Her fingers had danced across the keyboard, untangling the knotted legacy code of the satellite project until it ran with the smooth, silent precision of a Swiss watch. When she finally hit the 'Execute' command and saw the green "Optimization Complete" signal, she let out a breath she felt she'd been holding since she was hired.
A few moments later, a high-priority notification blinked on her screen. It wasn't from her supervisor. It was a direct order from the Executive Floor: "Deliver the final project files to the CEO's office immediately. Hard-copy backup required."
At first, Smiling's heart did a frantic little flip. The CEO? Directly to him? But as the shock wore off, her natural optimism came roaring back, warmer than ever. She stood up, smoothing out her blazer and clutching the sleek silver folder to her chest like a shield of honor.
As she walked toward the elevators, she couldn't help the internal monologue that started playing in her head. "Smiling, baby... what a privilege!" she whispered to herself, a tiny, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. "At first, you never even expected to get an interview at a place like this. Now look at you. Mama's going to be so proud when she hears this. Papa's going to tell the whole neighborhood. And Leo... that little bro of yours won't be able to thank you enough when his tuition is paid." She pressed the button for the 60th floor, her reflection in the polished metal doors looking back at her with glowing, determined eyes. "You've done well, my dear Smiling. Just keep that smile ready."
The doors to the penthouse floor slid open with a whisper of expensive hydraulics. Smiling took a majestic, confident step forward, her flats clicking softly on the marble. The air up here was different—colder, thinner, and smelling faintly of ozone and luxury.
She pushed open the heavy glass doors to Xavier's private office. The room was vast, dominated by the massive obsidian desk she had decorated just twenty-four hours earlier. The white roses she had brought were still there, their scent fighting a brave battle against the sterile air of the room.
Xavier was there, but his back was turned. His high-backed leather chair was facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the sprawling grey veins of London below. To Smiling, the office looked empty of life, even with him in it.
She stood there for a moment, her gaze wandering over the minimalist shelves and the lack of color. She thought he was either on a call or perhaps stepped into the private lounge connected to the suite. Feeling a sudden burst of her usual, unfiltered honesty, she began to murmur her thoughts aloud.
"Why not wait while he's out?" she whispered, wandering closer to the desk. "Relax a bit and see what makes this place tick." She sighed, looking at the sharp, cold angles of the furniture. "He's such a boring man... but I guess there is a little glimpse of kindness still left in him, even if he's not willing to show it to the world."
She shook her head, her voice gaining a bit of a teasing edge. "Humph. Such a lad. He doesn't even know there's more to life than sitting in a cold, lonely office until his hair turns grey. He needs a hobby. Or a holiday. Or maybe just a hug."
The room went deathly silent. Smiling was about to set the files down when a voice, deep and vibrating with a dangerous stillness, cut through the air.
"Are you done talking, huh?"
Smiling's soul nearly left her body. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the massive leather chair slowly, deliberately rotated.
Xavier Brights was sitting there, his hands steepled under his chin, his grey eyes locked onto hers with the intensity of a predator watching a very confused bird. He didn't look angry; he looked like a judge delivering a final sentence.
Smiling stood in total alarm, her face turning a shade of red that made her previous blush look pale. She was aghast, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"H-h-h-hmm, Sir!" she stammered, her voice an octave higher than usual. "It's actually... it's not what you think! I wasn't... I was referring to my uncle! My uncle in... in Leeds! He's very boring, you see, and he stays in his office and—"
"Save the explanation for yourself," Xavier interrupted. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that made the floor feel like it was tilting.
He stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the desk. He looked at the roses, then back at her. The warmth he had felt earlier that morning had been replaced by the rigid, iron-clad discipline his mother had hammered into his soul. A "glitch" was one thing, but a breach of professional respect was another.
"Well," Xavier said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You're fired."
The word hit the room like a gunshot. Smiling's hands trembled, and the silver folder slipped an inch.
"You can't work for a 'cold' boss, Miss Peters," Xavier continued, his eyes devoid of the spark she thought she had seen earlier. "Clearly, our 'boring' environment is stifling your creativity. Go look for a good and high-paying job elsewhere. One where the 'vibes' are more to your liking."
He sat back down, picking up a pen as if she had already ceased to exist. "Leave the files on the desk. Marcus will escort you out to collect your things. We are finished here."
Smiling stood frozen, the victory of her finished project turning into a cold, heavy lump of lead in her stomach. The dream of helping her family, the tuition for Leo, the retirement for her father—it was all slipping away because she couldn't keep her mouth shut.
She looked at him, searching for that "glimpse of kindness" one last time, but the Ghost of London had returned to his fortress, and the gates were firmly shut.