The First Spark
The rooftop air, once a balm, now felt like a suffocating shroud. Nephis stared at the phone screen, the words "You're more powerful than you know. I'm watching" burning into her retinas. The screenshot of her humiliation, taken from an angle no public camera had captured, was the true gut punch. Someone had been there. Someone knew.
Her fingers, still trembling from the earlier tears, tightened around the phone. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through the exhaustion. Who was this? Why were they watching? Was it another cruel joke, a more elaborate trap set by Olivia or someone even worse?
"Neph? What is it?" Adam's voice, warm and grounded, cut through the haze of her panic. He leaned closer, his brow furrowed with genuine concern.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and raw. The words caught in her throat. How could she explain this? A nameless, faceless entity sending cryptic messages, knowing her pain, showing her a hidden truth.
"My phone," she managed, her voice a strained whisper. She turned the screen towards him, watching his face for a reaction.
Adam took the phone, his gaze scanning the messages. His expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable in his soft brown eyes before settling into a look of thoughtful intensity. He didn't gasp. He didn't recoil. He simply… absorbed it.
"Interesting," he murmured, almost to himself. He scrolled back, looking at the string of numbers that served as the sender's username. "No profile. No name."
"Who is it?" Nephis asked, the question a desperate plea.
Adam handed the phone back to her, his hand briefly brushing hers. His touch was steady, reassuring. "Someone who sees you, Neph. Someone who sees what they missed." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the dark city, then back to her. "And someone who thinks you have a choice."
"A choice?" she scoffed, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "To be a public spectacle? To have my life picked apart by strangers who already hate me?"
"They're already picking it apart," Adam countered, his voice gentle but firm. "They're already hating. The difference is, right now, you're letting them write the story. This person… they're telling you you can take the pen back."
He stood up, walking to the edge of the rooftop, his silhouette stark against the faint glow of the distant city. He pulled out his own phone, not to look at it, but to idly spin it between his fingers. It was an older model, cracked screen, but Nephis noticed, for the first time, the faint gleam of a symbol on the back, almost like a stylized, minimalist crest, quickly obscured by his thumb. She dismissed it as a random phone case design.
"You said it yourself, Neph," he continued, turning back to her. "This is the part in the movie where we promise to rise. What if it's not a movie? What if it's a chance?"
His words echoed the anonymous message: "This is your one chance. Don't waste it."
A cold knot formed in Nephis's stomach. The thought of exposing herself, of letting the world see the raw, ugly truth of her past—her mother, the men, the abandonment, the constant struggle—it was a terror she had buried deep. She had spent years trying to erase it, to pretend it didn't exist.
My mother, the stripper. My stepfather, the abuser. My father, gone. The memories flashed, sharp and painful, like shards of glass. The whispers from her childhood, the judgmental stares from neighbors, the way her mother would flinch when Nephis mentioned her father. The feeling of being a burden, a secret, a living testament to every bad decision.
"They'll use it against me, Adam," she whispered, her voice cracking. "They'll use all of it. Olivia already did. They'll dig it up, twist it, make me even more of a joke."
Adam walked back, kneeling beside her. His gaze was steady, unwavering. "And what if they do? What if you tell it first? What if you take away their power by owning it?" He reached out, gently taking her trembling hand. His touch was warm, comforting. "You're not a dirty pig, Neph. You're a survivor. And there are millions of people out there who feel like you. Who need to know they're not alone."
His words resonated with the truth she desperately needed to hear. The humiliation from Olivia, the venomous comments—they had stripped her bare. But perhaps, in that nakedness, there was a strange, terrifying freedom. What more could they take?
A spark, small and defiant, ignited within her. It wasn't hope, not yet. It was anger. Anger at Olivia, at the world that judged her, at the past that clung to her like grime. And a desperate, burning need to prove them all wrong. To prove she wasn't a mistake.
"What do I do?" she asked, her voice still shaky, but with a new edge of determination.
Adam smiled, a genuine, encouraging smile that reached his eyes. "You tell your story. You show them the real you. The one they didn't see in Olivia's little performance." He paused, then added, "Start small. A post. A picture. Something that hints at the truth, but leaves them wanting more."
Nephis nodded slowly, her mind racing. A post. What kind of post? Something raw. Something real.
"But Adam," she said, her gaze falling to her battered phone, its screen a spiderweb of cracks. "My phone... it's ancient. It can barely take a picture, let alone something that would stand out."
Adam's smile didn't falter. "Don't you worry about the phone, Neph. Just focus on gathering yourself. On finding the words. I'll take care of the rest." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his eyes holding a depth she couldn't quite decipher. "Just be ready to tell your story."
The following morning, the city was already a cacophony of sound and movement when Nephis stepped off the bus. The early light did little to soften the harsh edges of the concrete jungle. Her muscles ached, a familiar protest against the relentless grind. The scent of stale coffee and exhaust fumes clung to the air as she made her way to the corporate building, her canvas bag slung over her shoulder. The usual scrubbing, wiping, and polishing awaited her. Each swipe of the cloth, each push of the mop, was a dull rhythm against the backdrop of her churning thoughts. The anonymous messages, Adam's strange confidence, and the defiant spark within her were a new, unsettling current beneath the surface of her exhaustion.
Meanwhile, in the gleaming, glass-walled boardroom of Aldric Global, Draven Aldric sat at the head of a polished mahogany table. He was a force of nature in a bespoke charcoal suit, his presence commanding the room without a single raised voice. His dark hair, impeccably styled, framed a face that was a study in sharp angles and controlled power. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips that seemed perpetually on the verge of a sardonic smile. But it was his eyes – dark, intelligent, and piercing – that truly held attention, missing nothing, revealing less. He was lethal, not just in dim light, but in the harsh glare of a thousand-watt bulb.
He listened, impassive, as a rival corporation's latest maneuver was dissected. The obstacle was significant, a calculated strike at Aldric Global's market share. Draven's fingers tapped once, twice, against the cool surface of the table, a barely audible sound that nonetheless silenced the room.
"Their strategy is aggressive," he stated, his voice a low, resonant baritone that cut through the tension. "But predictable. Counter-proposal by end of day. I want it airtight. We double their offer, absorb their key assets, and integrate their research division. Make them an offer they cannot refuse."
A ripple of murmurs went through the executives. It was a bold, ruthless move, typical of Draven.
Just then, his personal assistant, Noah, entered the room with a quiet, almost imperceptible grace. Noah was a man of quiet efficiency, his loyalty to Draven forged over years of shared history, dating back to their university days. He leaned in, whispering briefly into Draven's ear. Draven's eyes, which had been fixed on the projection screen, flickered, a faint, almost imperceptible tightening around them. He gave a curt nod.
"Meeting adjourned," Draven announced, pushing back his chair. The executives scrambled, gathering their papers, the previously tense atmosphere now buzzing with a renewed sense of urgency. Draven, however, moved with unhurried calm, an island of stillness in the sudden flurry of activity.
He walked to his private office, a vast space on the top floor adorned with minimalist art and panoramic views of the city, the very city where Nephis was currently scrubbing floors. The air was cool, filtered, and scented faintly of expensive leather and ambition. He picked up the sleek, black phone on his desk.
"Draven, darling, you simply must be there," his mother's voice, perfectly modulated and dripping with expectation, flowed through the receiver. "The inauguration party for the new Aldric Wing at the Metropolitan Museum. It's in two months. Every influential family will be there. It's crucial for the legacy, you understand."
Draven listened, his gaze drifting to the city below, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him. "Yes, Mother. I understand the importance of the 'legacy.'" The word tasted like ash on his tongue. He knew what "legacy" truly meant: a carefully curated life, a pre-selected bride, a future meticulously planned without his input. "I'll be there."
He ended the call, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The weight of his family's expectations, the endless cycle of social obligations, pressed down on him. He picked up the internal line.
"Noah, come to my office."
Moments later, Noah entered, a subtle smile playing on his lips. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, a stark contrast to the casual attire Adam Taye wore. "Everything handled, boss?"
"As always," Draven replied, leaning back in his ergonomic chair. He picked up a file from his desk, a slim folder with Nephis's name typed neatly on the tab. He tossed it across the polished surface to Noah. "I need you to prepare a job vacancy. A very specific one."
Noah caught the file with practiced ease, his brow arching as he opened it. He scanned the contents, his eyes widening slightly as he saw Nephis's profile. "A tea maker for the CEO?" he read aloud, a burst of laughter escaping him. "Draven, what in the hell are you planning now? Is this another one of your elaborate ways to kill boredom?"
Draven's gaze was steady, unblinking. "Perhaps. Or perhaps, I've taken an interest in the girl." He paused, his voice dropping to a low, almost contemplative tone. "I'm not sure if it's love, Noah. But there's something there. A spark. A defiance. She's not like the others."
Noah closed the file, his laughter subsiding, replaced by a look of knowing amusement. "So, you're going to make your intentions known? Offer her a lifeline out of... whatever that life is she's living? A grand gesture, perhaps?"
Draven shook his head slowly, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. "No. Not yet. I'm just going to play along. Let her think she's earning it. Let her think she's fighting her way up." He picked up a solid silver paperweight, turning it over in his hand. "I want to see if she truly has the fire to burn. And when she does... that's when the real game begins."
Noah watched him, a faint sigh escaping him. He knew that look. Draven Aldric was a man who always got what he wanted, but he preferred the thrill of the chase, the strategic manipulation, the slow, agonizing burn. And Nephis, unknowingly, had just become the most intriguing piece on his board.
Meanwhile, in a sprawling mansion on the city's exclusive North Side, Olivia Marsden scrolled through her feed, her perfectly manicured thumb pausing on Nephis's post. Her sweet smile vanished, replaced by a sneer.
"That little rat," she hissed, throwing her phone onto the silk duvet. "She thinks she can just... do that?"
Julia Koch, perched on the edge of the bed, applying a fresh coat of lip gloss, chuckled. "Darling, she's trying to capitalize on your moment. It's pathetic."
Rosie Bach, lounging on a chaise lounge, scrolling through her own phone, snorted. "Post-apocalyptic vogue, indeed. She probably smells like old gym socks."
Gina Rinehart, the quietest but often the most venomous, looked up from her tablet, her eyes cold. "It's not pathetic, Olivia. It's a challenge. And if she gains traction, it could be a problem."
Olivia picked up her phone again, her fingers flying across the screen. "Then we'll remind her exactly where she belongs." A wicked glint appeared in her eyes. "A little more public humiliation. Something she can't just 'get back up' from."
The three women exchanged knowing glances. The game was far from over. And Nephis, unknowingly, had just upped the stakes.