After a while, the SUV finally rolled to a smooth stop beneath the towering entrance of Styles Industries.
Before Stephanie could inhale deeply enough to steady herself, the door beside her swung open.
Ethan gestured politely.
"We've arrived, Miss Stephanie."
She stepped out… and froze.
The building looked even bigger — impossibly bigger — when she was standing right at its feet.
Black steel pillars rose like the supports of a fortress.
Silver plating gleamed under the noon sun.
The tinted windows reflected the sky like sheets of dark crystal.
Stephanie swallowed as she thought.
'This… this is where he works? This is what he owns?'
She barely had time to gather her thoughts before uniformed security officers straightened to attention, subtly tightening formation as Ethan walked ahead. Two heavily trained bodyguards flanked them — massive men with military posture and expressionless faces.
Workers moved in and out of the wide glass doors, but as soon as they noticed Stephanie walking between Ethan and the guards, a hush rippled through the lobby.
Heads turned.
People whispered.
Some stared outright.
Because no one — absolutely no one — got escorted inside with personal bodyguards unless they were someone extraordinarily important to Riley Styles.
A cluster of employees paused by the reception desk.
"Who is she?" one murmured.
"Is she related to the board?" another whispered.
"Maybe she's some foreign diplomat's kid—"
But one girl among them didn't whisper.
She stiffened the moment her eyes landed on Stephanie, her expression twitching.
She wore a pristine office uniform, her ID badge clipped neatly to her chest.
Her name tag read:
MARA
Mara's eyes narrowed as she watched Stephanie walking with Ethan as if she belonged there.
A strange look — irritation mixed with something sharper — flickered across her face.
"That's impossible," she muttered under her breath, clutching a folder tighter.
"Who… is she to be escorted like that?"
Noticing Mara's strange behavior, her coworker nudged her.
"Mara, are you okay? You look—"
"I'm fine," she snapped, forcing her expression back into a professional mask.
But her gaze stayed locked on Stephanie.
Meanwhile, Stephanie felt the weight of the stares but didn't meet anyone's eyes.
She kept her focus on Ethan's back, following closely behind him.
The grand entrance doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss.
And Stephanie stepped inside the heart of Styles Industries.
Her breath hitched.
The lobby was massive — marble floors, reinforced glass displays showing cutting-edge weapon prototypes, digital boards showing global defense updates, and workers moving with precision like a choreographed machine.
Stephanie whispered under her breath, "It's… beautiful."
Ethan glanced back at her once.
"Mr. Styles will see you shortly," he said, before leading her toward the private elevator only high-level personnel were allowed to use.
Behind them, the murmurs of the employees continued.
And Mara, still staring, tightened her jaw.
Something about this girl being brought in by Ethan himself didn't sit right with her.
Not at all.
———
The private elevator opened with a soft chime.
Ethan stepped out first.
"Miss Stephanie… this way."
Stephanie followed him down a silent hallway lined with polished steel and military-grade glass. The air felt colder up here — disciplined, calculated, heavy with authority.
At the end of the hall stood a double door with a biometric lock.
Ethan placed his hand on the scanner.
The system beeped.
The doors parted.
Stephanie felt her stomach tighten.
Inside, Riley Styles sat behind a massive obsidian desk.
Back straight.
Suit immaculate.
Expression unreadable.
He didn't look up immediately.
He was reviewing a holographic blueprint — some sort of weapon schematic, glowing blue against the dim office lighting.
Only when Ethan cleared his throat did Riley lift his gaze.
His ice-dark eyes landed on Stephanie.
Just like before, she felt that strange, quiet pressure around him — not aggressive, not harsh… just heavy. Like standing before someone who had survived things the world preferred not to imagine.
"Miss Rogers," Riley said simply, voice calm and cold.
Stephanie bowed slightly because her brain panicked and auto-selected the most respectful option.
"Good afternoon, sir Styles. Mr. Styles. Sir—Riley. I mean—good afternoon."
Her words tripped over themselves like a drunken toddler.
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
Riley blinked once.
A silence followed that felt like three years.
"…Good afternoon," Riley said slowly, as if unsure why she was malfunctioning.
Stephanie wished the floor would open and swallow her whole.
Ethan stepped in. "I have brought Stephanie for the role in—"
"The Tactical Design Department," Riley finished.
He stood up.
And it was worse.
Because the man was tall. And built. And intimidating without even trying.
Stephanie tried to look anywhere but directly at him but ended up staring at a decorative plant for a full three seconds.
Riley stepped around the desk and stopped in front of her.
"Head of Tactical Design," he said. "Do you know what that entails?"
"U-Um…"
She absolutely did not.
"It means," Riley continued, "you'd help oversee the conceptualization and organization of new weapon prototypes based on field requirements. You'd coordinate between the engineering teams, the safety units, and the research branch."
Stephanie nodded slowly, absorbing absolutely nothing.
Riley studied her face for a long moment.
"You don't understand a thing I just said," he concluded.
Her eyes widened. "I—I do! I just—uh—need you to repeat it. Slower. Maybe in English this time?"
"It was in English."
"…Right."
Ethan coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
Riley ignored him.
"Miss Rogers," he said, crossing his arms, "what experience do you have in tactical development? Engineering? Design strategy? Manufacturing coordination?"
Stephanie opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
By the third attempt, she managed,
"…I'm very… hardworking?"
Riley stared at her.
Expression completely blank.
Then —
"…Your honesty is noted," he said.
Stephanie wasn't sure if she had been insulted or evaluated.
Riley tilted his head slightly, studying her again.
His eyes softened — just barely — when he remembered her father.
"You want to repay a debt that doesn't need repaying," Riley said. "You think taking a job will balance what happened."
Stephanie lowered her gaze.
"I just… don't want to feel like a burden."
"But you're not," he replied immediately, almost too bluntly.
The words froze her.
Riley looked away, uncomfortable with emotions he didn't know how to handle.
Ethan pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.
Riley cleared his throat.
"…Regardless. I will determine whether you fit the role."
Stephanie straightened. "O-Okay!"
Riley reached for a datapad and handed it to her.
On the screen was a 3D mock-up of a weapon — all complex shapes and military jargon she had never seen in her life.
"Explain what's wrong with this tactical outline," Riley said.
Stephanie stared at it.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
"…Um," she said, thinking desperately, "it looks… dangerous?"
"It's a weapon, Miss Rogers."
"Oh. Right. Then it looks… very dangerous?"
Riley extended his hand.
"Give it back."
She almost sagged with relief.
He didn't look frustrated — just resigned. Like he'd expected this result twelve minutes ago.
Riley tapped a few commands on the device, then looked at her again.
"…When can you start?"
Stephanie blinked.
"…Wait. I got the job?"
Riley shrugged.
"You showed determination. And you don't lie well. That means I can trust what you say."
"That's… a requirement?"
"It is for me."
Ethan stepped beside her.
"Congratulations, Miss Rogers."
Stephanie smiled faintly, still in shock.
Riley turned away.
"You start tomorrow. Ethan will handle your paperwork."
As Stephanie followed Ethan toward the door, she couldn't help glancing back.
Riley, already seated again, didn't look at her.
But his fingers paused for just a second above the holographic screen.
A tiny, unreadable hesitation.
One she wasn't supposed to notice —
but did.