They stepped into Madeline’s office.
The room was so geometrically perfect it felt like it wasn’t designed by architects but by an algorithm that had mercy deleted from its code.
A perfect square.
Not an inch wasted.
Not a single line without purpose.
Two walls were entirely glass transparent monoliths opening a view over Prime Inc from a height where you no longer hear people only see capital moving below like glowing rivers.
The city shimmered under eternal daylight:
sharp edges of skyscrapers,
advertisements reflecting across metal facades,
grav-trams flying between towers
like molecules inside a massive corporate organism.
The interior was minimalist
but the kind of minimalism
that costs more than a middle-class home on Terra.
Every detail expensive.
Every object functional.
Nothing extra.
Nothing human.
One wall was lined with shelves:
gold-framed awards,
certificates of meaningless but prestigious victories,
bottles of elite alcohol worth Blindy’s lifetime income
if he hadn’t pissed it all away,
a few modest photos
that smelled like political marketing,
and motivational quotes
from rich bastards
who believed money was universal magic.
At the center stood her desk
large, dark, perfectly polished.
And only one chair.
No guest seating.
No couches.
You enter—you stand.
You speak—you report.
On the desk:
a holographic monitor,
a keyboard made of light,
and a small trembling hologram
of an employee’s head
who clearly already regretted existing.
And in front of all that
stood her.
Madeline Crook.
No longer the heiress.
No longer the girl from earlier chapters.
She was… assembled.
Like a weapon.
A white shirt, flawless,
like it had been pressed with a laser.
A black jacket with gold buttons
radiating authority.
A fitted skirt, perfectly sharp.
Jewelry that didn’t scream wealth
it simply existed.
Her hair:
precise, controlled,
like gravity itself respected her
and refused to interfere.
The kind they call CEO.
The kind they call, behind her back,
a corporate shark with an angel’s smile.
She leaned forward, palms on the desk,
speaking into the hologram
in a quiet, level, icy voice:
“How many times have I told you?
Report immediately.
I have the connections, the resources, the authority
to solve any problem.”
Pause.
“But instead, you came here to complain.”
Another pause.
“Here’s how this works.
You’re fired.
Get out of my building.
And… I suggest out of my planet as well.
You’ll keep your pension.
Should be enough
for the long, slow, disappointing life you’ve got left.”
The hologram vanished instantly
like it was afraid to exist another second.
Madeline lifted her gaze.
Saw them.
And without a word
made a small, controlled motion with her hand
inviting them in.
That gesture held everything:
power,
control,
cold evaluation
and a faint, almost invisible spark of recognition.
A queen
welcoming two of her most troublesome
but interesting knights
into her throne room.
Zeros stepped in first.
Straight posture.
Measured steps.
Like he wasn’t entering the office of a megacorp CEO
but just another maintenance corridor.
Nothing here impressed him.
Not the view.
Not the power.
Not the cold shine of glass and steel.
Blindy, on the other hand,
walked in like he had just stepped off a throne.
Chest forward.
Shoulders wide.
Chin slightly too high.
He looked like King Dumbass himself
gracing his future queen with his presence.
“Hey—yeah—hey there…” he said, forcing casual into his voice.
“Looks like you—uh—
you doin’… pretty good for yourself, huh…”
Madeline didn’t even turn her head.
Her gaze was locked on Zeros
on his stillness,
on the steel geometry of his frame,
on the same droid
she once tried to claim as her own.
“I see you’re still dragging your two-legged pet around,”
she said flatly,
like stating a fact
not mocking him.
Blindy clenched his teeth
like a man who just got handed a bitter black Americano
instead of a sweet milk coffee
but pretended it didn’t hit him at all.
Madeline stepped closer to Zeros.
Slowly.
Confidently.
Dangerously.
She raised her hand and repeated that same gesture
the one that had nearly driven Blindy insane the first time—
her fingertips gliding across Zeros’s chest panel,
soft, almost affectionate,
like she was checking if everything still worked just as perfectly.
At that exact moment,
Blindy decided jumping out the window was not the worst idea.
Taking his metal friend with him on the way down?
Even better.
Madeline leaned in slightly
and spoke in a low, soft, almost intimate voice:
“My offer still stands…
If you’ve changed your mind
you’re already here.One document
and it’s done.”
Her eyes flicked toward Blindy.
“As for him… we’ll handle that separately.”
Her smile turned predatory.
But Zeros raised his hand,
caught her wrist,
and gently
but firmly
moved it away.
The smile vanished instantly
like it had been drawn in chalk
and wiped clean with a hand.
Madeline turned toward the window. Stood there. Silent. Back to them. Muttering under her breath—fast, sharp, almost hissing.
Blindy only caught fragments:
“Idiot… rusted trash… you refuse me… I’ll— you— bitch—”
He swallowed so loudly
it sounded like a broken volume button. He asked carefully.
“Uh—Madeline…?
You—uh…
you good… or—
what’s… goin’ on here…?”
She turned back.
The smile returned—
too wide,
too perfect,
too dangerous.
The kind of smile
that makes normal people write their will.
Zeros didn’t react.
Like it was just a UI change.
Madeline walked back to her desk
and said flatly:
“Fine.
You will take the job.
And I will not tolerate failure.
UNDERSTOOD?”
She picked up a thin tablet and tossed it to Blindy.
He caught it with both hands, hugging it to his chest like a family heirloom.
“Everything is in there.
Instructions. Coordinates. Contacts.
Do not ask questions.”
Her voice turned colder
than the steel lining the tower walls.
“Now get out of my building. FAST.”
That last word hit so hard even the walls seemed to straighten.