I slept better than I did the first night.
It was the morning of my third day. Days were long, and nights were short - even when I struggled to sleep, the comfort of unchecked solitary dread was more appealing than masked fear in public.
The first thing I noticed after waking up was a scent - sothing flowery, but not overtly so. It wasn’t perfu. There was sothing natural and genuine about it, as if I woke up on a bed of flowers.
When I shook my head, stretched, and sat up, I knew why. A single, large white lily lay on the console table at the foot of the bed. White lilies being what they are, for a brief mont I thought of funerals, but rather than creepy, it felt like a tribute to a beautiful spirit that I could not see, almost like a charm to summon a kindred spirit to soothe and protect during sleep.
I got out of bed feeling better already. Curious, I walked to the console table and picked up the lily, took a deep breath to savor its scent. Then I noticed that there was a paper note on the table. As I picked it up, the sensation of its texture sent a pang in my heart. It felt ancient, stirring a quiet, inexplicable nostalgia.
Today is a rest day. Mandatory. - Luc
Her cursive handwriting was torturously beautiful, and unexpectedly feminine. It was romantic poetry in its form and style, with every stroke and curve telling a story, and each dot conveying finality and longing for more.
I stared at it for a long ti. Then I carefully placed it back down on the table and headed outside.
Luc stood by the door, but it did not surprise . It was as if she could change the air of her presence at will. Yesterday, her presence in the mirror room was oppressive. Today it felt calming and welcoming.
Without saying a word, she presented a cup of tea.
I took a sip.
Jasmine. With a hint of regret... and sympathy.
"Good morning, Miss Roen."
Luc finally spoke.
"Thank you..."
"As you may be aware now, today is a mandatory rest day."
"Mandatory rest sounds suspiciously like corporate detention."
"You are not being punished."
"Then why does this feel like a trap?"
"You are being decompressed."
"That sounds worse."
Luc gestured toward the outer corridor.
"Co."
———
Ten minutes later, I found myself in an elevator I hadn’t seen before - private, old-fashioned, with brass rails and a floor lined in marble. It slled like cedarwood.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
Luc didn’t answer directly. "You’ve had a difficult first two days."
"Difficult is an understatent."
"You have my sympathy."
I wasn’t fully convinced that Luc was soone capable of actually feeling sympathy, or any emotion at all for that matter, but I appreciated the gesture.
"Right. So where do we go to recover in this building?"
I could totally imagine this place having a panic room - the kind where you’re seated in an overly comfortable chair while a ’specialist’ stares at you so intensely that your panic starts to panic and runs away on its own.
"The Garden."
I blinked. "I’m sorry, what?"
———
The rooftop greenhouse was sothing out of a surreal dream. It had the atmosphere of a monastery on a corporate budget - serene and clinical, professionally soothing. It was natural and perfectly designed, the Garden of Eden recreated by human hands with the permission from God Himself.
Sunlight filtered through dod glass, casting soft warmth on the walking paths and wooden benches. Flowers in unlikely colors blood in geotrically perfect beds. There was even a small waterfall.
A round white table was already set for two beneath a tree that looked ancient — aged with wisdom, and sothing more. A Tree of Knowledge that had learned compassion. And thankfully, there were no snakes in sight.
I could see two matching chairs. Silver cutlery. Bone-white porcelain. Sothing was steaming in a teapot that was tastefully undecorated. Its beauty was its weight.
"This is... what is this place...?" I whispered.
Luc said nothing. She simply pulled out a chair for .
"Please. Sit."
I obeyed. This place felt like a trip to a fantasy land I did not want to wake up from. A place that I can never return again once banished from. I wanted to hold on to it.
She poured the tea in a fluid motion and slid the cup toward . It didn’t clink. Nothing clinked in Luc’s presence, except when she wanted them to.
"This is jasmine and chamomile," she said. "For calming agitation."
I lifted the cup and took a sip. It was divine. I felt my shoulders lt.
"It almost feels like an illegal drug."
"We could arrange that. But I do not recomnd."
"This is more than fine. Thank you."
Luc sat down across from and unfolded a napkin with surgical elegance.
"There is fresh brioche. And lon. And sothing Abe described as ’charming’ is on its way."
As if summoned, Abe suddenly materialized with a silver tray.
"I brought cheesecake," he said brightly. "Because she looked like cheesecake."
I saw it.
There was a twitch.
A slightest twitch under her right eye.
Then Luc closed her eyes and spoke.
"Abe."
"Yes, Ma’am."
"Unalive yourself."
Abe frantically flailed his arms, apologizing profusely as if he was really going to kill himself unless Luc forgave him. He was like a child making a plea to his Mom, just a hundred tis more desperate.
After another sip of tea, Luc opened her eyes again and waved him off. Abe sighed with a great relief and hastily disappeared.
"Unalive?"
I found it amusing that Luc used an Internet slang. This was so unlike her.
"It is the best word that this new generation ca up with. It captures sothing that humans hadn’t been able to understand for a long ti."
"I never thought of it that deeply..."
"I’m sorry for saying unnecessary things."
"No, it-, it’s fine. I... I like it when you speak more."
Luc then put her cup down on the table, and stared at for just a split second too long to make feel uncomfortable.
But that discomfort evaporated instantly as Luc bead a smile at . There was a warm glow on her face, but it didn’t feel like it was because of the sunlight that shone directly on her face. Rather, it felt like she brought the light herself from within.
"You are very kind," she said.
After having lost myself for a mont, I noticed that I had my lips parted like an idiot. I quickly took a sip of tea and closed my mouth.
I must have looked like an idiot.
To hide my embarrassnt, I turned to the food on the table.
The food was, of course, perfect. The brioche lted in my mouth. The lon was cold, sweet, and cut with such a fine expertise I felt guilty biting it. But it was Abe’s cheesecake that shocked . It tasted - perfectly normal, so normal that it felt like I had eaten this cheesecake a thousand tis before in my life. Nothing about it stood out and it brought nothing but comfort.
"I don’t deserve this," I mumbled.
"I would have agreed before," she said.
"...eh?"
"I think you deserve it now."
"What... what made you change your mind? Or... when did you change your mind?"
My wait for her answer was unfruitful as a soft-voiced nutritionist ca to offer "a tray of cognitive supplents tailored to your biorhythms."
Then there stream of visitors. A young intern - just like I was until last week - delivered a tiny bouquet of flowers in a trembling hand, whispering, "For hope and new beginnings." The receptionist I recognized from the lobby gave a beautifully decorated ’Thank you’ card. A canteen staff - an old lady who looked like she’d been serving in the company for decades - ca with tear-swollen, glittering eyes asking for permission to hold my hands, the hands of the new heiress of the Roen family.
I was overwheld. I didn’t feel like a CEO. I felt like royalty. It was unreal. The ’workers’ here were not just employees of the company. They were like subjects to a monarchy, or followers of a fervent religion. This was the power and culture of the Roen Group - the foundation, the pillar, and the roof of this nation.
Every person who approached did so with reverence - like I was a saint, as if both their body and soul would heal if they touched .
When we were finally alone again, I found Luc a few steps away, gazing toward the pond, standing perfectly still.
"I’m not who they think I am," I said.
"It does not matter."
That startled .
Luc then turned around and approached slowly as if she was floating in the air.
"I know you’re not comfortable yet."
"That’s... one way of putting it."
"But you are the one."
"One big lie?"
"The truth that everyone wants you to be."
That left cold.
I sipped my tea again.
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