“You are where?” Constance’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp with disbelief and an undercurrent of sudden anxiety. Hank could picture her perfectly… pacing the luxurious expanse of her ninth-floor apartment, perhaps pausing by the window overlooking the glittering San Diego skyline he had just driven away from. He had just explained his current location, parked near a brightly lit casino resort sign just past Alpine, admitting his impulsive need for distance.
Constance let out a long, shaky sigh. “For fuck’s sake, Hank! We were starting to worry here! You just… disappeared after buying the Jeep. We even called Jill back at the dealership to make sure you’d left okay. She said you seemed perfectly happy when you drove off.”
“I know, baby… I’m sorry if I worried you,” Hank said, his voice low and tired, leaning his head back against the driver’s seat. The adrenaline from the car purchase had faded, leaving only the profound weariness from the past few weeks. “Honestly, I didn’t plan it. But once I hit the open road in that thing…” He paused, the memory of the smooth power beneath him a fleeting comfort. “I just kept going. I needed to clear my head. Needed to think without… well, without everything else demanding my attention for five minutes.”
He heard the shift in her breathing, the sharp edge of worry softening into understanding. Constance, more than anyone, knew the immense pressure he’d been under… the job, the danger Courtney faced, the uncovering of James’s betrayals, the complex navigation of their rapidly expanding personal lives. “Yeah,” she conceded, her voice gentler now. “Okay, Hank. I understand that. God knows you’ve earned a minute to yourself. We do ask a lot of you.” There was a beat of silence. “You are coming back tomorrow, right?” she asked, a thread of lingering insecurity woven into the question.
Hank chuckled softly. “Yeah, Constance, I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe not bright and early for the eight AM shift start,” he admitted, “but I’ll be there. Promise.”
She chuckled too, the warmth returning to her voice. “Alright. Well, try and get some actual rest. Or,” she added, her tone shifting to playful teasing, “go find some local entertainment. Fuck a pretty barmaid or something. Get your mind out of the damn problems for one night.”
Hank laughed, a genuine, tired sound. “Baby, honestly, I think part of the problem is all the fucking I’m already doing,” he confessed wryly. “My head’s spinning trying to keep everything straight.”
He heard her smile through the phone. She knew. She knew about Tiffany already settled into the guest room on his floor, about Kamilla likely coordinating security downstairs, about Courtney and Sandra unpacking the rest of their U-Haul on the seventh floor with Doria, about Julie circling closer after her classes, maybe even about Michelle planning her next online performance from her own place for now. All accounted for, all orbiting his new life here. Except one. His thoughts were primarily on Helena, the woman currently on the road, making her way towards this complicated, burgeoning family.
"Just get some rest, honey," Constance said softly, her voice pulling him back from his thoughts, the earlier teasing replaced by genuine care. Helena was supposed to arrive sometime today, but after her call yesterday sounding utterly exhausted, Constance had insisted she take another day, found her a decent motel further along her route, and paid for it, ensuring she arrived tomorrow refreshed rather than depleted. "Be safe." With that, she ended the call.
Constance lowered her phone, turning back to the expectant faces gathered in her living room. Violet, Doria, and Courtney were curled on the expansive velvet sofa, their earlier lighthearted conversation about Hank having shifted to quiet concern during the call.
“He’s alright,” Constance announced, sinking onto the ottoman across from them. “He just… needed some air. Took the new Jeep for an extended test drive, ended up out near Alpine. Found a casino.”
Courtney shook her head, blonde hair swinging. “Alpine? That’s like, an hour and a half away! A long fucking drive just to clear his head,” she commented, though relief was evident in her voice.
Constance smiled and nodded. “He needs a minute for himself sometimes. We do ask a lot of him,” she reiterated, her gaze thoughtful.
Doria shifted on the sofa, pulling a throw pillow into her lap. “There’s also the fact you just threw Corleen Winters directly into his path today,” she pointed out gently. “You told us yourself she’d use everything in her arsenal to get her way with a man she wanted.”
Constance nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. “True. I wonder how that actually went down.” She picked up her phone again, finding Corleen’s number. “Let’s find out.” She tapped the screen and put the call on speakerphone, settling back against the cushions. The other girls leaned forward slightly, their curiosity piqued.
“Hi there, Constance,” Corleen’s smooth, smoky contralto voice purred through the speaker after the second ring.
“Hi Corleen,” Constance replied warmly. “Just calling to check in. How did the… interview… go with our new Director this afternoon?”
There was a pause, then Corleen let out a low, throaty chuckle laced with something akin to disbelief. “Well, Constance, your boy Hank Avery is… interesting. To say the least. I am actually fucking impressed.”
Constance shared a knowing look with the other women. “Now this I have to hear,” Constance prompted, settling back. “You, Corleen Winters, impressed? You’re usually Miss Cool-Under-Pressure, manipulating CEOs before breakfast.”
Corleen laughed again, a richer sound this time. “Oh, I tried, believe me. I pulled out the usual playbook. Gave him the slow smile, the lingering eye contact, made sure a few strategic buttons were undone on the blouse…” she recounted, her voice dripping with amusement. “Leaned forward at just the right angle to offer a… compelling view.”
“But?” Constance prompted, knowing Corleen well enough to hear the unspoken turn.
“But,” Corleen confirmed with a sigh that was equal parts frustration and admiration, “he didn’t bite. Constance, I literally popped damn near my entire shirt open, basically offered him my tits on a silver platter. He was so ready for me, I could feel it coming off him in waves. His eyes… God, the way he looked at me for a second, taking in everything…” She paused. “And yet… he refused. Politely, damn him, but absolutely firmly. Stood up, walked around the desk, told me he had to stand by his principles and the company’s new policies.” She sounded genuinely baffled. “Who the hell is he? I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since I left his office.”
Constance smirked, exchanging amused glances with Doria and Violet. Hank had held his ground. “So, Corleen,” Constance asked directly, leaning towards the phone, “did you fuck him?”
The other girls leaned forward too, their expressions mirroring Constance’s curiosity. It wasn't jealousy; they knew Hank could have Corleen if he truly wanted her, and they would eventually welcome her as a sister into their fold. But the office pool… that was another matter. It was currently sitting at a hefty ten thousand dollars… each of the ten women (Constance, Doria, Kamilla, Michelle, Tiffany, Julie, Violet, Courtney, Sandra, and, surprisingly, Gloria who'd insisted on joining) had thrown in a thousand, betting on precisely when the notoriously seductive Corleen would finally bed their increasingly desirable Hank.
“Constance, please,” Corleen scoffed, though there was a note of wistful regret in her voice. “He looked me dead in the eye, acknowledged how tempted he was, and then repeated his job offer… the original offer, mind you, no increase despite my… efforts. Shook my damn hand and basically showed me the door.” She sighed again. “So, no. I did not get to fuck him. But I took the job. Just as you predicted. And honestly? I didn’t get more money than the initial offer.”
Constance smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest. Pride. Hank was stronger, more principled than perhaps ninety-five percent of the powerful, entitled men Corleen had undoubtedly encountered and likely conquered throughout her career. He hadn't just resisted a beautiful woman throwing herself at him; he had resisted Corleen Winters, a woman who had built a reputation on getting exactly what she wanted, using every tool at her disposal. And Hank hadn't just stood his ground; he had done it while still respecting her professionally and securing her formidable talent for the company.
“Thank you for the update, Corleen,” Constance said warmly. “We’re thrilled to have you starting Monday.”
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
“Yeah, well,” Corleen replied, a hint of her usual confidence returning, mixed with genuine intrigue. “Actually… I’m looking forward to it. It’s… refreshing… to know I have a boss who won’t try to fuck me every chance he gets.” A pause. “Not that I would mind with Hank, eventually,” she added quickly, unable to completely suppress her fascination. “But damn, he is strong.”
Constance laughed, the sound echoing in the apartment. “Yes, Corleen. Yes, he is.” She ended the call, a deep sense of satisfaction settling over her.
As Constance ended the call with Corleen, a slow, deeply satisfied smile spreading across her face. She sank back onto the plush velvet sofa, letting out a soft sigh of amusement and, beneath it, a profound sense of pride in Hank. The other girls… Violet, Doria, and Courtney… watched her intently, their expressions mirroring her own complex mix of emotions. The speakerphone had relayed every nuance of Corleen’s frustrated admiration.
“Well,” Doria finally broke the silence, throwing her hands up in mock defeat, though her eyes sparkled with genuine relief. “I am officially, spectacularly out of the pool. Ten thousand dollars down the drain.” She shook her head, laughing softly. “Honestly? After Constance showed me Corleen’s picture earlier, how utterly intimidatingly gorgeous she is… I was sure Hank wouldn't last five minutes. I bet he’d have fucked her right there on his desk before she even finished her pitch.”
Constance chuckled, reaching for the elegant piece of paper where she’d playfully listed the pool participants and their predictions. She drew a neat line through Doria’s name with a silver pen. “You and Gloria both,” she confirmed, her smirk widening. “Gloria was convinced they’d end up tangled in the back of his new Jeep or necking in some dark corner bar by midnight tonight.” She crossed off Gloria’s name as well.
Violet, who had remained quiet, leaned back against the cushions, a slow, undeniably smug smile curving her lips. She took a delicate sip from her wine glass. “I believe,” she murmured, her voice smooth and carrying a hint of triumph, “that my prediction was ‘over a week,’ possibly leading to a carefully considered addition to the family, predicated on mutual respect.”
Constance laughed aloud, glancing at the paper again. “Looks like you’re still very much in the running, Violet. Along with Kamilla, Michelle, Tiffany, Julie, Sandra, Courtney… and myself, of course.” She tapped the list playfully. “Though,” she added, her eyes twinkling as she looked around the room, “based on recent performance, three more of us might be out by tomorrow morning.” A ripple of knowing laughter went through the group.
Constance picked up her own wine glass from the low table before her, swirling the deep red liquid thoughtfully. The mood in the room shifted subtly, the playful banter fading, replaced by the shared weight of the impossible reality they now inhabited. She took a slow sip, her gaze sweeping over the women she now considered sisters in this strange new life.
“So…” Constance said, her voice quieter now, but carrying a new resonance. “Leaving aside Hank’s commendable, if slightly surprising, self-control for a moment… let’s talk about the rather significant fact that we are apparently living in a world teeming with actual elves, fairies, trolls, and fucking goblins.” She took another sip of wine, her expression a mixture of wry disbelief and dawning acceptance.
The girls looked at each other, and then, collectively, they started to laugh. It wasn't hysterical laughter, but a shared release of tension, a cascade of sound that acknowledged the utter absurdity and mind-bending wonder of the truth Maerisa had unveiled. They were part of something ancient, something hidden, something magical… and somehow, unbelievably, it all revolved around Hank.
---
Hank pulled the gleaming Mojito Green Gladiator under the brightly lit portico of the casino resort, the valet attendant snapping to attention almost instantly, his eyes widening slightly at the brand-new, high-end Jeep. Hank tossed him the keys with a weary nod, the exhaustion from the long, unexpected drive settling deep into his bones. He needed this detour, this brief escape from the relentless momentum his life had suddenly adopted.
Pushing through the heavy glass doors, Hank was immediately assaulted by a sensory overload. The air hung thick with the cloying sweetness of cheap air freshener battling stale cigarette smoke. A cacophony of sounds – the incessant, electronic jingle-jangle of slot machines, the distant roar of a cheering craps table, the low murmur of hundreds of conversations… washed over him. Flashing lights in garish reds, blues, and golds strobed across the patterned carpet, reflecting off mirrored columns and brass railings. It was a jarring contrast to the quiet intensity of his office and the intimate quiet of his apartment.
Just inside the entrance, a young woman approached him, her smile wide and professionally plastered on. She was undeniably attractive in a conventional way, poured into a uniform that consisted of a black vest cut far too low and a skirt hemmed dangerously high, showcasing long legs in sheer black stockings. But Hank’s appreciative gaze faltered as she drew closer. Her makeup was a heavy mask… foundation inches thick, dramatic winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, and startlingly red lipstick applied with aggressive precision. A cloud of perfume, overwhelmingly sweet and floral, preceded her, almost making Hank take an involuntary step back. In his mind, her manufactured allure paled drastically compared to the natural radiance of Constance, the captivating mystery of Tiffany, or the fiery vibrancy of Julie.
“Good evening, sir!” Her voice was bright, cheerful, and utterly rehearsed. “Welcome to the Viejas Casino & Resort! Are you checking in for the night, or perhaps heading straight for the excitement of the casino floor?”
Hank managed a polite smile, pushing past his initial reaction to her appearance. “Both, actually,” he replied, his voice a little rough from the drive.
Her smile somehow widened further. “Wonderful! Our hotel check-in is located just over there to your right,” she gestured with a perfectly manicured hand towards a long marble counter bathed in softer lighting. “And the gambling… well,” she swept her hand dramatically across the glittering expanse of the casino floor stretching out before them, “it’s everywhere! Enjoy your stay, sir!”
“Thank you, dear,” Hank said absently, already turning towards the check-in desk, eager to escape the overpowering perfume cloud.
He approached the counter, where a young man with a bored expression and a slightly askew name tag looked up from his computer screen. “Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation with us tonight?” the clerk asked, his tone efficient but lacking any real warmth.
Hank shook his head. “No, afraid not. This was kind of a last-minute decision to stop here,” he explained.
The young man nodded, his fingers tapping rapidly across the keyboard. “Understood. And how many nights will you be staying?”
“Just the one,” Hank confirmed. “Need to head back towards the city tomorrow.”
The clerk rattled off room types and rates. Hank chose a standard king room, not needing anything extravagant for a few hours of sleep. He provided his driver’s license and the corporate card Constance had insisted he use for all travel expenses. Ten minutes later, after the efficient monotony of the check-in process, Hank walked away from the counter, a plastic keycard clutched in his hand and a weary smile touching his lips.
The plush quiet of a hotel room beckoned, promising oblivion. But the flashing lights and siren song of the slot machines called to him first. He needed a distraction, something mindless to occupy his thoughts before the weight of the past week fully crashed down. A little gambling, maybe a whiskey at the bar, then sleep. He turned away from the elevators and headed towards the glittering chaos of the casino floor.
---
To Hank, weary from travel and focused only on the promise of a quiet room, and maybe some gambling, the young man presiding over the hotel's front desk was merely part of the polished scenery. His uniform was immaculate, his smile while fake, was practiced and impersonal… just another cog in the hospitality machine. Hank couldn't possibly glimpse the intricate, dangerous reality concealed beneath that veneer: the clerk was a dedicated operative, a crucial node in an underground terrorist cell that had spent four painstaking years infiltrating the city's vital arteries. They were burrowed deep within casino resorts like this one, prestigious private security firms guarding the elite, and sprawling logistics companies moving the goods that kept the metropolis alive. They operated with chilling patience, camouflaged by normalcy, waiting for targets of opportunity… predators hiding expertly in plain sight.
The moment the name "Hank Avery" left the Hank’s lips and appeared on the check-in screen, a silent, internal alarm blared within the clerk. He suppressed any flicker of recognition, his training kicking in instantly. His expression remained placid, his movements fluid as he performed the check-in ritual… the efficient tap-tap-tap on the keyboard, the magnetic swipe of the card programmer, the final handover of the plastic keycard accompanied by a murmured, "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Avery." Yet, even as he spoke the pleasantry, his true focus had already shifted, narrowing with cold precision. Beneath the gleaming, polished granite of the counter, shielded from view, the fingers of his other hand danced across the cool glass surface of a secondary, integrated device. A special coded cellphone, designed for rapid information gathering, plumbing the vast digital ocean of public databases and, more importantly, the shadowy, restricted currents of the private darknet tools accessible only to his network.
In the space of perhaps twenty heartbeats, the digital ghost of Hank Avery materialized on the hidden screen, far more substantial than the man walking towards the casino. The data coalesced rapidly: not just any executive, but the newly appointed Director of the globally influential Hanigan Investment, a firm known for its aggressive market strategies and quiet connections to sensitive international trading projects. The profile layered further, revealing a surprising, almost jarring dichotomy: Avery had also carved out a burgeoning side-career as a cosplay photographer, gaining unlikely notoriety in mere weeks for his unique eye. And then, a final, intriguing footnote, scraped from a recent local news feed… Avery had made headlines briefly for impulsively sacrificing his brand-new Jeep to intervene in a violent crime, displaying a streak of unpredictable heroism.
The clerk's assessment was instant, clinical, yet charged with a thrill of potential. High value. The disparate pieces clicked into a compelling whole. He swiftly compiled a concise digital dossier: core biographical data, links to active social media feeds, professional history gleaned from LinkedIn and corporate registries, the most recent publicly available photograph, and crucially, the live GPS ping triangulated from Avery’s connection to the hotel’s secure Wi-Fi network. Every byte of data was bundled, encrypted, and transmitted down a secure, proprietary channel. The accompanying activation code was brief, stripped of all but its potent meaning:
“Target confirmed. High value. Phase One green.”
