Chapter 1 — The Glass Cage
Daphneia
The hum of the elevator vibrated softly through the sleek capsule as it ascended the shimmering skyscraper of Osoro Headquarters. The cityscape stretched behind the glass walls, sharp and glittering in the morning light, but Daphneia Harris barely noticed. Her polished fingertips drummed lightly against the dark leather of her portfolio, her reflection sharp and composed against the pristine surface of the elevator doors. The higher the elevator climbed, the quieter the hum seemed to grow, as if the air itself thinned under the weight of the building’s hierarchy.
Her phone buzzed faintly in her bag, a reminder of the text she had dismissed earlier. She knew it was her mother. Whatever it was, it could wait. Today was too important to lose focus. The meticulously crafted proposal in her portfolio could define her trajectory at Osoro Corporation, and she couldn’t afford any distractions. She tightened her grip on the portfolio, its cool leather grounding her, and let out a measured breath.
The elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open on the 25th floor. Daphneia straightened instinctively, her posture crisp and composed. When Elijah Osoro stepped inside, the air seemed to shift.
Tall and as sharp as the lines of his tailored suit, he exuded quiet authority. His hazel eyes, precise and assessing, met hers briefly before his expression settled into its composed mask.
“Ms. Harris,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, a calm metronome that resonated against the capsule’s sterile stillness.
“Mr. Osoro.” Daphneia inclined her head, her tone professional yet smooth.
The elevator resumed its ascent, the doors sliding shut with a whisper. The hum of machinery filled the silence between them, mingled with the faint scent of polished steel and Elijah’s cologne—a clean, understated blend of cedar and citrus. The scent stirred something unexpected, a faint awareness that she quickly pushed aside. Daphneia kept her gaze fixed on the illuminated floor numbers, though she was hyper-aware of his presence. His stillness was unnerving, an unyielding calm that seemed impervious to the restless energy coursing beneath her own poised exterior.
26. 27.
The elevator jolted without warning, a sharp lurch that sent her grasp tightening instinctively around the railing. A metallic groan followed, reverberating through the walls as the lights flickered and dimmed. The capsule shuddered to a halt, the hum silenced.
“What the—” she began, her voice cutting off as she steadied herself. The city outside the glass walls seemed frozen mid-breath, the skyline stretching out in dizzying stillness.
Elijah had already stepped forward, his jaw tight as he pressed the emergency call button. Nothing happened. He pressed it again, harder this time, but the small speaker above remained silent.
“Fantastic,” he muttered under his breath, his calm exterior cracking just enough to reveal a sliver of frustration.
Daphneia inhaled deeply, pushing past the unease prickling at her spine. “Technical difficulties?” she asked, her tone pragmatic, though a faint edge of dry humor laced her words.
“Appears so,” Elijah replied curtly, pulling out his phone. His frown deepened as he swiped at the screen. “No signal.”
“Let me try mine.” She retrieved her phone from her bag, only to find the same. “No luck here either. Looks like we’re on our own for now.”
His lips thinned into a line, and he clasped his hands behind his back, scanning the confined space with a calculating gaze. The silence stretched, heavy and taut.
“Well,” Daphneia said, breaking it with an exhale, “this isn’t how I planned to spend my morning.”
Elijah’s head turned slightly toward her, one brow arching. “Nor I.”
She managed a small smile, a flicker of warmth curling the corners of her lips. “I suppose this isn’t part of your usual precision planning, Mr. Osoro?”
“Even the best strategies are vulnerable to mechanical failure,” he replied, his tone even but with an almost imperceptible note of wryness.
“True,” she conceded lightly, “but it doesn’t hurt to have a backup plan.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment—a pause long enough to make her aware of the scrutiny. “You’re remarkably composed for someone in this situation.”
Daphneia shrugged, her fingers brushing instinctively over the embossed initials on her portfolio. “Panicking won’t fix the elevator. Besides, we’ll get out eventually. Someone will notice.”
Elijah’s nod was slow, measured. Yet beneath his composed exterior, a tension pulsed—a tightening of his jaw, the subtle shift of his weight from one foot to the other. His hand moved briefly to his wrist, brushing over the exposed mechanisms of his watch.
“What is it you’re holding so tightly?” he asked, his sharp eyes flicking to her portfolio.
Her grip on it loosened slightly, and she glanced down. “This? Always comes with me. It’s my armor.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, as though he couldn’t decide whether to approve or to be amused. “An unconventional choice of weaponry.”
“It’s practical,” she said simply, running her thumb along the edge. “Notes, presentations, the occasional inspiration. All in one place. You never know when you’ll need it.”
He raised his wrist slightly, his fingers pausing over the smooth leather strap. “And this,” he murmured, pointing to the watch, “is mine.”
Her eyes followed the precise movements of the tiny gears, the faint glint of silver catching the dim light. “Your armor?”
“Of sorts. It’s a reminder,” he said, his voice quiet but weighted.
“A reminder of what?”
His jaw shifted slightly, his gaze dropping momentarily to the spinning gears. “That time doesn’t stop, regardless of circumstance. Precision requires vigilance.”
The words hung between them, their weight palpable. Behind his measured tone, she could sense something deeper—a rigidity born of necessity rather than choice.
“Do you ever feel stuck?” she asked suddenly, the question slipping out before she could think better of it.
His gaze sharpened, narrowing entirely on her. “Stuck?”
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes evenly. “Like obligations trap you, even if you chose them?”
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly, the faintest crack in his guarded mask. “Trapped isn’t the right word. Bound, perhaps. By responsibility.”
“Responsibility can feel like a cage sometimes,” she murmured, her voice softer now, her grip on the portfolio tightening.
“It can,” he admitted, his tone quieter. “But it’s also what drives us forward.” He tilted his head slightly, as though studying her reaction. “What about you, Ms. Harris? Do you feel stuck?”
Her gaze flickered toward the cityscape beyond the glass walls. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I’ve learned to keep moving. You have to, don’t you?”
Before he could respond, the elevator jolted again, and the intercom crackled weakly to life. A voice, faint but clear, announced that technicians were working on the issue.
Daphneia exhaled slowly, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Looks like our rescue is on its way.”
Elijah gave a small nod, but his gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, as though weighing her words.
The elevator shuddered once more, then resumed its slow, steady descent. The tension between them held, though it was edged now with something subtler—a thread of unspoken understanding.
As the doors slid open, Elijah stepped out first, pausing just briefly to glance back at her.
“Ms. Harris,” he said, his voice even but carrying an unfamiliar note of something softer, deeper. “I appreciate your... composure.”
She returned his gaze steadily. “And I appreciate your precision.”
His lips curved in the faintest acknowledgment before he turned and strode away, his form disappearing into the gleaming corridors of Osoro Headquarters.
As Daphneia stepped out of the elevator, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor, she glanced back at the glass capsule. Her reflection was faintly visible, superimposed over the skyline outside.
There was something in the way Elijah had looked at her—assessing yet curious, as though she’d moved some internal dial he hadn’t realized could shift. Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought.
Her focus snapped back into place. Work first. Everything else could wait.
