Chapter 3 — The Transfer
Daphneia
Daphneia Harris tightened her grip on the strap of her leather bag as she approached the frosted glass doors marking the entrance to the executive wing. The muted hum of the PR division felt like a distant memory, replaced by an imposing silence that seemed to stretch endlessly down the sleek corridor. Everything here exuded precision and control, from the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air to the hushed conversations behind soundproofed doors. Even the light seemed sharper, filtered through the minimalist decor in a way that made her hyper-aware of each step she took. She adjusted her blazer, drawing a steadying breath. Composure was key.
The receptionist, a young man with immaculate posture and an inscrutable expression, glanced up as she neared his desk. His smile was polite, his tone neutral—another perfectly polished element of this space.
“Ms. Harris,” he greeted. “Mr. Osoro is expecting you. Please proceed to his office.”
“Thank you,” Daphneia replied, her voice even, though her pulse quickened. Her heels clicked softly against the pristine marble floor as she continued down the hallway. The farther she went, the more the reality of the situation settled over her. The executive wing felt like another world entirely. There was no room for hesitation here, no margin for error. Every detail—every word, every movement—would be scrutinized.
Why her? The question lingered in her mind, persistent and unrelenting. Elijah Osoro’s email had been as direct and clinical as she expected: she was being reassigned to a high-profile PR project for the Entertainment division, reporting directly to him. No preamble, no explanation. It was the kind of decision that could make or break a career, and the weight of it pressed against her like an invisible force.
The Entertainment division had been a cornerstone of Osoro Corporation for decades, integral to the company’s legacy since its founding by Elijah’s parents. But recently, its reputation had faltered. Rumors of mismanagement, dissatisfied clients, and a PR disaster involving a celebrity scandal had spread through the company like wildfire. Now she was tasked with salvaging it, and failure wasn’t an option. Not for her, and certainly not for him.
She paused before the double doors of Elijah’s office, allowing herself a moment to settle her thoughts. The hum of her surroundings faded as she mentally rehearsed the calm, poised professionalism she would need to project. Then, with a practiced inhale, she knocked.
“Come in,” came the low, measured voice from within.
Daphneia pushed the door open and stepped into an office that was every bit as commanding as its occupant. The first thing she noticed was the sheer scale of the room—vast and meticulously arranged, a study in monochrome. Sleek black furniture contrasted with the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the sprawling city skyline. The faint ticking of Elijah’s mechanical watch echoed in the stillness, a reminder of the precise man she was about to face.
He stood by the windows, his back to her, his hands clasped behind him. The sharp cut of his suit and the deliberate stillness of his posture projected authority, but there was something almost too perfect about it, as though every detail had been calibrated to an unyielding standard. He turned at the sound of her entrance, his piercing hazel eyes locking onto hers with unnerving precision.
“Ms. Harris,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Mr. Osoro,” she replied, stepping forward with measured confidence. She tucked her leather portfolio under her arm, using its weight as a source of grounding.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs opposite his desk.
Daphneia obeyed, lowering herself into the chair and setting the portfolio neatly on her lap. Elijah moved to his own seat, the faint creak of leather accompanying his movements. For a moment, he simply regarded her, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, and she resisted the urge to shift under his gaze. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“I’ve reviewed your proposal,” he began, his tone cutting through the quiet like a blade. “It’s thorough, strategic, and well-tailored to the Entertainment division’s current needs. It’s clear you’ve put a great deal of thought into it.”
“Thank you,” Daphneia said, her voice steady despite the flicker of pride she felt.
“However,” he continued, leaning forward slightly, “this project is not without its challenges. The Entertainment division has been underperforming for months. High-profile clients carry high-stakes risks, and the current leadership has proven... inadequate in managing them. The division’s failures aren’t just a business concern; they’re a threat to Osoro Corporation’s public image.”
Daphneia nodded carefully. His words painted a stark picture, but she could already tell there was more at stake than he was letting on. The Entertainment division wasn’t just a financial asset—it was part of the corporation’s legacy, a reflection of the vision Elijah’s parents had built. Its struggles weren’t just professional; they were personal, and she was being pulled into the crossfire.
“That’s where you come in,” Elijah said. He leaned back, the soft ticking of his watch filling the brief pause. “Your record in PR speaks for itself. You’ve demonstrated the ability to tackle complex, high-pressure situations with precision and discretion. That’s what this project requires. But make no mistake—this isn’t just about strategy. It’s about results.”
His words hung in the air, weighted with expectation. Daphneia met his gaze, letting her composure settle into something sharper. “Understood,” she said. “I’ll ensure the division’s reputation is restored to reflect the company’s standards.”
Elijah’s lips curved slightly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Good. That’s what I expect.”
He straightened in his chair, his tone shifting back to its usual efficiency. “You’ll report directly to me for the duration of this project. Major decisions will require my approval. Do you have any questions?”
Daphneia hesitated, weighing her next words carefully. “Only one, sir. If there’s a specific reason for this reassignment, I’d like to understand it fully.”
There was a pause, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his expression—something almost like amusement, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Let’s call it a measure of trust,” he said, his tone smooth but deliberate. “This project demands sound judgment, and I believe you’re capable of demonstrating it.”
The word trust lingered in the air, heavier than she expected. It wasn’t something she heard often in the corporate world, and certainly not from someone like Elijah Osoro. She nodded, sensing that pushing further would be unwise.
“Understood,” she said again.
“Good.” He rose, signaling the end of the meeting. “You’ll find the relevant details in the briefing packet already sent to your email. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning to discuss your initial strategy.”
Daphneia stood, mirroring his movement. “Thank you, Mr. Osoro.”
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her at the door. “One more thing, Ms. Harris.”
She glanced back, her hand resting on the polished steel handle.
“This project isn’t just a test of your skills,” he said, his gaze steady. “It’s a test of your judgment. Make sure it’s sound.”
His words followed her out of the office, their weight settling heavily in her thoughts.
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By the time Daphneia returned to her own office, the brisk energy of the day had begun to wane. The corridor outside the executive wing felt quieter now, almost somber, and she took a moment to absorb the change in atmosphere. Trust. Judgment. The words repeated like a mantra, each one carrying its own set of implications.
When she stepped into her office, Seong was already there, leaning against her desk with the easy confidence of someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once. His pocket square—a bold riot of turquoise and silver—was a sharp contrast to the muted tones of her space.
“Well?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow. “How was the big meeting with His Majesty?”
Daphneia set her bag down and gave him a pointed look. “Do you ever take a break from the commentary?”
“Never,” he said with a grin. “Now spill. What’s the damage?”
“I’ve been reassigned,” she replied, pulling out her portfolio. “They’re putting me in charge of a project for the Entertainment division. Reporting directly to Elijah Osoro.”
Seong let out a low whistle. “Straight to the lion’s den, huh? Bold move.”
“It wasn’t exactly my choice,” she said, glancing at her laptop. The email containing the briefing packet was waiting for her, its subject line cold and clinical: Entertainment Division PR Initiative - Confidential.
“Still,” Seong said, his tone softening. “This is big, Daph. And if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”
She paused, surprised by the genuine warmth in his voice. “Thanks, Seong.”
“Don’t mention it.” He straightened, brushing imaginary lint from his blazer. “Just remember, if the lion roars too loud, you can always text me for a distraction. Or whiskey.”
With that, he gave her an exaggerated wink and sauntered out, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
She opened the briefing packet, her eyes scanning the dense blocks of text. The stakes were even higher than she’d anticipated—client losses, public scrutiny, and internal unrest all loomed over the division like storm clouds. But as she read, her resolve began to solidify. This was her chance to prove herself, to show that she could navigate the chaos and emerge stronger for it.
Whatever this test demanded of her, she would rise to meet it.
