𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑇𝑜 𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟

03.

The rehab facility had left a sour taste in my mouth, both metaphorically and quite literally. When I wasn't confined to Klaus's office, the rest of the place exuded the unmistakable scent of old Band-Aids and stale alcohol—a far cry from the pristine environment I was accustomed to.

Jay had graciously escorted me home that night, his silent presence a comforting anchor amidst the chaos that had engulfed my life. Now, as I prepared to head into work, I couldn't shake the feeling of trepidation that gnawed at the pit of my stomach. Boss had hinted at a surprise awaiting me, though whether it would be a welcome one remained to be seen. If he wanted to fire me, he might as well have done it over text, but alas, I was tethered to this archaic Nokia, a reminder that my actions did indeed have consequences

.Dressed in a fitted black shirt that accentuated my curves, I topped it off with a black hoodie—an attempt to conceal rather than reveal. Black jeans hugged my legs, and designer shoes completed the ensemble. As always, a sleek black hat adorned my head, shielding me from prying eyes as I made my way out of the building.

My driver awaited me outside the complex, the sleek lines of the car a welcome sight. I hopped into the backseat, grateful for the newly installed tinted windows that offered a sense of anonymity in the bustling city streets. As we pulled away, I couldn't help but wonder what awaited me at the office—a surprise that could either lift me up or further plunge me into the depths of uncertainty.

I lounged in the plush backseat of the car, idly swirling the tiny bottle of water between my fingers as I gazed out at the passing scenery. The rhythmic hum of the engine provided a soothing backdrop to my thoughts, and for a moment, I allowed myself to relax into the comfortable silence.

"I expected you to be more excited," came a voice from the front seat.

I glanced up, surprised by the interruption. "Hm? Why's that?" I inquired, meeting the driver's gaze through the rearview mirror.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes returning to the road ahead. "I suppose you don't know then," he replied cryptically before resuming his soft humming, effectively dismissing any further attempts at conversation.

In the early days of our acquaintance, I had made futile attempts to engage him in conversation during our rides. However, each attempt had been met with stony silence, leaving me to wonder if he was simply a stickler for professionalism. That is, until one day, I caught sight of a cassette player and a pair of earplugs tucked discreetly beside his seat.

The realization dawned on me then—that he preferred the solace of music over idle chatter. And so, I had resigned myself to silence, and giving him the finger when he wasn't looking every now and then.

"Hold on, what don't I know about?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued by his cryptic remark.He merely shrugged in response, his demeanor unchanged as he focused on the road ahead. Frustration bubbled within me, and I couldn't help but mutter under my breath, "Jerk."With a huff, I resigned myself to the silence once more as we neared our destination. As soon as the car came to a stop outside A.G.I., I wasted no time in hopping out and jogging inside, eager to uncover the mystery that awaited me within.

The A.G.I. headquarters towered majestically above the city skyline, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the sunlight in dazzling arrays of brilliance. As I approached the entrance, I marveled at the grandeur of the building, its towering presence dominating the surrounding landscape.

Stepping through the revolving doors, I was greeted by a bustling lobby teeming with people clad in sharp suits, their hurried footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors. The atmosphere was one of efficiency and professionalism, with every detail meticulously curated to exude an aura of sophistication.