Chapter 4 Sebastian
JASMINE
I paid the taxi driver with fingers that trembled just slightly and stepped out onto the pavement.
The first thing I noticed was the shadow.
It swallowed me whole.
I tilted my head back, eyes traveling upward—past endless glass windows reflecting the pale morning sky, past sharp steel lines that cut into the clouds—until my neck began to ache.
The skyscraper loomed impossibly tall, like it had been built just to remind people how small they were. A hundred floors, maybe more. It stood there in silent judgment, polished and untouchable.
I gulped.
Somehow, I had forgotten to be nervous this morning while getting ready. I’d brushed my hair, chosen my clothes, even applied lip gloss with a strange sense of calm—as if I were heading somewhere familiar.
But standing here now, reality finally caught up with me.
Against my better judgment, I had come.
I glanced down at my bag, fingers curling tightly around the strap, before my thoughts drifted back to the card. The man with hazel eyes. The alley. The way he had vanished like smoke.
I didn’t even know his name.
Okay—correction. I now knew his name was Raymond. Apparently.
But did I know him? No.
Did I know what kind of company Black Empire was? Also no.
Was this a bad idea?
Probably.
I really needed the money, though. That fact outweighed every logical argument screaming at me to turn around and run. And honestly—what could possibly go wrong?
I shoved the negative thoughts aside, refusing to let them win. With one last look at the towering building, I squared my shoulders and walked toward the revolving doors.
The moment I stepped inside, the world changed.
Cool air washed over my skin, subtle and clean, carrying a faint scent of expensive cologne and polished wood.
The noise of the city disappeared instantly, replaced by a calm, almost intimidating silence. Everything inside gleamed—marble floors, glass walls, sleek furniture arranged with deliberate precision.
I felt like I’d walked into another dimension.
Spotting the reception desk, I approached the woman seated behind it.
“Good morning,” I said softly, already feeling underdressed despite my best effort. “I was given this card?”
She looked immaculate. White wrinkle-free shirt. Black pencil skirt hugging her frame perfectly. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, not a single strand out of place.
When she finally lifted her eyes from her computer, I felt myself shrink under her gaze.
She was stunning. The kind of beauty that didn’t need effort.
Suddenly, my flats felt cheap. My bag felt worn. I felt… out of place.
“Let me see,” she said, holding out her hand.
I passed her the card, watching closely as she examined it. She flipped it over, brows lifting slightly.
“Oh,” she said, nodding once. “Yes. You’re expected.”
My stomach flipped.
She turned the card again, and this time I noticed a name printed on the back—one I hadn’t seen before.
Raymond.
“Your interview will take place on the eighty-first floor,” she continued smoothly. “Here.”
She handed the card back along with another—this one heavier, cooler to the touch. Metal. Embedded with a QR code.
“Use this to access the elevators. When you’re done, please return it.”
She gave me a polite but distant smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Thank you,” I murmured, turning toward the elevator bank.
The ride up felt endless.
As the doors slid shut behind me, I exhaled shakily, grateful I was alone. The reflective walls showed my anxious expression, and I grimaced at myself.
My palms were sweaty. My heart pounded violently against my ribs. My body reacted like I was heading toward my doom.
Stupid nerves.
Why was I even here again?
The elevator hummed as it ascended, numbers flashing rapidly—40… 52… 68…
“Wait!”
The shout came just before the doors closed.
I panicked, smashing the stop button more times than necessary.
The doors jerked open, revealing a brunette man struggling under the weight of too many bags and loose papers. His round glasses slipped down his nose as curls fell messily across his forehead.
“Sorry—sorry,” he huffed, rushing inside.
I pressed the button again once he was clear.
“Thank you,” he said, breathless, voice raspy.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, forcing a sweet smile before turning back toward the doors.
I nibbled on my lower lip, hands fidgeting uncontrollably. My nerves were officially out of control.
“The name’s Sebastian,” he said after a moment. “And I don’t think I’ve seen such a beau—” he stopped himself, clearing his throat. “I mean, you—around here.”
There went my hope for a quiet ride.
I turned to face him, letting my smile drop into something more neutral. “Hi, Seb. I’m Jasmine. And no—it’s my first time here. I’m actually just here for an interview.”
His eyes lit up. “Ah. Brave.”
I snorted softly. “More like desperate.”
The elevator crawled past seventy-five.
Could this thing move any slower?
Seventy-six.
I groaned under my breath.
I always got easily irritated when I was nervous. It wasn’t pretty.
“Here,” Sebastian said suddenly.
I turned to see him holding out a cold bottle of water.
I blinked. “What’s this for?”
“For your nerves,” he said simply. “Trust me. Cold water helps.”
Something about his kindness caught me off guard. I hesitated, then accepted the bottle, twisting the cap off and downing half of it in one go.
My breathing slowed almost immediately.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
He smiled. “Hope your interview goes well.”
The elevator dinged.
“See you around,” he added, stepping out and throwing me a wink.
The doors closed behind him, and just like that—I was alone again.
The elevator opened to reveal another pristine lobby. Another woman sat behind a desk, dressed exactly like the receptionist downstairs.
“I’m here for the—”
“Yes,” she interrupted without looking up. “The interview. Second door to your left.”
I nodded, heart hammering.
Okay.
I took a deep breath and walked toward the glass door—clear, sleek, different from all the others.
This was it.
My hand trembled as I reached for the handle.
I swallowed hard.
And pushed it open.