My Eccentric Billionaire

CHAPTER ONE The taxi jolted to a stop, and I nearly spilled my coffee as I stepped out, yanking at the hem of my grey bodycon dress. It hugged my hips a little too tightly, making me feel like I was on display before I even reached the entrance. Valent Industries’ headquarters loomed above me, all sleek black glass that mirrored the gloomy clouds overhead. My agent, Carla, had called this gig a no-brainer—motion capture for some secretive ad campaign. “Easy money, Maya,” she’d said over the phone, her voice crackling with her usual excitement. But standing there now, my gut twisted like I’d swallowed a knot. “You good, hon?” the driver asked, popping his head out the window. His bushy eyebrows raised, like he could tell I was still sitting there on purpose. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, flashing a weak smile. I waved him off, clutching my coffee cup for warmth. I tugged my denim jacket closer and pushed through the revolving doors. The lobby hit me with a blast of cold air that smelled like metal and lemon cleaner, sharp enough to make my nose sting. Behind the counter, a receptionist in a stiff white blazer tapped at her screen, barely glancing up. “Name?” she asked, her voice flat and not welcoming at all, like she was already tired of the day. “Maya Lin,” I said, sliding my ID across the counter. My fingers were clammy, and I wiped them on my dress. She scanned it with a quick flick, her eyes still glued to her monitor. “Level 49. They’re waiting.” She handed me a white visitor badge, the plastic edge digging into my palm as I looped it around my neck. The elevator ride felt like forever, the mirrored walls throwing back my reflection. My ponytail slicked back, mascara slightly smudged from rubbing my eyes, lips chapped from nervous chewing. I sipped my coffee, the bitterness grounding me. Why was I so jittery? I’d done modeling gigs before—smile, pose, cash the check. But something about this place felt… off, like I was walking into a room where everyone knew a secret I didn’t. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. A tall guy in a black lab coat stood there, his face without any warmth. “Maya Lin?” he said like he was reading off a script. “I’m Dr. Havel. Come with me.” “Hey, hi,” I said, trying to sound friendly, but he was already walking away. “Nice to meet you, I guess,” I muttered under my breath, hurrying to catch up. His long strides made my sneakers squeak against the polished floor. The hallway was blinding white, reeking of rubbing alcohol, like a doctor’s office on steroids. “So, what’s this gig about?” I asked, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Carla said it’s for an ad?” “Your agent was given the necessary details,” Havel said without turning, his tone like a door slamming in my face. I frowned, my stomach doing another flip. “Okay, but… what’s the product? Like, a car? A phone?” He didn’t answer, just kept walking. My sneakers squeaked louder, the sound grating on my nerves. We stepped into a huge lab, all glowing blue screens and weird robotic arms dangling from the ceiling like something out of a sci-fi movie. People in navy uniforms hunched over consoles, their fingers flying across keyboards. A couple of them glanced at me, their eyes lingering just long enough to make me feel like a lab rat. “This is our prototype room,” Havel said, waving a hand like he was showing off a car lot. “You’ll be fitted for the capture suit here.” “Prototype for what?” I asked, crossing my arms. “A robot or something? Carla didn’t mention anything fancy.” He stopped, his shoulders stiffening. “In a way,” he said, then turned to a technician holding a black bodysuit that looked like it belonged in a superhero movie. “In a way?” I repeated, my voice sharper now. “What does that mean?” Before he could dodge me again, a younger engineer with a buzzcut and tired eyes stepped over, holding the suit. “Ms. Lin, I’m Tara,” she said, her voice almost kind. “Let’s get you into this. It’s got reflective markers for the cameras. Kinda snug, but you’ll manage.” “Thanks,” I said, taking the suit. It was heavier than it looked, slick and cold in my hands. “So, seriously, what am I doing here? Nobody’s telling me anything.” Tara’s smile faltered, her eyes flicking to Havel, who was now at a console, his face glowing blue from the screen. “Just… follow the prompts,” she said, her voice tight. “Move when we tell you, and we’ll take care of the rest.” I nodded, but my heart was racing now. In the changing room, I wrestled into the suit, the fabric clinging like it was trying to merge with my skin. When I stepped out, Tara adjusted the markers, her hands quick but gentle. The cameras circled me and I shifted, the suit pinching my ribs, and I tried to shake the feeling that I was being watched too closely. “Stand there,” Tara said, pointing to a spot marked with tape. “We’re calibrating.” I stepped into place, the cameras whirring. “This is just motion capture, right?” I asked, my voice wobbling. “For an ad?” Tara hesitated, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but then she looked at Havel again. “Yeah,” she said finally. “Something like that.” “Something like that?” I snapped, my patience fraying. “What’s with the cryptic answers? I’m just trying to do my job here.” “Proceed with the sequence,” Havel called out, ignoring me. His voice was cold, final. I opened my mouth to argue, but the floor shook hard, like the building had taken a punch. My coffee cup slipped from my hand, splashing across the floor. “What the hell was that?” I asked, my voice spiking as I grabbed Tara’s arm. She didn’t answer, her eyes wide, fixed on the console. The shaking grew louder, a deep rumble vibrating through my chest. Then a sharp crack split the air, so loud it felt like my eardrums might burst. My heart slammed against my ribs, and I stumbled, clutching my jacket like it could protect me. The lights flickered—once, twice—then the room erupted in a blinding flash of orange and white. What...what was happening? Heat hit me like a wave, burning my cheeks, my arms, my lungs. Screams tore through the air—high, panicked, raw. Metal screeched, bending and snapping. I dropped to my knees, my hands flying to my head as pain exploded behind my eyes. “Tara!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “What’s happening?” There was no answer. Just more screams, more alarms blaring like they were inside my skull. Another boom threw me sideways, my shoulder slamming into the floor. Pain shot through me and my vision blurred, the room spinning. Glass shattered nearby, the sound like a thousand broken bottles. Smoke stung my eyes, and the air tasted like ash and blood. I tried to crawl, my hands slipping on the slick floor, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “Tara! Havel!” I shouted, but my voice was lost in the chaos. My mind raced, grabbing at fragments—neural synapse, prototype, Project X-09. What had I walked into? Fear wasn’t just in my chest now; it was everywhere, choking me, whispering that I’d been lied to, that this wasn’t just a job. I pushed myself up, my legs shaking, but the darkness was closing in, heavy, suffocating. My last thought was a scream inside my head: What did they do to me?