A BEAUTIFUL KIND OF WRONG

Valeria It was finally time to say bye to my parents, my chest felt like it had too many butterflies all at once, some nervous, some sad, some just plain guilty. I always imagined their faces as I walked away, and somehow, it made leaving twice as hard. Mom, holding back tears she’d probably cry anyway the minute I was gone. Ava, stubborn and clingy, pretending she didn’t care but her hand gripping mine a second too long at the airport. And Dad… well, Dad barely said anything, but I knew he was thinking a million things all at once. Seattle was safe. Familiar. Home. And now, I was flying to Nevada. Miles away from everyone I knew. Miles away from comfort. Excitement flickered in my chest, but so did fear, the kind that makes your stomach flip-flop when you least expect it. The airport was a mess of emotions. Hugs too tight. Words too soft. Tears that tried to hide but always leaked anyway. I swallowed mine, forcing a smile, because if I cried in front of them, I’d never stop. You’re doing this for yourself, Valeria. You’ll be fine. Stepping off the plane in Nevada felt like stepping into another planet. The air was dry, sharp against my skin, and the sun hit me like a spotlight I hadn’t asked for. My sunglasses didn’t help much. Everything was brighter, hotter, harsher and yet, there was a thrill in it. Like the world was daring me to rise up to it. I got to a cab to the address that was sent to me earlier before the flight, anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I'll be fine, I kept telling myself that. I finally got to the address and stepped out of the car taking in my surroundings. The afternoon breeze gently moving through the vast air as I looked at the building in front of me. A woman approached me, pale-skinned, smile wide, eyes bright. Older, maybe fifty, but she had an energy about her that made me feel like I was being sized up not judged, exactly, but measured. “You must be Valeria. It’s wonderful to see you,” she said, calm but warm. I forced my own smile, hands fiddling with my suitcase handle. “Yes… wonderful to be here.” “Please follow me,” she said The moment I stepped inside, the air changed. Summit Krest wasn’t just a building, it felt like a world designed to separate people before they even spoke. The lobby stretched wide and high, with ceilings that disappeared into soft, ambient lighting that shifted gently between warm gold and cool white. Everything smelled faintly of polished stone, fresh linen, and something expensive I couldn’t quite place like quiet luxury had a scent. It wasn’t an office lobby. It was a residence. People moved through it like they belonged there, residents, employees, guests all blending into this strange ecosystem of wealth and precision. On one side, a curved reception desk glowed softly under marble lighting. On the other, a seating area looked more like a high-end lounge than anything corporate, velvet chairs, glass tables, abstract sculptures that probably cost more than a car. Above it all, a digital display floated subtly near the ceiling, cycling through names of tenants, announcements, and project showcases for Summit Krest developments across Nevada. That was when I realized it. Summit Krest wasn’t just where people worked. People lived here. And I wasn’t just being assigned a job. I was being placed here. The holographic model of a miniature estate shimmered before me, rotating in smooth, silent motion as I took it in every angle unveiling architectural precision and luxury so refined it didn’t feel real, but inevitable. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, gesturing toward the hologram. “Yes,” I whispered, almost breathless. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something floral, like perfume without the heaviness. My stomach flipped again. The elevator ride felt slower than it should. Metallic click, hum of machinery, suitcase scraping lightly against the floor. I suddenly remembered my old job, Oasis. Safe. Reliable. Predictable. Competent, but boring. Now, I’d been placed under Summit Krest’s Project Management Unit, a division that didn’t sit still. It moved projects from blueprint to reality, luxury developments, high-rise estates, contracts that shaped skylines. It meant oversight, coordination, pressure. It meant responsibility. Real responsibility. But Oasis… “Safe… not flashy,” I admitted, almost to myself. And it was true. Oasis hadn’t thrilled me. But this… this place looked alive. The walls, the floors, even the air seemed to hum with energy, like it was waiting for someone to step up, to make moves. My stomach tightened at the thought. This is it. This is what I wanted. A little doubt crept in, of course. Could I measure up? Could I navigate this world of sharper minds and higher stakes? My two years at Oasis suddenly felt small in comparison. But I straightened my shoulders. You worked for this. The elevator doors opened. The woman’s heels clicked against the floor, pulling me back from my spiral of thoughts. She handed me the keys to apartment 45. “This isn’t a staff apartment,” she said. “Just a gift from us to you.” The keys felt heavy in my palm. Real. Mine. A small proof that I belonged here. "Take care now dear, the rest would be sorted out" she said and left. I put in my keys and opened the door. The apartment wasn’t just beautiful, it was deliberate. Sunlight spilled through wide glass windows, stretching across polished marble floors that reflected everything like still water. A king-sized bed sat centered against the far wall in the room, dressed in soft ivory linen that looked untouched, almost staged. Minimalist furniture lined the space, a cream sofa, glass coffee table, abstract art that felt expensive without trying too hard. The kitchen was sleek, all black stone and gold accents, like it had never been used but was waiting for a life to begin inside it. Even the air smelled new, clean, faintly scented with something floral and expensive, like the building itself had been perfumed. I dropped my suitcase and let myself breathe. For once, I could just be me and the quiet promise of possibility. I unpacked slowly, lingering over the act of placing each thing in its place. My laptop. My clothes. My little toiletries. Each item a tiny stake, a way of claiming this space as mine. Later that evening, I forced myself out to grocery shop. The supermarket lights were too bright, the aisles too wide, but I moved through them anyway picking up essentials, bread, fruit, cereal, trying to convince myself this was normal. I even ordered takeout online that night, just to see if I could manage life on my own. This is going to be good. Monday morning came too fast. I showered, pinned my hair into a bun, applied subtle makeup, glossed my lips. Black pants, white shirt, simple, tight in the right places, armor enough. My stomach did that flutter again as I caught the taxi to Summit Krest. The building gleamed like a promise. I paused at the entrance, inhaling, letting it sink in. My ID was handed to me at the entrance, the plastic card cool against my fingers as I stared at it for a second longer than I should have. Then I stepped forward, following the direction given by a worker into the Project Management Unit floor for the first time where glass walls separated teams and screens displayed live project timelines across Nevada’s biggest developments. My office wasn’t what I expected. It was simple… but in a way that still felt intentional. I could see people moving past, some carrying files, some talking quietly, all of them looking like they knew exactly where they were going. Inside, everything was neat. Minimal. A desk sat right in the center with my laptop already set up and logged into the Summit Krest system. There were a few project files placed neatly to one side, and a phone I assumed would start ringing the moment I officially existed here. The chair behind the desk looked too comfortable to be temporary, like it was expecting me to stay for a long time whether I was ready or not. A knock. A woman wearing a black dress, hair perfect, coffee and files in hand. “This is for you,” she said, handing me the cup. I felt a small anchor in her gesture, solid and human. “I’m Theresa,” she said, dropping the files on my desk. “Valeria,” I replied. Voice steady, alert, ready. “Pleasure,” she said, glancing at my screen. “The boss wants you to review these, just to get familiar.” I nodded, watching her leave. Alone, I let my fingers brush the desk. I’m finally here. Welcome to Summit Krest. Two weeks passed…. Summit Krest was nothing like Oasis. It didn’t just demand attention… it commanded it. Every morning started with project briefs stacked neatly on my desk, updated timelines flashing across my screen, and emails that never seemed to stop coming in. Under the Project Management Unit, my days were split between coordination meetings, reviewing architectural updates, and following up with site supervisors scattered across Nevada’s developments. One moment I was checking structural revisions for a luxury high-rise, the next I was on a call confirming delivery schedules that had no room for error. It was fast. Sharp. Unforgiving. But I was keeping up. Slowly, people started to notice. Not in a loud way, Summit Krest wasn’t loud like that. It was subtle. A nod from a colleague in the glass-walled meeting room. A “good point” during a discussion I didn’t expect to speak in. The small pause when I spoke, like they were recalculating me in real time. At first, I kept to myself. Then one afternoon, someone slid into the seat beside me during a project review. “You’re new, right?” a woman asked, flipping through my notes without waiting for permission. I hesitated. “Yeah… recently assigned to PMU.” She nodded like she already knew. “You handled the West Ridge timeline correction?” That surprised me. “I did.” A faint smile. “That saved us three weeks. Nice work.” Just like that, she moved on like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing to me. It felt like a door cracking open. Theresa made sure it stayed open. She appeared everywhere like she owned half the floor dropping files on my desk, stealing pens, leaning against my chair like deadlines were optional concepts. “Valeria,” she said one morning, peering at my screen, “if you stare at that spreadsheet any harder, it might confess its secrets to you.” I blinked. “It already has secrets. It’s lying to me.” “That’s the spirit,” she grinned. “Welcome to corporate betrayal.” I laughed before I could stop myself. That became a pattern. She’d show up, I’d be stressed, she’d make it worse and somehow better at the same time. By midday, she’d usually drag me out for lunch. “Come on,” she said one Tuesday, spinning my chair once before I could protest. “You’ve earned the right to not become part of this desk.” “I have reports….” “Your reports can survive abandonment. You, on the other hand, are turning into a PDF file.” That got me. I followed her. The cafeteria at Summit Krest was more like a high-end restaurant than anything I’d seen at a workplace, clean glass walls, soft lighting, quiet conversations floating over perfectly plated meals. Theresa grabbed food like she was on a mission, then dropped into a seat across from me. “So,” she said, leaning in, “how long before you realize everyone here is just pretending to know what they’re doing?” I snorted. “I already suspected that.” “Good. That’s step one of survival.” We ate in comfortable silence for a moment before she tilted her head. “You’re not as stiff as I thought you’d be.” I raised a brow. “Was I supposed to be stiff?” “Yes. Very corporate. Very ‘I only drink black coffee and judge people silently.’” “I do drink black coffee.” “That explains the judgment then.” I laughed properly this time, shaking my head. Over the next few days, it became routine. Work. Pressure. Small victories. Theresa chaos. She had a way of making the entire place feel less like a machine and more like something human. She leaned back in the chair in my office, stretching like she had all the time in the world. “If they ask for that report again, I’m going to fake my own disappearance.” I let out a soft laugh before I could stop myself. “I’ll help you hide the body… or whatever that counts as.” She gasped dramatically. “See? That’s exactly why I like you.” I smiled, shaking my head as I looked back at my screen, the glow of the monitor reflecting faintly against my face. Summit Krest still felt too big, too sharp, too fast. But moments like this… made it feel less impossible. Theresa nudged my arm lightly before standing. “Don’t get too comfortable though, Valeria. This place likes to test people.” I watched her walk away, the sound of her heels fading into the hum of the office. And for the first time since arriving at Summit Krest, I wasn’t just surviving the day. I meant it.