The Name ‘VIOS’
1327 Words
“Don’t give me excuses... give me results” Amy said into the phone, pacing across the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse while the city glittered beneath her with a thousand lights blinking like they were mocking her insomnia.
There was a pause and then the voice of her assistant stammered “Y-yes, Ms. Adams. I’ll have the report sent by morning.”
“Good” she said flatly, “And try not to confuse morning with noon again.” Then she ended the call before her assistant could reply.
Her laptop screen glowed in the dark living room with a half-empty coffee mug beside it and her reports opened unread. She’d been staring at the same chart for twenty minutes; sales projections, quarterly targets, and mergers but none of it stuck. Her mind drifted somewhere between fatigue and fury.
Another twelve-hour day, and another night of silence.
“Congratulations, Amy. You’re the youngest executive in the company’s history” her boss had said earlier with his voice filled with forced pride and envy.
She’d smiled, said all the right things, and shook all the right hands, but then she’d come home to nothing.
The walls were expensive and the furniture matched but the quiet was unbearable.
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Amy dropped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling “Congratulations, Amy” she muttered, “Thirty-two, CEO, Forbes under forty… and can’t even remember the last time someone asked how your day was.”
She leaned back and muttered to herself “They don’t tell you success comes with an echo” She almost laughed.
Her phone buzzed and a message from her mother popped ‘when will you bring someone home?’ And then another from an ex ‘saw your name in the paper, you’re still breathtaking.’
“Breathtaking,” she scoffed, “Right… like oxygen deprivation.”
She grabbed her laptop because work was easier than thinking and she told herself that she would check market updates, maybe an article or two, but Instead ended up on a site selling luxury yachts, then watches, then private islands, and then, something different; a black banner at the bottom of the page that read “Exclusive Companion Contracts and Emotional confidentiality Tailored to preference.”
She blinked “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Curiosity won over common sense and she clicked.
The screen went black for a second, and then loaded a page so minimal and elegant it almost felt like a trap. With no photos of women or men in suggestive poses but just a golden crest, a single sentence, and a login bar.
Welcome, Ms. Amy Adams. Searching for something genuine?
My heart gave a stupid little jolt “How do you know my name?” I whispered.
A chat bubble appeared ‘Your reputation precedes you.’
I frowned, typing back before I could stop myself “Is this some kind of AI concierge?”
‘You could say that, we connect clients to companions they can trust.’
“Trust” She muttered, “Cute marketing” but she kept scrolling.
The page shifted again, but this time showing a sleek black menu ‘CATALOG ACCESS – VERIFIED CLIENTS ONLY, and below it was a gold button ‘ENTER.’
She should’ve closed the laptop, but she didn’t “Alright, mystery AI” She murmured while clicking the button, “Show me what a ‘companion contract’ even looks like.”
The catalog opened while rows of faces filled the screen; men who looked like they’d stepped out of a luxury fragrance ad. Polished, poised, with their every jawline carved to perfection.
Each profile came with personality tags; Loyal, Devoted, Dominant, Guarded, Obsessed.
She snorted “What is this, a billionaire Build-a-Boyfriend store? And they say online dating is dead.”
She read random descriptions under each face while scrolling down:
Profile #1123: ‘Elias’ | Tag: Devoted
Bio: I listen. I remember. I stay.
She stared a second longer than she meant to, and then clicked another.
Profile #906: ‘Kane’ | Tag: Dominant
Bio: I protect what’s mine.
“Of course you do” she muttered while sipping her cold coffee.
She almost laughed out loud “Right. Emotional confidentiality. Sure.”
Her mind was splitting between cynicism and curiosity ‘Who paid for this? Lonely CEOs? Divorced celebrities? The emotionally bankrupt?’
She clicked through more profiles, half-mocking, and half-fascinated.
Still, her eyes lingered, not because she believed in it but because for a second, she wondered what it would be like to come home to someone who didn’t want anything from her except to be there.
She shook the thought off “Get a grip, Amy. You don’t buy people… You buy companies.”
But she continued with another click, and another page, and suddenly, the profiles thinned out and the gold interface darkened as a message flashed ‘Private tier unlocked.’
Her breath hitched “Unlocked? I didn’t even sign up for…”
A small chat bubble appeared on the site ‘Need help choosing your match’
She ignored it but then it popped again ‘All companions are professionally trained for emotional confidentiality.’
“Professionally trained” she echoed with her voice dripping irony, “What am I doing?”
She should have closed the window but she didn’t.
The loneliness pressed harder than logic because she’d dated and she’d tried, but every man had treated her achievements like a challenge to crush or a trophy to polish. They called her cold when she didn’t melt on command, and controlling when she set boundaries. So she’d stopped.
Her therapist had said “You’ve built walls so high no one can climb them.”
Amy had smiled sweetly “That’s the point.”
Now she whispered to the empty room “Still feels like a cage, though.”
Her phone pinged again with a work email that was urgent, of course, but she ignored it for once because she wanted to feel something that wasn’t responsibility.
Then she clicked ‘Catalog’ again, and rows of elegant portraits filled the screen with men like fiction: poised, confident, and too composed to be real, while each face carried a short description, and unnervingly specific.
#411 – Julian | Tag: Empathic | He’ll listen until the world makes sense again.
#329 – Dante | Tag: Guarded | He’ll keep your secrets as his own.
#275 – Rowan | Tag: Obedient | He follows where you lead.
Amy shook her head slowly “Who writes these taglines? Some emotionally constipated poet?”
But she kept scrolling.
The cursor hovered with her pulse oddly quick because it was absurd hiring company for comfort, but also strangely seductive; someone to care without asking, and someone to stay without wanting control.
She whispered “What would that even feel like?”
A flash of her last relationship cut through her chest like glass; James, who was charming, successful, and adored in public but behind closed doors, he was manipulative, jealous, and cruelly calm when he lied.
When she’d caught him cheating, he’d smirked and said “You’re too busy loving your career to notice love itself.” And that had been the day she’d sworn off romance altogether.
Now here she was, contemplating renting the illusion of it.
“Brilliant, Amy. Real progress” she mocked herself.
She closed her laptop halfway, and then reopened it because curiosity won “Okay. Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes.”
A disclaimer appeared before access ‘All contracts are voluntary. No physical obligations implied. Emotional confidentiality guaranteed. Non-disclosure binding.’
The wording was almost legal, polished, and her corporate brain appreciated that.
She muttered “At least they know their audience.”
Scrolling again page after page until the faces blurred and then her hand stilled when a new profile loaded, darker background, no fancy tagline but just a name in bold white letters ‘VIOS.’
- Writer
