Chapter#3
1326 Words
Drew had stopped believing — in anything.
He didn't say it out loud. He didn’t mock people who prayed or held fast to signs from above. He just... didn’t feel it anymore. Faith, fate, luck — to him, they were all empty rooms he had walked through and found nothing. Now, the only thing he trusted was time — and even that betrayed him.
After dozens of failed interviews and soul-crushing rejections, Drew had become numb. He had no one. Not a mother’s lap. Not a father’s advice. Just the mirror — and he barely recognized the face in it anymore.
He had thought of destroying the world once. But the truth was simpler: he didn’t even have the power to scratch it.
Then one humid afternoon, in the middle of a crowded bazaar, the past appeared — in heels and sunglasses.
“Olivia?” he said, blinking.
She turned, startled. Her makeup was faded, her clothes elegant but tired — like she was trying too hard to pretend.
“Ah... Drew. No, it’s not that I didn’t recognize you. I just—” She exhaled. “I’m not really in the right place to talk.”
“What happened?”
She looked around, lowered her voice. “I’m jobless. Nobody respects me. I used to laugh at people like you — remember? Said you were wasting time. But now...”
She swallowed.
“I never really studied. I just bribed my way through, flirted, played the system. It worked for a while. But now... I can’t hold a job for more than a day. Fired, blacklisted. The only offer I got was... as a cleaner. And I... I can’t do that. I mean, look at me. I used to be someone. Now I’d rather die than scrub floors.”
Drew didn’t smile. He didn’t mock. He just nodded.
“I get it. But you're still ahead. You got offered a cleaner’s job. Me? They want me to volunteer to clean or they’ll throw me in jail. They say I look like someone who belongs in the alley.”
Olivia gave a half-hearted chuckle. “What about your parents?”
Drew paused. A flicker of something passed his eyes — not pain, just the memory of it.
“Gone,” he said simply. “Long ago. I’ve been surviving on the leftovers of other people’s luck.”
“Oh...” Her voice softened. “Mine aren’t dead. But I might as well be. They’ve cut me off. No money. No support. I was their pride... until I wasn’t.”
Silence stood between them for a moment.
Drew took a breath. “Wanna live with me?”
She blinked. “With you?”
“I mean... I’ll figure something out. Something better than this. You don’t deserve this, Olivia.”
She stared at him. For the first time, her guard lowered.
“No, Drew,” she said gently. “First get a job. Show me you still have that spark. Then maybe... we’ll talk. I want to see you win, for once. I still love you.”
That night, Drew stood outside a pharmaceutical company.
He hadn’t shaved. His beard was patchy. His shirt hung on him like it missed the man he used to be. But his eyes — hollow, dark — burned with something quietly violent.
He walked up to the front desk.
“I need to meet the boss.”
The manager, a tired man with lines deeper than his wrinkles, raised an eyebrow. “Sir, that’s not how this works. You have to apply. Go through the process.”
“I’ll wait,” Drew said. “Even if it takes days. I just want two minutes. Time me. 120 seconds. Bet?”
The manager sighed. “Fine. Sit. Don’t cause a scene.”
Drew waited.
For seven hours.
At 8:47 PM, a tall man in a tailored suit walked through the glass doors. The manager hurried toward him, whispered something. The man looked at Drew, then nodded.
“You’ve got two minutes,” the manager said. Stopwatch in hand.
Drew stepped forward. Voice low. Controlled.
“I’m not here to beg. I’m here with a formula. One that controls desire. It’s dangerous. Addictive. But it works. Give me a lab — or give me nothing. If I fail, you lose nothing. But if I’m right... you’ll own what the world’s been dying for.”
He placed a single, faded CV on the polished desk.
The boss stared at him — and then smiled.
“Hire him,” he said to the manager. “But first... give him a razor, some clean clothes, and something to brush those teeth. He looks like he’s been living in a coffin.”
At 6:00 a.m., Drew woke up — for the first time in weeks, with purpose.
He brushed his teeth. The foam stung his gums. He shaved, layer by layer, peeling back days of dust and hopelessness. A long, clean bath followed. The mirror showed a man reborn. Not because he looked better — but because he felt alive.
The pharmaceutical company had given him a small room — one they usually offered to their janitorial staff. But to Drew, it was nothing short of a palace. Running water, a real bed, soap that smelled like lemons — luxuries he had forgotten the world could offer.
He laughed to himself. If Olivia saw me now, she’d marry me in hours.
When he entered the building’s main wing, dressed in fitted office clothes the company had issued, even the staff turned their heads. Some stood, confused.
“Is that the new manager?” someone whispered.
Drew nodded politely, but inside he felt nothing. They’re not standing for me, he thought. They’re standing for the suit.
He smiled and said, “Thanks, everyone.”
Inside the glass-walled conference room, the real boss, Peter, was already seated. A man in his late 50s with expensive shoes and a plastic smile. The kind of man who gave to cancer charities in public — and laughed at dying patients in private.
Peter clapped slowly. “Welcome, young man. You hypnotized me yesterday. I still don’t know why I hired you. You some kind of magician?”
Drew smiled. “No sir. Just a man with something valuable.”
“Then go on. What are you proposing?”
Drew stood confidently. “It’s an experimental formula. Never made, never tested. But on paper? Deadly. In every sense.”
The room quieted.
“It’s designed to make two people fall in love. Not fake affection — real chemical obsession. It lasts 12 hours per dose. After that, they either take more… or face unpredictable withdrawal. Possibly fatal. Definitely addictive.”
Gasps. Mutters. Someone laughed nervously.
“But if it works?” Drew continued. “It will be the next global obsession. Governments, celebrities, addicts, even normal couples — all hooked. It's profit on steroids.”
He paused. “I propose a 60–40 deal. 60% for the company. 40% for me. Who gives the creator 40% these days?”
The room was stunned. Then Peter leaned back, amused. “And your ingredients? Don’t forget — we’re a legal company. Greedy, yes. But legal. We suck blood the clean way.” He chuckled. The rest laughed too, some holding back tears of irony.
Peter added with mock sincerity, “We also donate to cancer patients. You know, for the cameras.”
Everyone laughed again. A few high-fived.
Drew didn't laugh.
He took out a crumpled sheet. “The core ingredient is L-28. It’s undocumented, unused. Legal grey area. Technically, it’s unregulated. Has no proven physical side effects. Mentally? That’s a different story. But we’ll leave that part out of the brochures.”
The staff clapped.
“You’re a profit machine, Drew!” someone shouted.
Peter smirked. “You’ve got guts, boy. Start working. Let’s see what kind of monster you can cook.”
- Writer
