Ascending To Him

CHAPTER 2: RED AND BLACK

​~ Lyra Thorne ~

​I opened my eyes at 5:00 AM, seconds before my alarm was set to go off. The endless noise of New York seeped through the thin walls of my room, but my mind had long since adjusted to it. I made my bed with my usual meticulousness. Leaving not a single wrinkle on the sheets felt like the only way to exert control over the mess that was the rest of my life. I picked up my phone from the nightstand; the screen was dark. No message from my father yet—that meant the day could start peacefully. Or so I hoped.

​I looked at my tired face in the bathroom mirror. Spending a year at Vance Corp added permanent shadows under one’s eyes. My home wasn't luxury; it was a small, damp apartment in the backstreets of Queens. Actually, the salary I earned was quite good by New York standards—a dream figure for an assistant. But a large chunk of that money went to my father’s gambling debts and never-ending "needs" the very day it hit my account. What was left for me was a tiny amount, barely enough to make ends meet, often forcing me to skip lunches.

​I began filling the tub with hot water and turned off the lights. Darkness was the best way to silence the noise in my mind. As I stepped into the hot water and lay back, I felt the warmth seep into my bones. This was my therapy. Taking a deep breath, I submerged myself. The silence underwater was safer than all the chaos of the world above. I stayed there until my breath ran out and my lungs began to burn. Just as I was about to give up, I broke the surface and took a deep breath. My body had relaxed, and the heavy pressure on my mind had eased.

​By 5:30 AM, I was in my robe with my hair already in rollers. I quickly prepared a chicken bowl for myself. I needed the protein; a day at Vance Corp consumed as much energy as running a marathon. I finished my meal in silence and washed my dishes without delay. As I went to my room to choose my clothes, I felt a strange sense of power today.

​I put on my burgundy lace lingerie. Over it, I slipped on a black, form-fitting blazer and fastened the three buttons tightly. The cut of the blazer revealed my cleavage subtly yet boldly. Looking in the mirror, I took in my reflection: a black mini skirt and those famous red-bottomed black stilettos I had won in a giveaway. The burgundy lipstick I applied completed the warrior woman within me. I sprayed my perfume—a light but lingering scent.

​At exactly 6:15 AM, I threw my black coat over my shoulders and left the house. The morning frost hit my face at the bus stop but couldn't dampen my mood. I boarded the bus; luckily, it wasn't crowded. Watching the world go by through the window, I felt like today would be different. There was a joy inside me I couldn't explain, and I hummed along to a song.

​Walking toward the Vance building, my steps were rhythmic. I was practically dancing. Just as I headed toward the entrance, I collided sharply with a man in a black suit rushing out of the building. The impact jolted me, and I nearly lost my balance.

​"I am so sorry, please excuse me! It was entirely my fault," I said sheepishly.

​The man didn’t stop; he didn't even look at my face. He just walked past me. Just as I was about to give him a sharp look, my phone vibrated. I pulled it from my bag and checked the message. From: Dad.

​"You're working, right? I can't be without money. An emergency came up; transfer some into my account."

​My joy vanished like a popped balloon. Only a week ago, I had sent him almost my entire salary. I had barely set aside money for rent, bills, and this week's food. I reread the message with trembling fingers. An "emergency" meant he was backed into a corner at a gambling table again.

​Entering the building, I stood before those famous turnstiles. My heart ached as I scanned my card. 06:54. There were six minutes left until the shift started, but the power I felt this morning was gone. I passed through the iron arms and took the elevator. Pressing the button for the 1st floor, the only thing spinning in my head was the pathetic balance in my bank account.

​When I reached my desk, Ms. Emma was already there. Seeing her in the office at this hour was a miracle. Her door was open, and the sound of things being thrown came from inside.

​"Lyra! Where are you? Get in here right now!"

​I entered the room to find Emma in shambles. Her platinum blonde hair was a mess, and her pink blazer was stained.

​"Good morning, Ms. Emma. Is there a problem?" I asked, trying to remain calm.

​"Is there a problem? Lyra, look at these files! Sarah, an old colleague from the 12th floor, called. I made a mistake in last week's shipment reports. If the upper floors hear about this, they'll fire me even from the 1st floor! My father would lock me in the house and cancel my credit cards. You need to fix these immediately!"

​The files she threw in front of me were at least five hours of work. My own tasks were already piled mountain-high. Moreover, fixing Emma’s mistake wasn't my job, but I knew she wouldn't do it.

​"Alright, Ms. Emma, I’ll look into it right away," I said, taking the files.

​"Oh, and one more thing..." Emma said, softening her voice slightly. "Could you get me one of those famous oat milk lattes? But tell them no caramel syrup, I'm on a diet. And a fresh croissant. Now!"

​I thought about the last bit of money in my wallet. I only had 20 dollars left. That was my sandwich and coffee money for the week. My father’s message sat on my phone like a time bomb.

​"Of course," was all I said.

​My steps weren't dancing as I headed down to the cafeteria. I stood in line. Emma's coffee and croissant cost exactly 14 dollars. Surving a week in New York with the remaining 6 dollars was impossible. When I brought the items up, Emma was laughing while talking to someone on the phone. She took a sip of her coffee without even looking at my face as I left the files on her desk.

​"This isn't hot, Lyra," she said grumpily. "Anyway, go finish those reports."

​Returning to my desk, my phone vibrated again. It was from my father.

​"Didn't you see my message? The men are waiting at the door, Lyra. Are you going to let them kill me? I just need 200 dollars. Fix it now."

​Tears welled in my eyes, but I didn't have time to cry. On the 1st floor, you practically needed permission to even shed a tear. I opened my bank app. I sent the last 205 dollars in my account to my father. Now, I had exactly 6 dollars in my pocket and a few days' worth of food at home.

​I put my head in my hands. The hum of Vance Corp’s massive, noisy air conditioners droned in my ears. On the 100th floor, Killian Vance was likely buying a new company, while I was wondering how to survive a week on 6 dollars.

​Suddenly, the elevator doors opened. The noise of the 1st floor cut out for a moment. Everyone turned their heads toward the door. A man in a black suit with a stern gaze walked in. This wasn't the man I bumped into this morning; this was someone much higher up. Killian Vance’s right-hand man, Marcus Black.

​Marcus walked directly toward Emma’s office. Everyone watched, holding their breath. Someone from the upper floors descending to the 1st floor meant either a big promotion or a big disaster. Before entering Emma’s room, Marcus glanced briefly at the error-filled files on my desk. Our eyes met. In that moment, I felt my heart beating in my throat.

​Without saying a word, Marcus entered Emma's room and slammed the door shut. A shrill cry erupted from Emma inside.

​Emma was in trouble, and if she went down, I could go down with her. Or maybe, this was the single opportunity I had been waiting for to move up. With the deep void created by the 6 dollars in my pocket, I buried myself in the files. I had to work now. Every second, every digit had to be used like a weapon.

​The moment Marcus Black closed the door, the rest of the world seemed to stop. The endless typing, whispering, and static of the 1st floor were cut like a knife. Though everyone appeared buried in their work, I knew every ear was tuned to Emma’s frosted glass door. I tried to focus on the reports, but Marcus’s one-second glance flashed in my mind like a warning light. Was there contempt in that look, or just curiosity? I didn't know.

​All I knew was the weight of the 6 dollars in my pocket. No, it was the lightness of the 6 dollars. Breathing in the belly of a monster like New York with only 6 dollars was like running out of oxygen. Minutes passed like hours. About twenty minutes later, the door opened with the same force. Marcus Black walked out as he had arrived—straight-backed, without a hint of expression. He headed for the elevators without looking back. The moment he left, shrill sobs began to rise from Emma’s office.

​I swallowed hard. I stood up, trying to keep my shaking knees steady, and entered the room. Emma was slumped over her desk, face buried in her hands. Her platinum hair, her pride and joy, was a mess. "Ms. Emma?" I whispered. She looked up. Her makeup had completely run, leaving black streaks down her cheeks.

​"It’s over, Lyra," she said, her voice trembling. "Marcus... he’s a monster. He said if the gap in those shipment reports isn't closed by the end of this week, I won't just be fired—I'll be sued for damaging the company. If my father hears about this, he'll disown me!"

​Emma’s drama was so similar to mine, yet so different. Her fear was losing her comfort; mine was survival. "We'll handle it," I said, surprised by the firmness in my own voice. "I have the files. I'm sorting through the errors one by one. I’ll work day and night to close that gap."

​Emma paused. She looked at me with tearful eyes. "Why? Why are you doing this for me, Lyra?" she asked. Because if you go, I go, I couldn't say. "You’re my boss," I said simply. Emma wiped her face with a tissue from her desk. "Fine. If you handle this... if we can silence Marcus, I’ll do something for you, Lyra. I promise."

​By the time I left her office, the lunch break had long since passed. The sharp growl from my stomach reminded me that the morning's chicken bowl was long gone. Going down to the cafeteria was torture. The smells of food, the fresh sandwiches on people’s plates... I had 6 dollars. If I bought a sandwich for 5 dollars now, I wouldn't have bus fare to get to work tomorrow morning. I drank a glass of water from the office cooler, then another. Filling my stomach with water was the cheapest way to trick hunger.

​By 4:00 PM, the office began to empty slowly. Emma had fled as usual, saying, "I'm so upset, Lyra, I’m going home to rest," leaving the entire wreckage to me. Returning to my desk, my phone vibrated again. That device, which I had thrown into the bottom of my drawer, was shaking with my father's endless demands. "Didn't you see my message? The men are at the door. Fix it now."

​I felt dizzy. I didn't have a single dollar left to send. I turned the phone completely off and placed it face down on the desk. The office lights dimmed automatically. Only the small lamp at my desk remained on. 7:00 PM, 8:00 PM... I was nearing the end of the files. I had found the 500,000-dollar tax gap Emma had missed. As I slotted the numbers into place, the red warnings in the system slowly began to turn green. I had halted the great disaster Marcus Black had spoken of—for now.

​When I stepped out of the building, the sharp New York night air filled my lungs. I had no energy left. I walked to the stop and pulled out the last 6 dollars in my pocket. My head was spinning from hunger; my stomach was gnawing at itself. If I took the bus now, I wouldn't have money to get to work for the 7:00 AM shift. I bought a hot dog. 4 dollars were gone. I could only get home with the remaining 2 dollars. I didn't know how I would make it to work tomorrow. As I ate the hot dog, I saw Killian Vance’s photo on a newspaper nearby. While he lived his million-dollar life, I was counting my last 2 dollars.

​It was past 10:00 PM when I arrived home. The moment I opened the door, the foul smell of alcohol hit me. My blood ran cold. "Dad?" I said.

​My father was sitting at the kitchen table. "Are you home, princess?" he said, his voice slurred from being drunk. "You sent the money, but it wasn't enough. So I looked around the house a bit. Leaving the spare key in your mother's old bag was a big mistake."

​I marched toward him. "What are you doing here? How can you enter my home?"

​"Debts, Lyra... The men were at the door. The amount you sent didn't even cover the interest." My breath caught when I saw the empty velvet box on the table. The small diamond-encrusted necklace that sat on my dresser—the only thing left from my mother—was gone. It was the only memory of her she had placed around my neck before she died.

​"Did you take it?" I screamed. "How could you sell my mother’s necklace? That was everything to me! Where did you sell it? Which jeweler did you give it to?"

​My father laughed mockingly and set his bottle on the table. "I gave it to the one on the corner of the sixth street in that old square in Queens. But don't bother asking; you can't get it back anyway. I already left that money at the table."

​I carved the name of that jeweler into my mind. I would get it back from there, no matter what it took.

​"Don't involve my mother in your filthy gambling debts!" I yelled. Tears began to pour down my face, but this time they were from hatred, not sadness. My mother’s death was still so fresh for me, and it destroyed me that my father used her every time he was in trouble.

​"You'll find more money tomorrow," my father said, heading for the door. "Or I'll come back here. Next time, I'll find bigger things to sell."

​He slammed the door and left. I remained alone in the empty kitchen. I collapsed to my knees. I had no money left. My mother’s necklace was gone. I wasn't even safe in my own home. I sat on the kitchen floor for a few hours. All the mercy inside me died that night.

​Tomorrow, I would go to that building not just to work, but to work harder than ever. I had to earn that money. I had to get that necklace back and escape this life. I had to be faster, more careful. I had to struggle more to avoid being crushed by the ruthless gears of Vance Corp. I had no other choice.

​As the cold of the kitchen floor seeped into my legs, the sound of the door my father slammed echoed in my ears. My mother’s necklace... That necklace wasn't just a piece of gold. When she put it around my neck, she said, "This world will try to swallow you, Lyra, but let this necklace remind you of who you are." Now, that necklace was waiting behind a glass window in some backstreet jeweler in Queens, likely for a few hundred dollars.

​I tried to stand up, but my legs were shaking. I checked my pocket; it was empty. It was all over with those last 2 dollars I used to get home. I didn't even have the 2.90 dollars needed to get to the office in Manhattan tomorrow morning. Being penniless in New York was like not existing in this city at all.

​Because he had "searched" the house, everything was in shambles. Drawers were open, and the box with my mother's old photos was strewn across the floor. I gathered the photos one by one. When my eyes met my mother’s peaceful smile, I felt something snap inside me. I wasn't just sad anymore; there was a coldness inside me that nothing could stop.

​I began searching every corner of the house, every coat pocket, and between the sofa cushions like a madwoman. I needed a miracle—just 2.90 dollars. If I couldn't get to that office tomorrow, I couldn't convince Emma. If I couldn't go to work, I could never get that necklace back. Finally, when I found a few coins and a crumpled 5-dollar bill at the bottom of the laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom, I fell to my knees. I had a total of 6 dollars. This would get me to work tomorrow and maybe bring me home in the evening. But it meant I wouldn't be able to eat.

​Closing my eyes, I kept repeating the place my father mentioned: "Sixth street, on the corner in that old square in Queens." I would get that necklace back. For that, I needed money—more money.

​I woke up at 4:30 AM before my alarm went off. My eyes were burning, but I couldn't stop. I went to the bathroom and splashed ice-cold water on my face. The Lyra Thorne in the mirror was no longer that girl humming a song yesterday. The sparkle in my eyes had vanished, replaced by a gaze as hard as steel.

​When I left the house, it was still pitch black outside. I gripped those 6 dollars in my pocket like they were the most precious treasure in the world as I walked to the bus stop. I sat in the very last seat on the bus. While the construction workers and cleaners next to me dozed off from exhaustion, I watched the New York lights outside. Every light represented unreachable wealth. It was 6:40 AM when I arrived at the Vance Corp building.

​I took the elevator to the 1st floor. The office was still empty. Emma’s door was closed, but the massive pile of files I had left on my desk was waiting for me. I sat in my chair and turned on my computer. My fingers accelerated like a machine as I hit the keys. I tried not to feel the hunger. Sometimes, your mind works sharper when your stomach is empty.

​As I navigated through the data, I noticed that Emma had made serious discrepancies not just in shipping, but also in insurance payments. This wasn't just a mistake; it was a total chain of negligence. If I used these correctly, I could break Emma’s pressure over me. My only concern was getting a promotion and that small raise in my salary. That was the only way I could save that necklace.

​Around 8:30 AM, Emma walked in. She was smiling as usual, holding her expensive coffee, as if she wasn't the one who had left the room crying yesterday.

​"Good morning, Lyra! Are the files finished?" she asked as she went to her desk.

​"They're finished, Ms. Emma. I've corrected everything; the report Marcus Black is waiting for is ready," I said, keeping my voice level.

​Emma paused and looked at me. Had she noticed the change in my eyes? "Wonderful," was all she said. "Let's send it upstairs then."

​As she sat at her desk, I knew how I would get home this evening and make it through tomorrow with the remaining 3 dollars in my pocket. But there was no expression on my face. There was no room for weakness in this building. I was no longer going to be prey; I would endure everything until I got my necklace back. I would get that necklace back from that display case no matter the cost. To escape the wreckage my father had created, I had to be tougher and more ambitious than ever from now on.