Bane of the Elite

Chapter 3

The alarm on my cracked phone buzzed harshly at 4:30 in the morning, cutting through the heavy, oppressive silence of our cramped bedroom. I didn't hit snooze. I couldn't afford to. My body still ached from the physical and emotional exhaustion of the previous days, but as I sat up on the edge of my narrow bed, a cold wave of determination washed over me. Today was my first day at Sanvitores Corporation.

I quietly slipped out of bed, tiptoed into the small, shared bathroom, and splashed cold water onto my face, trying to wash away the stubborn puffiness around my eyes. After changing into my simple, freshly ironed black-and-white uniform provided the day before, I stepped out into the hallway.

The door to my parents' room was slightly open. Inside, the dim light revealed my father resting on the mattress corner, his bruised face hidden mostly in the shadows, while my mother sat quietly beside him on a wooden stool, her eyes red and swollen.

As she heard my footsteps, she looked up and hurried out into the narrow corridor, pulling the door shut behind her.

"Autumn..." my mother whispered, her voice cracking as her hands trembled around mine. She looked at me with an expression so filled with guilt and sorrow that it broke my heart. "I am so sorry. Look at what your father's mistakes have brought upon us. Because of our failure, you are the one carrying this massive burden on your young shoulders. You should be in school, reviewing for your exams, not breaking your back cleaning floors to save us."

I swallowed the tight lump forming in my throat, forcing a brave smile as I squeezed her hands back.

"Don't say that, Mom," I murmured softly, stepping closer to wrap my arms around her waist. "We're a family. We carry each other's weights. If I didn't step up, who would? Just please take care of Dad, and take care of yourself, too. I'll be fine. I promise."

After a tearful parting hug, I grabbed my simple canvas bag and stepped out into the chilly dawn air.

By 5:45 in the morning, I was already standing in front of the colossal, glass-and-steel architecture of Sanvitores Corporation. The morning sunlight was just beginning to reflect off its towering mirrored windows, making the entire building look like a monument of untouchable wealth.

I hurried inside through the employee entrance, swiped my temporary ID, and reported directly to the facilities department. The head manager—the same stern woman who had interviewed me the day before—looked up from her desk with an expression that was a mix of reluctant compliance and lingering annoyance. She didn't waste any time with pleasantries.

"Listen closely, Autumn," she said sharply, handing me a heavy cart filled with cleaning supplies, microfiber cloths, and chemical sprays. "Your assigned zone covers the third-floor administrative corridors, the executive briefing rooms, and..." She paused, her lips thinning into a tight line as she gave me a piercing look. "...and the private executive penthouse office on the top floor. The previous cleaner assigned up there had to take an immediate leave due to pregnancy, so you are filling in. Do your job quietly, keep your head down, and do not—under any circumstances—look at Mr. Sanvitores in the eye if he happens to be around. Am I clear?"

My breath hitched. The CEO's private office? After everything that had happened yesterday—after I had physically grabbed his jacket and screamed at him—I was going to be cleaning his personal sanctuary? Panic fluttered in my chest, but I forced myself to nod stiffly. "Yes, ma'am. Crystal clear."

An hour later, after finishing the lower-level corridors, I found myself pushing my heavy cart up toward the elite top-floor executive suite. The atmosphere up here was entirely different—quieter, more exclusive, and smelling faintly of expensive cedarwood and high-end leather.

When I pushed open the heavy mahogany double doors leading into Dark Sanvitores's private office, I froze.

The room was breathtakingly massive. It featured dark mahogany flooring, minimalist modern furniture, a sleek glass desk that looked out over an expansive view, and floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the entire length of the wall.

Despite my nervousness, I couldn't help but walk closer to one of the massive glass windows. Standing up here, looking out over the sprawling, breathtaking view of the city skyline with its cluster of high-rise buildings glistening in the morning sun, a quiet sense of awe washed over me. It felt like standing on top of the world. For a fleeting second, I wondered what it must feel like to own all of this—to look down at the city and have absolute power over everything you survey.

Clack.

The distinct, heavy sound of a private door unlocking behind me shattered my trance.

My heart leapt straight into my throat. I spun around so fast my cleaning cart rattled loudly against the floor.

The heavy inner office door swung open, and there he was. Dark Sanvitores. He had already shed his suit jacket, wearing only a crisp, black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up neatly to his forearms to reveal the lean, powerful muscles of his arms. His dark hair was slightly messy, as if he had run his fingers through it in frustration, and his striking obsidian eyes locked onto mine the exact second he stepped into the room.

Panic seized my entire body. Without thinking, I lunged toward my cleaning cart, grabbed a microfiber cloth, and aggressively began wiping down an already spotless mahogany side table, my hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the spray bottle.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him walk past. He didn't say a word, but I could feel the suffocating weight of his presence filling the entire room. As he crossed toward his grand desk, I risked a quick, sideways glance at him. He moved with a predatory, effortless grace, every step dripping with authority and dangerous composure.

As if sensing my intense gaze burning into the side of his face, Dark suddenly halted. He didn't turn around immediately, but his broad shoulders stiffened. Slowly, he tilted his head, turning his dark, piercing eyes toward me. His gaze was so cold, so heavy and intense, that it felt like a physical chill running down my spine.

Instead of shrinking away in fear like I should have, a nervous, instinctive reaction bubbled up inside me. I offered him a tight, awkward, apologetic little smile, blinking rapidly before quickly dropping my head back down to aggressively polish the wooden surface.

Dark let out a low, barely audible scoff, his jaw clenching as he sharply averted his eyes away from me, walking the rest of the way to his chair and dropping heavily behind his desk.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Why did I do that? Why did I smile at him like an i***t after yelling at him yesterday?

Unable to stand the suffocating tension, and fueled by a sudden surge of reckless gratitude, I abandoned my cart and took a few hesitant steps toward his massive glass desk.

"Uhm... Mr. Sanvitores?" I started, my voice trembling slightly.

He didn't look up. He was already flipping open a thick folder filled with financial documents, his expression turning into a mask of total indifference.

"I just... I just wanted to say thank you," I continued, swallowing hard as I gripped the hem of my uniform shirt. "For letting me work here, despite what I did yesterday. I know it was completely out of line, and I really appreciate—"

"Are you finished?"

His voice cut through the air like a razor blade—cold, flat, and completely devoid of any emotion. He didn't lift his eyes from the papers, treating me as if I were nothing more than background noise or a piece of furniture in the room.

The rejection stung, but it also grounded me. I realized then that he wasn't going to entertain me, and playing with fire in the lion's den was a very bad idea.

"Y-Yes. I'll get back to work," I whispered, my cheeks burning with humiliation. Without another word, I turned on my heel, grabbed my cleaning cart, and practically fled out of his private office, closing the heavy doors quietly behind me.

By mid-morning, the clock finally struck break time. Exhausted and mentally drained from my encounter with the CEO, I dragged my feet toward the staff breakroom on the lower floor, sinking gratefully onto a plastic chair with a cup of cheap instant coffee in my hands.

"First time cleaning the top floor?"

I jumped slightly as a friendly voice broke my thoughts. I looked up to see a woman standing near the counter, pouring herself some water. She looked to be around my age or slightly older, with warm brown eyes, long wavy hair tied neatly in a ponytail, and a bright, approachable smile. She was wearing the same janitorial uniform, but she wore it with an easygoing confidence that immediately put me at ease.

"Yeah," I sighed, offering a tired smile back. "I'm Autumn, by the way."

"Megan," she introduced herself cheerfully, walking over and taking the seat directly across from me. "I've been working here for over a year now. Word travels fast around the service staff, you know. Everyone's been talking about the new girl who somehow survived an encounter with the big boss himself on her very first day."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Please don't remind me. I thought I was going to be fired before I even clocked in. I was an absolute mess."

Megan chuckled warmly, leaning back in her chair. "Hey, don't beat yourself up too much. Mr. Sanvitores is a walking disaster zone of bad moods anyway. Nobody dares breathe too loudly around him. The fact that you're still breathing and drawing a paycheck means you've got more luck than most."

As we continued talking, sharing stories about our backgrounds and the exhausting reality of working long shifts, the conversation naturally drifted toward why I had taken the job in the first place. Megan listened empathetically as I briefly mentioned the crushing financial pressure my family was under.

Megan’s expression softened, and she leaned in a little closer across the small table. "You know, Autumn... if you really need money that badly—and I mean real money to help clear those huge debts—there's actually another opportunity I know of. It's not glamorous, but it pays exceptionally well."

My ears perked up instantly, desperation flaring back to life in my chest. "Really? What kind of opportunity?"

"A part-time gig," Megan said smoothly, dropping her voice slightly. "Working as a waitress at Velour, a high-end, exclusive lounge downtown. They cater to elite clients, businessmen, and high-rollers. The hours are from 10:00 PM to 2:00 AM, right after we clock out here. The tips alone are massive, and the hourly pay is triple what we make here."

My initial excitement instantly clashed with a wave of deep hesitation. A high-end bar? Late at night? My mind immediately conjured up images of smoky rooms, drunk corporate men, aggressive advances, and dangerous situations.

"A bar?" I repeated, my face falling as I shook my head, instantly pulling back. "No... I don't know, Megan. Working late nights in a club downtown sounds risky. There are bound to be sleazy, drunk men touching you or harassing you. I can't take that kind of risk."

Megan shrugged understandingly, leaning back. "I get it, totally. It's not for everyone. But keep it in mind. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Here's my personal number. If you ever change your mind, just text me." She scribbled her digits on a small scrap of paper and slid it across the table. I took it, slipping it into my pocket, though I fully intended to throw it away. At least, that's what I told myself.

By the time my shift ended and I finally made the long commute back to our neighborhood, the sun had completely dipped below the horizon, bathing the rundown streets in gloomy shadows.

But as I turned the corner toward our apartment complex, my steps faltered.

A crowd of curious neighbors was standing outside our building, whispering among themselves and pointing toward our doorway. A cold, terrifying dread gripped my chest. I broke into a dead sprint, pushing past the onlookers, and threw our front door wide open.

"Mom! Dad!" I screamed out, dropping my bag in horror.

The living room was completely trashed. Broken pieces of pottery littered the floor, our small wooden cabinet was knocked over, and our old television set was gone. In the corner of the room, my mother was huddled on the floor, weeping uncontrollably into her hands, while my father sat slumped against the wall, holding a fresh, purple bruise forming across his cheek.

"They came back..." my mother sobbed brokenly, her voice barely audible as she looked up at me with eyes hollowed out by pure terror. "They didn't wait until tomorrow night, Autumn. They said we missed an installment. They stripped the house of anything valuable... and when your father tried to plead with them, they beat him again right in front of me..."

Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and blinding. My chest heaved with a mixture of raw grief and blinding, helpless rage. I rushed over to my mother, kneeling on the cold floor and pulling her into a desperate embrace while she shook violently in my arms.

After spending the next hour calming my mother down, giving her some water, and helping her lie down to rest in her room, I picked up the broom and dustpan to clean up the shattered remnants of our home.

The house was dead silent, save for the quiet sound of my sweeping.

As I stared at the empty space where our television used to be, Megan’s words echoed relentlessly inside my head.

“If you really need money that badly... working as a waitress at Velour... 10:00 PM to 2:00 AM... the tips alone are massive.”

I stopped sweeping. I stood alone in the dark, ruined living room, staring down at my hands. My job at Sanvitores Corporation was a blessing, but with the massive scale of my father’s underground debts, a standard janitorial salary wouldn't even scratch the surface before those men came back to tear our lives apart completely.

My pride, my fears, my hesitation—they all evaporated into thin air, burned away by the miserable reality of our survival.

Without giving myself another second to overthink it, I reached into the pocket of my uniform, pulled out the crumpled piece of paper Megan had given me earlier, and took out my phone. My fingers shook slightly as I typed out the digits, staring at the blank message box.

‘Megan, it’s Autumn. Is the job at Velour still open? If it is... I'm taking it. I'll start whenever you want me to.’

I hit send. And with that single click, I willingly stepped deeper into the dark.