Bane of the Elite

Chapter 4

The screen of my cheap phone remained starkly, painfully black. I stared at it as it rested on the edge of my narrow mattress, waiting for a ping that never came. Megan hadn't replied to my message. After turning it over in my hands a few more times, the bitter truth settled in—she was probably already deep into her night shift at the bar, where cell phones were strictly forbidden on the floor. Realizing there was no use waiting up, I let out a soft, defeated sigh, tidied my tiny room, and forced my exhausted body to lie down and sleep.

​The next morning, the grand, imposing glass doors of Sanvitores Corporation loomed over me as I clocked in right before six. While organizing my cleaning cart near the ground-floor utility closet, a familiar voice called out my name across the polished marble floor.

​"Autumn!"

​I turned around to see Megan jogging slightly to catch up, her cheeks lightly flushed from the morning rush. She stopped right in front of me, her expression instantly twisting into one of genuine remorse.

​"Oh gosh, Autumn, I am so, so sorry I didn't reply to your text last night!" Megan blurted out, her hands clasped together apologetically. "As soon as I got to the bar, it was absolute chaos. The manager threw a massive inventory list at me, and my phone was locked away in my locker the whole time. I completely bombed on keeping in touch!"

​I offered a small, understanding smile and shook my head, adjusting the straps of my uniform. "It's totally fine, Megan, really. I figured you were just caught up working your shift at the bar, so please don't stress yourself over it."

​Megan let out an audible sigh of relief, her signature bright smile returning as she glanced around to make sure no supervisors were lurking nearby. She stepped a little closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Good, because if you're still down for it... tonight is the night. I'm heading straight over to Velour right after our shift ends here, and I can take you directly to the manager so you can apply. Are you good with that?"

​My heart gave a sharp, nervous flutter, the terrifying memory of the thugs and our ruined living room flashing vividly behind my eyes. But the burning desperation to save my family from financial ruin completely outweighed my fear. I swallowed hard and nodded firmly. "Yeah. I'm ready. Let's do it."

​After our brief exchange, we parted ways to begin our morning rounds. I pushed my heavy cleaning cart toward my assigned corridors, my hands working automatically while my mind drifted far away. As I mopped the gleaming tiles of the third-floor hallway, a sudden wave of melancholy swept over me. Today was Tuesday. If life had gone the way it was supposed to, I would be sitting inside a crowded university lecture hall right now, frantically taking notes, worrying about upcoming exams and project deadlines instead of gripping a mop handle. A heavy, hollow ache bloomed in my chest—a sharp, painful reminder of all the dreams I had to quietly bury to keep my family afloat.

​By mid-afternoon, after finishing the lower-level tasks, it was time to handle the top-floor executive suite.

​I rode the private elevator up, stepped out onto the quiet, exclusive floor, and walked down the plush hallway toward Dark Sanvitores's private office. Knowing the CEO usually spent his afternoons away from his desk, and remembering that I was allowed to clean the office when it was completely unoccupied or when specifically instructed, I assumed the coast was clear.

​I gently turned the brass handle and pushed the heavy mahogany door open.

​"Oh—"

​The words choked right in my throat. The room was far from empty.

​Instead of an unoccupied office, a thick haze of expensive cigar smoke and deep, booming laughter filled the air. Dark Sanvitores wasn't alone; sitting casually across his massive leather couches were a group of his friends—all men who abruptly stopped talking the second the door creaked open.

​Panic instantly consumed me. Before I could even process what was happening, I instinctively ducked my head low, mumbled a hasty apology to the floor, and pulled the door shut.

​As the heavy door clicked back into place, a sudden, loud wolf-whistle echoed from inside the room, followed by a chorus of rich, mocking laughter that made my cheeks burn with humiliating heat.

​Mortified, I turned on my heel and practically fled down the hallway, taking the service elevator straight down. I bypassed my usual routines and headed straight for the janitor's locker room—a cramped, windowless sanctuary tucked away in the basement level, smelling faintly of bleach and floor wax. It was the one place where I could hide from the judgmental eyes of the corporate world, especially since I had already finished cleaning the rest of my required floors anyway, and break time was just around the corner.

​A few minutes later, the door swung open and Megan walked in, dropping her supplies into her locker with a loud, theatrical groan.

​"Ugh, my lower back feels like it's about to snap in half," Megan complained, rubbing her aching shoulders as she collapsed onto the plastic bench beside me. "If I have to polish one more glass panel today, I swear I'm going to scream. How's your day treating you, other than dealing with the ghost town up top?"

​I let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh, resting my elbows on my knees. "Oh, you have no idea. I literally just humiliated myself upstairs. I thought the CEO's office was empty, so I opened the door to clean it, only to find him hanging out with a bunch of his high-society friends. I felt like a complete idiot."

​Megan snorted, shaking her head sympathetically. "Oof. Walking in on the inner circle? That's a death sentence for your nerves. Well, at least you survived. Just keep your head down until 5:00 PM, and remember—tonight at 10:00 PM, we head downtown to Velour. Don't back out on me."

​"I won't," I murmured, staring down at my worn-out sneakers.

​After break time ended, I returned to my duties, frequently checking my watch. I waited for a call or a message from the CEO's office instructing me that it was safe to come up and clean, but the hours ticked by with absolute silence. Because I couldn't afford to log overtime—having intentionally chosen a rigid 6:00 AM to 5:00 PM schedule to maximize my daily pay rate—every minute counted toward my family's survival.

​By 4:45 PM, with still no word from upstairs, anxiety clawed at my throat. If I didn't clean his office right now, I wouldn't make my 5:00 PM out-time, messing up my hours and forcing me to leave the job half-done.

​Taking a deep, shaky breath, I rode the elevator back up to the top floor, walked down the silent corridor, and gave a tentative, soft knock on the massive double doors before pushing them open.

​To my absolute horror, the office was still occupied.

​The heavy laughter instantly died down. All eyes in the room snapped toward the doorway, landing heavily on me. The same group of men from earlier were still lounging around the seating area, staring with cool, curious expressions. My face burned so intensely I thought I might faint, but I forced my trembling feet to cross the threshold, needing to speak up before my shift expired.

​"I... I'm sorry to disturb you again," I whispered, keeping my eyes glued to the floor as my hands clenched tightly into fists at my sides, my fingernails biting into my palms from sheer embarrassment. "I just... I need to ask if I can clean the office now. It's already 4:45 PM, and I have to clock out before 5:00. I can't do overtime."

​At the sound of my voice, Dark Sanvitores, who was sitting behind his grand desk, froze. His thick eyebrows knitted together into a dark, murderous frown, the muscles of his jaw ticking furiously as his obsidian eyes locked onto me.

​"Why are you here?" Dark demanded, his voice cutting across the room like ice, dripping with sharp irritation. "Nobody called you."

​My palms grew slick with sweat, the public humiliation making me want to swallow the floorboards. I instinctively squeezed my hands into tighter fists, my nails digging deeper into my skin. "I know, sir, but it's 4:45. I really need to finish my work so I can leave before five—"

​"I told you, you weren't summoned," Dark interrupted, his voice rising in dangerous volume, his patience snapping completely.

​Before I could shrink back, one of the men seated on the leather sofa chimed in. He had messy, curly brown hair that framed a relaxed, approachable face, and warm, light brown eyes that crinkled at the corners, giving him a mischievous yet unmistakably kind appearance. He flashed an easygoing, amused grin, leaning back against the cushions.

​"Aw, come on, man, cut her some slack," the curly-haired man chuckled lightly, looking over at me with friendly eyes. "She's just trying to do her job. Hey, what's your name, little cleaner?"

​I blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness, and answered politely, keeping my voice soft and respectful. "It's Autumn, sir."

​Before I could even offer a polite nod, another man sitting right beside him shifted. He had pin-straight, sleek dark hair, sharp, aristocratic facial features, and intense brown eyes that carried a restless, predatory gleam. He looked the exact opposite—slick, charismatic, and radiating a distinctly playboy aura.

​The straight-haired man leaned forward, his brown eyes sweeping over me with an appraising, overly bold look that made my skin crawl. He let out a low whistle, grinning slyly. "You know, Autumn, with a face like that, you really don't belong scrubbing floors and pushing a cart. You're way too gorgeous for this job. Forget being a janitress—you could easily work as my personal secretary. What do you say?"

​An awkward, suffocating silence fell over the room. My breath caught, my cheeks flushing a deep, burning crimson as I didn't know whether to look away or apologize. I opened my mouth, a stuttered refusal ready on my lips, when a sudden, violent sound shattered the air.

​Bang.

​Dark Sanvitores slammed both palms flat against his mahogany desk, standing up so abruptly his leather chair screeched loudly against the polished floor. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, his chest heaving as his dark glare swept past his friends and landed with lethal intensity straight on me.

​"Get out," Dark roared, his voice echoing off the glass walls with terrifying authority. He pointed a rigid finger toward the double doors, his eyes flashing with a dark, incomprehensible rage. "I said, get out of my sight right now. I'll clean this damn office myself."

​My eyes widened in sheer shock, my heart dropping straight to my stomach. I opened my mouth to protest—to argue that it was my job, that I needed the hours—but the terrifying look on his face froze the words in my throat.

​"Whoa, easy there, man," the curly-haired man muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender.

​Panic-stricken and trembling from head to toe, I didn't wait another second. I grabbed my cleaning cart, spun around, and practically tripped over my own feet as I bolted out of the private office.

​Just as the heavy doors slammed shut behind me, sealing me out in the hallway, I could still hear the faint sound of the men's laughter echoing from within, cut sharply by Dark's low, irritated voice shouting over them.

​And right before I hurried around the corner to catch the elevator, the very last words I heard slip through the closing crack of the door made my breath hitch completely:

​"She's off-limits."