1.1 Duty Calls

It was a Sunday, late at night, and the world seemed submerged in an ocean of quiet shadows. From her balcony, she observed the halo of moonlight resting on the trees, their dark outlines reaching into the abyss. Cassandra Angel stood there, the cool damp air grazing her skin, her mind a churning sea of unease. The moment shattered when she felt the searing heat of a flame that seemed to materialize from nowhere. The pain was visceral, primal. She screamed, her voice ripped from her throat, only to find herself suddenly awake, drenched in sweat, her body trembling. Naked under the soft weight of her blanket, she stared at the ceiling, her breath shallow and uneven. For the past year, the nightmare had visited her unbidden, a specter she could neither banish nor understand. It was not fear she felt, but something deeper, a sense of condemnation that she carried like a stone in her chest.

Her waking life was a stark contrast. By day, she was a typist at Sutherland Properties, a real estate company helmed by an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland. The pair were a study in contrasts. Mr. Sutherland, genteel and soft-spoken, was overshadowed by his wife, Clara, whose sharp business acumen and practical nature guided their success. Clara was unassuming in appearance, her freckled face framed by brown hair streaked with gray, always tied in a no-nonsense bun. Yet there was a quiet strength about her, a gravity that commanded respect. Cassandra admired her for her lack of pretense, a quality that felt rare in a world so often consumed by vanity. When Clara passed away suddenly in her sleep, it was as if the light had gone out in the Sutherland empire. Cassandra mourned deeply, her grief tinged with guilt and a gnawing sense of purposelessness. Clara had been her anchor, her guide in a world that often felt adrift.

The company's fortunes shifted after Clara's death. Mr. Sutherland, stricken by grief, suffered a debilitating stroke that left him partially paralyzed. The employees whispered about his son, Ray Sutherland, a man they knew only through rumor. He was a prodigy, a NASA scientist reputed to have started his career at sixteen. The idea of someone so brilliant stepping into the world of real estate seemed absurd to them, and Cassandra could not help but share their skepticism. What could a man of science bring to the pragmatic, grounded world of construction and property?

Cassandra's nights were restless, filled with dreams she could not escape, but she forced herself to rise before dawn. Her position at Sutherland Properties was not glamorous, nor did it fulfill her, but it was hers, and she clung to it with a desperation born of necessity. That morning, as sunlight crept reluctantly into the sky, she cursed herself for oversleeping. The new boss's first day demanded punctuality, yet here she was, scrambling into her clothes and rushing to the office.

She had pieced together an image of Ray Sutherland from scattered anecdotes: a reclusive genius with a preference for solitude, likely awkward and unkempt, perhaps with thick glasses and a distracted air. She imagined him in knitted sweaters and flannel pants, his mind perpetually elsewhere. Her mental picture shattered the moment she flung open the office door and found herself staring into the piercing blue eyes of a man who looked as though he had stepped out of an ancient myth. Tall, broad-shouldered, and golden-haired, he radiated an energy that was both commanding and magnetic. Cassandra's heart stuttered, her breath caught between admiration and disbelief.

"You're late, Miss Cassandra Angel," he said, his voice low and precise, his gaze flicking briefly to the ID badge hanging around her neck. He turned back to the gathered staff, his tone shifting seamlessly as he resumed his speech. Cassandra's cheeks burned, though whether from the exertion of running up eight flights of stairs or the weight of his attention, she could not say.

Ray spoke with the measured confidence of a man accustomed to being listened to. "I'm not a construction person," he began, "but I have built things in my life—things that most of you will never see, classified as they are. However, what I can tell you is this: under my leadership, we will innovate. We will redefine what this company stands for. We will not be known for cutting corners or being merely economical. We will be known for excellence. I am a perfectionist, and I expect nothing less from all of you."

The room seemed to hang on his words, the weight of his presence silencing even the most skeptical murmurs. Cassandra found herself unable to tear her eyes away. This was a man unlike any she had ever encountered, a man who seemed to embody the ideals of precision and authority. As the speech ended, a smattering of applause rippled through the room, hesitant at first but gaining strength. Cassandra's lips parted as she whispered a single word, almost involuntarily: "Perfect."

Ray turned to address the throng of employees who flocked to him, their questions and admiration spilling over like a tidal wave. Cassandra hung back, feeling out of place and yet unable to leave. When the crowd finally began to disperse, Ray's gaze landed on her again. "Miss Angel," he said, his tone as commanding as ever, "meet me in my office immediately."

A collective hush fell over the room as heads turned to follow his directive. Cassandra felt the weight of their stares, her cheeks flushing anew. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her toward his office with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. Whatever awaited her behind those doors, she knew instinctively that her life was about to change in ways she could not yet comprehend.