Charm and Persuasion: Vincent's First Move

Vincent leaned against the reception desk, watching Stephanie carefully. Her narrowed gaze stayed on him, suspicion still flickering in her eyes. He had planted the thought in her mind—she was considering it, even if she wasn't convinced yet.

He just needed to push further, find the cracks in her defenses.

"Stephanie," he said, lowering his voice slightly, making it personal. "You're exhausted—up since seven, buried in paperwork, chasing down suppliers, handling guests. This place never lets up, does it?"

She let out a slow breath but didn't answer immediately. She pretended to focus on her documents, sorting papers with deliberate movements. But Vincent saw the shift—she was listening.

He stepped forward, resting a hand on the desk like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I'm not just throwing words around. This motel's struggling—bills piling up, guests disappearing, the bank closing in. I'd be just as stressed."

Finally, she met his gaze, one brow lifting. "You know a lot. What are you, a fuckin' detective? Or just a know-it-all?"

Vincent chuckled, his voice smooth and relaxed. He leaned in slightly—not enough to intimidate, but just enough to hold her focus. "I'm no detective, no genius. I just fix things. This place has potential, but I need you to help make it happen."

Stephanie scoffed, but he caught the hesitation in her expression. The sharpness in her eyes was fading, replaced by something else—uncertainty. She bit her lower lip briefly, a subconscious action she probably didn't even realize she was doing.

Vincent knew he had her on the hook. Now was the time to shift gears.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I see you. Pushing through, never backing down, even when everything's crumbling. That kind of grit—you don't see it every day."

Stephanie blinked, clearly caught off guard. She narrowed her eyes again but not in suspicion—more in disbelief. "Don't try sweet-talking me. I ain't got time for bullshit."

Vincent's smile widened just enough to look sincere. He knew his strengths—people responded to confidence, to charm, and he had both. He let his jacket slide slightly off his shoulders, revealing a hint of the toned muscle beneath his fitted shirt.

Not a coincidence. A calculated move.

"Sweet-talk?" he asked, still holding eye contact. "Just facts, Steph—can I call you that? I wanna make this place work, make things easier for you. No more money worries, no more late nights crunching numbers."

She turned away, pretending to focus on the papers again, but Vincent saw the faint redness creeping into her cheeks.

He had unsettled her, and that was progress. 'She's rattled. Good.'

"Picture it, Steph," he continued, tone persuasive but casual. "Motel packed, cash flowing, bills paid. No more arguing with your husband over money. Maybe you get a coffee, new clothes, a damn day off."

Stephanie snorted softly. "What, now you're selling me fuckin' shoes?"

Vincent shrugged, his grin widening. "Why not? You deserve better. I can make it happen. Just gotta trust me."

She studied him now, the skepticism replaced with contemplation. He could tell she was weighing his words, searching for an angle. After a long pause, she leaned back, arms crossed.

"If I say yes," she said slowly, "what's in it for you? Nobody does this shit for free."

Vincent nodded, respecting her intuition. He had to be honest—at least to a point. The system forcing him into this situation was something he couldn't explain. But he needed her to believe this was a fair deal.

"I handle the operations," he said plainly. "You keep the title, but I make the calls. I've got the connections to turn this place around. We split the profits—fair and square."

Stephanie tapped her fingers against the desk, thinking. "And if I say no?"

Vincent leaned in slightly, his smirk settling back into place. "I'll be back tomorrow—cracking jokes, talking my way through this—until you say yes. I'm patient, Steph. I don't quit."

She rolled her eyes, but the small smile tugging at her lips told Vincent everything he needed to know.

"You're a real pain in the ass, aren't you?" she muttered.

"Only for people I like," Vincent answered smoothly. He knew the line could be interpreted in different ways. He didn't mind that—it worked to keep her engaged.

Stephanie stayed quiet for a few moments, then sighed. "Fine. Not saying yes, but I'm not saying no. Show me numbers, plans. If it's legit, we'll talk."

Vincent grinned, genuinely satisfied now. "That's all I need. Tomorrow, I'll bring the goods. Maybe even a coffee—so we can talk like civilized people."

She shook her head, but the smile didn't fade. "Don't get cocky."

Vincent nodded and stepped back from the desk. "Tomorrow, Steph. You'll see."

As he walked toward the exit, the system flashed another message.

[Progress Updated: Influence on Stephanie Moore – 60% Complete.]

Vincent exhaled, running a hand over his face as frustration settled deep in his chest. "Damn system—always breathing down my neck."

His thoughts churned. 'She's close. Hesitant, but I've got her. Just gotta seal this shit.'

***

Vincent woke up to the familiar, grating BEEP BEEP of the system blaring in his head.

His eyes snapped open, his heart pounding as he jolted upright in the motel's lumpy bed. The damp, musty smell of the room grounded him in reality.

No dream, no escape. Just him, this rundown motel, and the system that had hijacked his life.

The transparent screen flickered in front of him, its neon-blue text glowing in the dim morning light seeping through the cracked blinds.

[Daily Task for the Heir:]

[100 push-ups.]

[100 sit-ups.]

[Running 2 km, 10 laps.]

[Time remaining for Daily Task: 20 hours 30 minutes.]

[Failure to complete the Daily Task will result in system penalties.]

Vincent groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.

"Every damn morning," he growled, frustration simmering in his tone.

His muscles still ached from yesterday's workout, but the system didn't care.

Ignoring it wasn't an option. He'd learned that the hard way. The moment he resisted, his body stopped listening to him, moving under the system's control like a puppet on strings.

He hated that.