Page One of the Lie

"MONSTERS ARE REAL. AND SOMETIMES, THEY LOOK LIKE PEOPLE."

The lady looked up at me, probably because of the very unusual name.

Tell me about it.

Where did I even get the name from?

Lucifer had given me Lilithine, but no last name. So I just made one up.

Now I'm stuck with it.

"And how do you spell that?" she asked.

"Exactly how it's pronounced," I said simply.

I was just buying time. Enough time to think of what to do the moment she realizes my name isn't actually on the list.

What do I do then? Kill her?

Then I'd have to kill everyone else to eliminate witnesses. Then dispose of the bodies. Then clean up. Then kill whoever sees me cleaning up…

And Omari wouldn't like that.

"Uhm, you're sure your application was accepted?" she asked, snapping me out of my trail of intrusive thoughts.

I raised a brow, unsure what to say.

"I mean…" she hesitated, clearly trying not to upset me. "Your name… it's not here."

"And how many names are there?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"Check the screen. How many names do you see?"

"Twenty, ma'am."

I tried not to show my confusion. It shouldn't be twenty.

Omari was supposed to send an email posing as the old man—asking that his application be withdrawn. He should have done that by now.

"Check again," I said firmly. "Refresh the page."

"Ma'am, I already checked—"

"Check. Again."

My tone left no room for further argument.

She turned back to the screen and refreshed the page.

"Now tell me—how many names do you see?"

"Nineteen, ma'am," she said, confusion evident.

Exactly.

"And how many applications were required for the interview? Twenty?" I placed a physical copy of my resume on the desk. "There you have it. I'm the final applicant."

She looked at the file, then back at me.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I still can't let you in. Your name's not on the list."

Ugh. How do I deal with this one?

"Why not? The list isn't full anymore, and I'm here to fill the open slot."

"Yes, but—"

"Let her in," a deep voice cut in beside me.

We both turned.

Carter.

Goddamn.

His silver eyes met mine—sharp and intense—framed by dark, furrowed brows and a wild strand of hair that fell defiantly between them.

They held mine like a vice, and I couldn't look away.

Was this what hypnotism felt like?

The stunned receptionist glanced between the two of us. "Uhm, sir, she's here for the interview, but her name isn't on the list."

He stepped closer. His hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" he said coldly, turning to her, one brow arched.

"O-of course not, sir," she stammered. "I'll let her in right away."

Carter shot me one last glance before turning to leave, a trail of suited men I hadn't noticed earlier moving behind him.

It took me a moment to snap out of my daze, but when I did, the receptionist was no longer behind the desk—she was standing beside me, bowing slightly.

"My greatest apologies, ma'am," she said. "I didn't know you were related to the C.E.O."

I rolled my eyes.

"Please," I muttered. "You should be grateful he came when he did. I was this close to hypnotizing you."

"Huh?" she blinked, confused.

"Lead the way," I said, motioning toward the elevator.

She took one careful glance at me before turning and leading the way.

We entered what I assumed was the public elevator—I had seen Carter take the other. It took us to the first floor.

When we stepped out, I was surprised to see a lot of other applicants already seated.

They must have arrived way before I did. I was certain no one else had walked in while I'd been dealing with the receptionist.

"You may have a seat, ma'am. The interview will begin shortly," she said politely. "Is there anything you need while you wait?"

"Don't worry about it. You may leave," I said plainly.

With one final bow, she entered the elevator and left.

I turned and saw all eyes fixed on me as I made my way to seat number 16 in the waiting area.

I should've been used to the constant stares by now—but somehow, they still thrilled me.

The man in seat 15—some perverted-looking dude Omari had repeatedly encouraged me to kill—followed me with his eyes as I sat down.

"Never seen a hot woman before?" I asked.

"Never this hot," he muttered, clearing his throat.

I rolled my eyes.

"Well stop staring before your eyes melt from the heat," I said.

He immediately looked away.

A door opened and a woman stepped out, calling for the first five applicants to enter.

The interview was being done in groups of five.

Where the hell is the rest of my crew?

"Seems like you might have an advantage in there," the man beside me said.

"And why's that?" I asked, not bothering to hide my irritation at his attempt at small talk.

"Uh, you're related to someone high up, aren't you?"

I raised a brow.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well… the receptionist escorted you here. Even offered to get you something. That's special treatment. The rest of us just got directions."

One by one, the remaining applicants began trickling in.

He was right.

"Oh well," I said, brushing off the conversation.

.

What does it matter if he thinks I've got inside backing?

They might all share the same thoughts, but who fucking cares. Let them wonder.

None of these people are getting this job anyway. Not one.

My eyes drifted toward the tall, dark door—the same one the first five had disappeared into. Curiosity gnawed at me. Impatience clawed just beneath my skin, coiling tighter with every second that passed.

Excitement bubbled inside me as well, hot and electric. And beneath it, a simmering annoyance. Everyone in this room was just taking up space, breathing air they didn't earn.

This position is mine. It wouldn't have been here if it didn't kill that abusive cunt.

I didn't crawl out of the pit just to lose to common people like this. I didn't cry, beg, bleed, and claw my way to the top for nothing.

I killed to be here—and I'll kill again to get exactly what I want.