Helena Darrow (2)

Olivia stepped forward with the crisp efficiency of someone used to running entire meetings from behind a single tablet. Her charcoal-gray suit was perfectly tailored, every line precise, every fold deliberate. She moved like a blade cutting through air—smooth, purposeful, deadly.

"If you do accept," she began without fanfare, "you'll be attached to Cornelius Holdings' Public Image Division. Reporting only to the Patriarch and myself."

Helena blinked. "So I'd be... a PR officer?"

"A liaison," Olivia corrected, her voice steady but with an edge that suggested she'd had this conversation before—with people who hadn't understood the distinction. "You'd manage community outreach, handle charity partnerships, and act as the social anchor for public rehabilitation cases. It's not just press—it's perception."

Vincent's lips curled slightly. "You'd be our kindness."

Helena wasn't sure how to respond to that. The words felt both flattering and somehow... hollow. Like being told she'd be a beautiful decoration for a weapon.

The tablet slid into her hands with Olivia's characteristic precision. It displayed her proposed contract: neat, clean, formal. Helena's eyes traced the numbers, but her mind wandered.

Initial Salary: 30,000 Rubi/month (≈ ₹3,00,000 / ~$3,450 USD)

Office: Autumnvale Sector 3 -- Cornelius South Wing

Clearance: Tier 1 (Restricted, Non-combat)

 Bonus Allocation: Performance-based; VP-generating initiatives rewarded

She stared at the number for a long second. It was more than her late husband's company had ever paid its regional director. More than she'd ever dreamed of earning.

More than Elijah ever thought I was worth.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and bitter. Helena's fingers tightened slightly on the tablet's edge.

"I..." she hesitated. "This isn't a token amount."

"Because it's not a token role," Vincent said, voice smooth as silk. "We don't hand out titles for optics. We're not the Darrow Group."

Helena's brow twitched—he knows them that well already?

But it was Olivia's reaction that caught her attention. The secretary's fingers paused mid-motion on her own tablet, her dark eyes flicking between Vincent and Helena with something that looked almost like... assessment. Not hostility, exactly. More like a chess player evaluating a new piece on the board.

"Mr. Cornelius has very specific standards for his inner circle," Olivia said, her tone professionally neutral but with an undercurrent Helena couldn't quite identify. "The position requires someone who can handle pressure, maintain discretion, and adapt quickly to... changing circumstances."

There was something in the way she said 'changing circumstances' that made Helena's skin prickle. Like there were layers to this job that hadn't been mentioned yet.

"What kind of changing circumstances?" Helena asked.

Olivia's lips curved in what might have been a smile. "The kind that come with working for someone who tends to... disrupt established patterns."

Vincent leaned back in his chair, seemingly amused by the exchange. "Olivia has been with me for three years. She's seen every kind of crisis this city can throw at a corporation. If she says you're suited for this, it's not a compliment—it's a professional assessment."

"And am I?" Helena asked, looking directly at Olivia. "Suited for this?"

For a moment, Olivia's professional mask slipped. Her eyes sharpened, studying Helena with an intensity that made her feel like she was being dissected. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, more personal.

"You survived fifteen years married to Elijah Darrow. You raised a son while being systematically ignored and undermined. You buried your husband, discovered his betrayals, and didn't break." Olivia's gaze didn't waver. "Most people would have either crumbled or turned bitter. You did neither. That's not luck, Mrs. Darrow. That's steel wrapped in silk."

Helena felt something catch in her throat. No one had ever described her survival in those terms. Not as weakness or victimhood, but as strength.

"However," Olivia continued, her tone sharpening again, "this position will test that steel in ways marriage never did. Corporate warfare isn't personal—it's strategic. People will use your kindness against you. Your son's reputation will be scrutinized. Your past will be weaponized."

Helena's eyes drifted toward the window, processing Olivia's words. Outside, Cornelius staff moved with military precision, dressed in clean grey uniforms that bore subtle copper-threaded crests. The air shimmered faintly near the building's edges—defensive spirit wards, likely top-grade.

This place isn't run on luck, she thought. And neither is Vincent Cornelius.

She thought of Elijah's funeral. The way his business partners had looked at her—not with sympathy, but with calculation. Wondering what she knew, what she might say, how much she might cost them in the long run. The way his second wife had stood across the grave, already wearing the jewelry that had once been Helena's, already moving into the house that had once been Helena's home.

I was erased so efficiently, so thoroughly, that even I started to believe I was nothing.

But sitting here, in this room that hummed with quiet power, holding a contract that offered more than financial security—it offered relevance—Helena felt something she hadn't experienced in years.

Hunger.

Not for revenge, though that was certainly part of it. But for significance. For the chance to be more than just someone's discarded wife, someone's struggling mother.

"I still don't know if I can do the job," she admitted quietly. "I don't have political training. No noble bloodline. No experience with power."

Vincent waved a hand. "Neither did the founder of Coldsteel Media. He was a failed sword cultivator who couldn't swing straight—but he could sell a story better than anyone alive. What matters is how the public sees you. And they already like you."

"Do they?" Helena asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

"You're the widow who never badmouthed her husband publicly, despite having every reason to. You're the mother who works three jobs to keep her son in school. You're the woman who, when faced with a rich brat bullying her child, didn't scream or demand compensation—you stayed graceful." Vincent's eyes were sharp, calculating. "In a world full of grasping social climbers and vindictive nouveau riche, that makes you rare. Valuable."

Helena exhaled slowly. "I never asked for any of this."

"Neither did your son," Vincent said simply. "But here we are."

Olivia watched this exchange with growing fascination. She'd seen Vincent recruit before—always with cold precision, always targeting specific skills or connections. But this felt different. More... personal.

He's not just hiring her for her public image, Olivia realized. He's investing in her. But why?

The question bothered her more than it should have. Vincent's strategies were usually transparent to her—she'd helped craft most of them. But this move felt like something he'd conceived alone, without her input.

Am I missing something? Or is he?

"There's another consideration," Olivia said, drawing both their attention. "Your son. Liam has inherited some... concerning traits from his father."

Helena's expression tightened. "He's becoming more controlling than protective. But he's also seventeen. He doesn't make my decisions."

"Young men who believe they're entitled to control their mothers can be remarkably destructive," Olivia observed. "Especially when they feel their authority is being challenged."

"Are you trying to talk me out of this?" Helena asked.

Olivia's smile was sharp as winter. "I'm trying to make sure you understand what you're walking into. Vincent Cornelius doesn't collect people casually. When he brings someone into his inner circle, it's because he sees long-term value. But that also means long-term commitment. This isn't a job you can quit when things get uncomfortable."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Helena asked quietly.

For a moment, something flickered across Olivia's face—vulnerability, maybe, or old pain quickly suppressed.

"I'm speaking from observation," Olivia replied coolly. "But yes, I understand the... complexities... of being essential to Vincent's plans."

Vincent had remained silent during this exchange, watching both women with the expression of someone enjoying a particularly interesting chess match. When Olivia's words hung in the air, he finally spoke.

"Helena, if you're looking for guarantees or safety, you won't find them here. If you want to remain invisible and unnoticed, this is the wrong choice." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "But if you want to matter—if you want power, not just over your own life but over how others perceive reality itself—then this is exactly where you need to be."

Helena looked at the contract again. The numbers hadn't changed, but somehow they felt different now. Not just a salary, but a price. The cost of transformation.

She thought of Liam, so proud and ungrateful, so convinced he could dictate her choices. She thought of her empty apartment, her thankless jobs, her shrinking world.

She thought of Elijah's funeral, and how small she'd felt standing there while his other life was celebrated and mourned.

Never again.

[System Notification: Favorability Shift --- Helena Darrow → 71 (+3)] [Emotional Threshold Crossed: Ambitious Alliance Triggered] [VP +40 | LP +10] [Liam LP: 780 (-10) | Vincent LP: 240 (+10)]

"I'll..." Helena began, then stopped. She looked at Olivia, whose expression had shifted to something like respect. She looked at Vincent, whose calm confidence seemed to promise that he could deliver on every implied threat and opportunity.

"I'll give you an answer by tomorrow," she said at last, though even as she spoke the words, she knew she'd already decided.

Vincent nodded once, already standing. "You'll find," he said as he escorted her to the door, "that the world respects kindness—only when it's well-dressed, well-paid, and delivered from a place of power."

He paused before the threshold, then looked at her calmly. "But I've always admired those who managed it before all that."

As Helena stepped out into the hallway, the scent of peach blossom still clinging to her senses, she felt something she hadn't experienced in years: the intoxicating weight of being wanted, not just for her beauty or her compliance, but for her potential.

Behind her, she heard Olivia's voice, pitched low but still audible: "She's stronger than she looks."

"I know," came Vincent's reply. "That's why she's perfect."

Helena walked straighter than she had coming in, but her mind was churning. She understood now what Olivia had been trying to tell her. This wasn't just a job offer—it was an invitation into a game she didn't fully understand yet.

But for the first time in years, she wanted to play.

[System Notification: Olivia Silverwood emotional state shifting to: Cautious Interest] [New dynamics detected in Vincent's inner circle] [Potential future complications: 23% probability of romantic tension]