"Ugh, why am I even here? This isn’t even a public event like last time," MJ Clarkson grumbled, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"Just gotta suck it up, man. Hang in there," Jake said softly beside him, sounding like he was running on fumes himself.

MJ glanced over and sighed. Jake had dark circles under his eyes that almost resembled bruises. The guy looked like he hadn’t slept in days, yet he still found it in him to comfort others. He slapped Jake’s back a little harder than a ’light pat.’

This guy was too damn kind for his own good. He thought, slightly shaking his head.

They walked in silence until the hallway opened into the massive, rounded assembly hall. The doors slid open with a hiss, and an icy blast of air-conditioning greeted them, waking them up.

Inside, the conference room gleamed with rows of holographic displays flashing [Welcome to the Finals], bathing the entire hall in shades of blue.

It had been a while since this place had been used. But no matter how many times MJ came here, the panoramic view always made him pause and take in the view.

The central stage stood like an island under the spotlight, the podium front and center, and the curved rows of seats rising around it—every one of them reserved for board members and the higher-ups.

He and Jake were seated in a special section, not too far from the big names but still distant enough to be reminded of their place. From here, MJ could see everything—every whisper, every stolen glance.

A few people still shuffled in and out, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floors. Some of the key seats remained empty, but no one dared call them late. Still, the air was tightening, pressure mounting as the time approached.

The mid-level employees were the first to crack, exchanging uneasy glances and whispering under their breath. The senior staff, scattered in their own groups, looked calm—but MJ could read their body language like a book. They were all watching, calculating, waiting to see which side they would want to stand on.

And the longer they waited, the heavier the tension felt. What made this place feel even more suffocating was the absolute absence of windows inside. It created a tense and palpable atmosphere.

Then, as if on cue, all eyes turned in the same direction.

Every eye in the room had locked onto a single figure—Neville Hope.

The young man sat quietly among the finalists, a calm storm at the center of the room. Despite being the epicenter of attention, his back remained straight, calm, relaxed, and unbothered. His hands folded neatly atop his desk. His eyes were concentrated on what was written on his light brain.

To anyone who didn’t know better, he appeared to be just another nervous rookie employee about to present to the board.

But MJ knew better.

In his years at the Maxwell Corporation, he had seen plenty of talented individuals, prodigies even, come and go. All of them were ambitious, sharp, and burning too bright.

Yet none of them were like Neville Hope.

Being the only orphan hired this year—in the Maxwell Corporation, of all places—was practically a miracle.

Or a warning.

People like that didn’t go unnoticed. They attracted attention, and attention was a double-edged sword. Not only entertainment industries have fans and haters; this drama was everywhere.

His job today was simple: document everything, keep the PR team happy, and, if all hell broke loose—spin it into something that wouldn’t get them trending for the wrong reasons.

Ethan Goelet, newly transferred to the Logistics Department, entered the room with confident strides and that signature dazzling smile. His presence alone seemed to ease some of the tension in the air—shoulders relaxed, whispers softened.

But MJ noticed what others didn’t—the way Ethan’s gaze lingered a beat too long on Neville before moving on.

So they do know each other, he thought. They were hired around the same time, weren’t they?

Some would think such a coincidence would bring them closer. But apparently—not.

"Whoa—" MJ nearly dropped his separate digital note-taking device when someone suddenly loomed beside him. He quickly minimized his digital notes—no need for anyone to misinterpret his harmless observations.

"Chief?"

Head of the PR Department, Jean McCartney, slid into the empty seat next to him like she owned it. She didn’t waste time with greetings, just tapped his note-taking device until his notes popped back up.

She skimmed through his notes, arched a brow, and said, "Well done."

MJ blinked. Compliments weren’t her thing.

Before he could react, Jake—ever the polite one—asked from his other side, "What are you doing over here, Chief McCartney?"

"Nothing much," she said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders, comfortably settling into the chair. "I just don’t want to sit there."

MJ smirked.

"You mean you can’t gossip all you want over there?" MJ corrected, grinning cheekily at his superior.

Chief McCartney shot him a sharp look before letting out a rough chuckle. Then, she quickly rubbed MJ’s head, deliberately messing up his hairstyle. "You know far too much, Clarkson. Get back to work."

MJ didn’t even bother fixing his hair. He just fixed his collar, grinned, and gave a mock salute. "Yes, ma’am. On it."

It didn’t take long for him to understand exactly why his boss didn’t want to stay among the board members.

The arrival of the remaining executives was what truly set the stage.

The Chief Technology Officer, Director Elias Cox, entered first. Every step was measured, every look was deliberate. His presence carried the weight of someone who spent decades in business—seasoned, stern, and unreadable. Today, though, there was a calm yet calculating look in his eyes.

Trailing just behind him was his son-in-law, the Chief Operating Officer, Director John Hannel. The two walked side by side, their solidarity so obvious it may as well have been an advertisement.

Both of them sat almost directly across from where Neville Hope was, and it was obvious that they were looking at him unkindly.

MJ frowned slightly. What’s going on with them?

Whatever it was, it confirmed one thing—Neville Hope wasn’t just some lucky orphan or charity hire.

MJ thought that was the end of it—but then he walked in.

Mick Hewitt, the second young master of HW Corporation, swaggered through the doors like it was a runway, all in his usual ridiculous fancy clothes filled with self-satisfaction. His gaze landed directly on Neville Hope, lips curling into a smug smile.

MJ couldn’t help but shudder when he saw that expression. Whatever was going on between Neville and these high-rollers, it clearly wasn’t simple.

Ethan Goelet showed little to no regard for Neville Hope, but still had his eyes lingering on him from time to time.

Director Cox and Director Hannel treated him like a problem and didn’t seem to welcome his presence.

But Mick Hewitt? He was... different.

From the moment he sat down, Mick Hewitt’s attention never strayed far. His eyes tracked Neville’s every movement, full of bold, obvious intent. He didn’t even bother suppressing his pheromones.

MJ glanced at the man hovering behind Mick Hewitt—Killian Sergie, Mick’s alpha assistant. He had a weird look on his face. His expression scrunched ever so slightly whenever Mick Hewitt’s eyes landed on Neville Hope.

They were both alphas, so why did he seem... jealous?

More executives began filing in, each carrying the weight of their departments like battle flags.

Director Luther Anderson from Strategic Planning—firmly in Director Cox’s camp.

Deputy Director Park Min-Hae from Innovation—neutral but would clearly lean towards whoever would benefit her department most.

Chief Financial Officer, Director Jaden Williams—a wild card who cared only about the numbers.

Not long after, the seniors from the Secretarial Department poured in. The moment Senior Secretary Sarah Gringer entered, she immediately went to Neville Hope. She leaned down and whispered a few things to him. MJ caught the faint crease of worry between her brows.

Neville responded with a calm pat on her shoulder—gentle and reassuring—like it was her that needed comfort and not him.

Department Head Iris Ackley stopped by next, exchanged a few quiet words, then took her seat.

"He’s really popular, huh?" Chief McCartney commented, her eyes tracking the interactions.

MJ nodded in agreement, lips twitching. "Yeah. Some people shake hands. Meanwhile, he just needs to sit there, and people will line up."

Unlike Ethan Goelet, who had to make rounds to greet the people that he knew, Neville didn’t even move an inch, and yet every member of his department came to him first.

"That level of charisma is unbelievable," MJ continued, leaning back slightly.

That kind of presence wasn’t something you learned. It was instinct.

Maybe that was the real reason Neville Hope and Ethan Goelet couldn’t get along.

After all, there was a saying that: there couldn’t be two tigers in one mountain.

Then, CEO Grayson Maxwell entered the venue.

He walked in, and instinctively, everyone rose. Everyone felt that they were compelled to rise as a silent acknowledgment of his presence.

His black hair was perfectly styled; his suit emphasized his powerful frame and temperament—sharp, restrained, never gaudy.

He didn’t need to flaunt dominance; he was dominance.

As chairman of the board, his seat awaited him at the heart of the executives’ circle.

Silver eyes swept over the room—calm, cold, and assessing. And when he passed by MJ, a chill ran down his spine before he could stop it. The temperature hadn’t dropped, but it felt like it had.

"Let’s begin," Grayson said, low, crisp, and sharp.

Several holographic screens flickered to life around the hall, neatly distributing themselves among the attendees. Each person connected their light brain to quickly manage several individual functions.

At the podium stood Chief Secretary Bryan Stewart, poised and composed, stepping into the role of MC for today’s event.

"I, Bryan Stewart, welcome you all to the finals of the competition."

A polite wave of applause followed. Once it settled, he continued smoothly, "We will now begin the presentations, starting from the tenth-place finalist."

The first presenter—a female beta from the Logistics Department—stepped forward, hands trembling. Her voice wavered as she introduced her project on supply chain optimization.

The executives listened with polite smiles and empty eyes. They offered a few feedback that were more condescending than helpful.

She quickly bowed and retreated.

She was about to burst into tears when Ethan Goelet came over and whispered a few reassuring words to her. Soon, relief was written all over her face.

And so it went—one presenter after another. Each faced their share of scrutiny, though nothing overtly hostile.

Still, everyone in the room could feel it—the weight in the air, the careful silence, the waiting.

The calm before the storm.

The moment Ethan Goelet rose for the second-place presentation, the atmosphere visibly changed.