002: A Man In The Office.

It was 9 PM when Emerson decided to make his way to the office. A late night, but there was no way around it: files to sign, emails to respond to, tasks piling up like an uninvited guest.

The streets were quiet, the city's usual hum reduced to a distant murmur. His mind, however, was loud. A sex bot. Delivered to his office. What the hell is going on?

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as his eyes caught the billboard overhead. An ad for a luxury watch company, featuring a man with blonde hair, a sharp jawline, and an intense gaze—one that could freeze water with a glance. The man in the picture was... him. Kent.

Emerson’s stomach tightened as he clenched his teeth. 'My brother. Kent West. The one who’d disappeared six years ago. The one who walked away after that night. The night everything changed. The night Kent chose her, her over family. Over everything that had been. The night their bond, their partnership, crumbled.'

Emerson could still feel the sting, the hollow ache of betrayal. Kent had been his best friend, his only true ally in the world. Then came her. A woman. And just like that, Kent was gone. Gone, and the business, the family, his father’s entire world... it shifted, all for her.

“I never understood it. I never could.“

That was when Kent left. And when he did, Emerson swore off any connection to his past. To relationships. To anything that could pull him in again. He'd rather swear off humanity entirely than face another betrayal. No more women. No more people.

That was how Emerson became Emerson Emerson. No more a West. Just... Emerson. Detached. Isolated. His empire built on the ruins of his former self.

Kent had risen, become a symbol of success. Now his face plastered on billboards like the one above. The man Emerson used to know was now an image, a success story everyone admired, except Emerson.

He couldn’t help but wonder why did it still hurt?

Emerson pulled into the parking lot of his office building, shoving his thoughts aside. Work came first. The pain could wait.

The elevator dinged as he stepped inside. When the doors opened to the top floor, he saw Raven by the front door, papers in hand. His expression was equal parts mischievous and sarcastic.

“What are you doing here?” Emerson asked, irritation coloring his voice. “The office’s closed.”

Raven shrugged with that grin that always managed to annoy Emerson. “You know I can’t leave without making sure you're alive, especially after the crazy shit I told you earlier.”

Emerson rolled his eyes, his patience thinning. “Raven, I came here for files, not a therapy session.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Raven said, tossing him a stack of papers. “Here's that file you’ve been dodging for months. Also, I brought you some holy water. You know, just in case you need to get ‘blessed’ before your meeting tomorrow. Might help with your attitude.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Emerson muttered, shoving the papers into his briefcase. “Can you go now?”

Raven raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sure, sure. Call me if you need anything, alright? Mom's going to be pissed if I don’t show up after sneaking back into the city today.”

Emerson gave a half-hearted wave as Raven disappeared, the echo of his footsteps fading. He let out a breath, stepping into his office. Silence.

It was dim, as usual. The only light came from the small lamp in the corner. It felt like home, in a way. The quiet, the emptiness. Sometimes, it was the only place he could drown out his thoughts.

He walked past his desk, towards the window. The city was lightened up beneath him. But as he approached, he froze.

What the hell...?

'Fucking, oh my god!'

There, standing at the window, was a man. A stranger. But somehow, not a stranger. The way he stood, unmoving, his back to Emerson, was sorting of familiar. Too... much like his own very self.

Slowly, he flicked the light switch. The room flooded with light.

The man didn’t move still.

His back still turned to Emerson, arms casually tucked into his pockets as if the world outside was his to command. The familiarity of the pose made Emerson’s heart tingle. This was standing in his exact pose.

“You,” Emerson took a few steps forward. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Still, the man didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Emerson’s frustration mounted. “I’m talking to you!”

Nothing.

“I’m gonna ask again. What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Still, no response.

Emerson’s patience snapped. He took a step closer. “You need a punch or something?”

Without warning, he threw a quick jab. His fist connected with the man’s jaw. But as soon as his hand made contact, Emerson froze.

The skin beneath his hand was unnaturally smooth—like porcelain. No blemishes, no imperfections. Like a fucking baby's butt. The man didn’t even budge. Just stood there, eyes closed. As if completely unfazed by the punch.

“What the hell...?” Emerson muttered under his breath, bewildered. He stepped back. 'Who the hell is this guy?'

Emerson didn’t know what was worse: the man’s complete stillness or the fact that Emerson's anger had no effect on him. Was this some rich kid who thought he could waltz into his office and ignore him like this?

Before he could react further, papers slipped from the stranger’s shirt. Fluttering to the floor. Emerson’s eyes locked on the man’s slightly unbuttoned shirt. His smooth white skin was peeking out. 'Bloody gay seductor!'

Emerson slapped him across the face. Hard.

Again, the man didn’t react.

Emerson’s breath hitched in frustration. “Do you hear me?” he demanded. “Do you know who I am?”

Nothing. Silence.

Emerson could feel something was off. This wasn’t just some random intruder. Maybe he had a motif acting like fucking Tommy Shelby. And Emerson was going to get answers.

“Motherfucker…”