Perfect. Just another completely average day in the life of Amara Lyselle: corporate heiress, reluctant protector, and, apparently, now a scapegoat for her parents' weird relationship conspiracy theories. After the breakfast from hell, things were quiet, and the awkward tension sat between us like a third, unwelcome guest.
I stared into my coffee, trying to ignore the fact that my dad kept looking at me like I'd committed a felony. My mom had that face too the one that said, we'll talk about this later but for now, they were just disappointed. Wonderful. Exactly what I needed to start the day.
The system, naturally, decided this was the perfect time to chime in.
[That went well. Just like your last attempt at using chopsticks. Ever thought about adding 'destroyer of peace' to your résumé? It's a real skill.]
I mentally rolled my eyes, stabbing a piece of fruit a little harder than necessary. "Can you shut up for five minutes?" I muttered under my breath.
[Five minutes? That's ambitious. But seriously, it's cute how your parents think you're orchestrating some revenge plot for Eirik. Like you have the time or, let's be honest the energy.]
I bit my tongue. The last thing I needed was to have another out-loud argument with my personal tormentor, especially in front of my parents. I had to hold it together.
After an agonizing eternity of awkwardness, breakfast ended, and we all piled into the car to head to Lyselle Media. I could practically feel the dread building up in my stomach. Another day of pretending I knew what I was doing, another day of filing, and let's not forget, literally everyone at the company waiting for me to screw up.
[Ah, day two at work. Remember, you're not just a corporate heiress today. You're also the proud owner of a small, dingy desk and a mountain of filing work. Really living the dream.]
"More like a nightmare," I muttered. "What's next? Alphabetizing spreadsheets?"
[Hey, with your Strategic Planning Skill (Level 1), you could probably organize those files into a revolutionary system. One that could, like, change the future of filing cabinets forever.]
I wanted to bang my head against the window.
Once we got to the office, I walked in, expecting the usual: people avoiding eye contact, employees whispering behind my back, the whole "is-she-gonna-fail?" vibe. But weirdly enough, a few people actually glanced at me with… neutral expressions? I wouldn't call it trust, but at least it wasn't outright disgust. Small victories.
"Good morning, Miss Lyselle," someone greeted me. The voice belonged to a random employee who I'd probably never spoken to in my life. I nodded awkwardly and continued toward my little corner of shame the desk shoved near the copy room.
The filing cabinet was waiting for me like an old enemy, mocking me with its overstuffed drawers.
[You ready for some exhilarating folder-stacking action? I hear it's great for building character.]
I glared at the cabinet as if it personally offended me. "I swear, if this filing thing lasts more than an hour, I'm setting the place on fire."
[Oh, arson. Nice escalation. Very mature.]
With a deep, angry sigh, I started organizing the files. Again. This was my life now. It felt like some cruel joke the universe plucking me out of my normal life and dropping me into a high-stakes, magical soap opera, only to saddle me with the most boring office job possible.
[You know, if you're going to play secretary, at least embrace it. Maybe get one of those power suits and start demanding coffee from people. Could be fun.]
"I'd rather die than ask anyone for coffee," I muttered as I slammed a drawer shut. The thought of trying to boss people around when I barely knew what I was doing was laughable. I was still the new girl, no matter how much they tried to pretend I was capable.
After about an hour of sorting through endless folders, I was about ready to scream. But then, a thought hit me. I had that Strategic Planning Skill. Could I actually use that to, you know, make this less of a dumpster fire?
[Ooh, are we finally using that shiny new skill? Fancy.]
Ignoring the system's snark, I focused, trying to activate it. Within seconds, a plan unfolded in my mind. I could reorganize these files in a way that would save time, streamline the process, and maybejust maybe get me a tiny bit of respect around here.
I scribbled out a rough idea and immediately felt a little more confident. It wasn't much, but it was a start. If I could pitch this to my parents, maybe they'd stop looking at me like I was some colossal failure waiting to happen.
[Look at you, making moves. You almost seem competent. Almost.]
"Don't get used to it," I muttered.
Just as I finished up the last stack of files, the door to the copy room opened, and my mom poked her head in. "Amara, dear, can you join us in the conference room? We'd like to hear more of your ideas for the future of the company."
I blinked. My ideas? Oh, right. That one time I actually said something halfway intelligent during a meeting. I guess they wanted more.
[You're up. Time to pretend you know what you're doing.]
"Thanks for the pep talk," I grumbled under my breath, grabbing my notebook and heading toward the conference room.
My parents were already seated at the large table, looking all serious and business-like. I, meanwhile, was doing my best to not look like a complete idiot.