One of the men, taller, wearing an overpriced designer jacket, leaned in with a sleazy grin. "You don't have to work here, you know. I could get you a real job. Something worthy of someone like you. How about you quit this place and—"
"If I wanted to be insulted," Isis interrupted, flipping a strand of hair over her shoulder, "I'd have stayed in ancient Egypt and let the Romans critique my temples."
The man blinked, unsure whether to laugh or feel offended, but Isis didn't care. She wasn't here to humor them. These fools thought they were offering her treasures, but to a goddess who once owned the Nile, their promises were just noise.
Still, she let them linger. Their desperation was amusing in its own way. And why shouldn't she indulge? If Cleopatra could be remembered for her charm, then Isis deserved her own legacy in this modern era. She would rewrite history—again.
The young goddess moved like she owned not just the room but time itself. Her walk was unhurried, deliberate, as though every step was meant to be admired. She wasn't dressed like the mortals around her in bland uniforms or awkward suits.
No, Isis wore her beauty like an armor, timeless and untouchable.
Her golden skin shimmered under the store's artificial lights, and her dark hair cascaded like rivers of silk, styled in a way that managed to be both modern and eternal. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, roamed the space, taking in the mortals who stopped mid-conversation to stare at her.
Of course they were staring. She was Isis. Worship was her birthright.
She let their gazes wash over her, tilting her head ever so slightly as if granting them permission to marvel. She wasn't arrogant—no, arrogance was for those unsure of their greatness. Isis was simply... aware. She had ruled over empires, commanded the devotion of entire civilizations, and now, here she was, reigning supreme in a realm of glass and aluminum.
It was intoxicating, this power. Even in a world that had forgotten her name, Isis still still commanded attention.
As the men fumbled over who could offer her more, the faint hum of new footsteps caught her attention. Isis's sharp eyes shifted toward the door just as two figures walked in—a woman in a loose floral dress, designer bag slung over her shoulder, and a man trailing slightly behind her, entirely indifferent to the stares they attracted.
Moments ago
****
The sleek black car pulled up outside the Apple Store, its quiet hum barely disrupting the afternoon lull. Its understated luxury didn't scream wealth, but it carried an aura that made heads turn anyway. The driver's side door swung open, and Tessa stepped out with the practiced grace of someone who had long since stopped caring about gawking strangers.
Her floral dress fluttered slightly in the breeze, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement as she circled to open the passenger door. Inside, Parker sat, his attention glued to his phone. He leaned back casually, scrolling through footage with a laser-like focus that made it seem like the rest of the world didn't exist.
Tessa sighed but said nothing, opening his door. Parker stepped out, finally tearing his eyes from his phone, but only to scan the store like it was a checklist he had no patience for.
His tailored jacket fit perfectly, hinting at his wealth without flaunting it. His shoes, though polished to perfection, weren't designer but bespoke—practical luxury. The kind only someone who understood money and power truly chose.
His gaze swept the store, not in awe or curiosity, but as if he were mentally calculating how long he'd have to endure this errand.
Inside, the store was buzzing—customers testing devices, employees eagerly assisting, and at the center of it all, Isis basking in her sea of admirers. She had the entire space orbiting her like a star, her effortless beauty and commanding presence drawing every eye.
She was used to this, of course. It was her birthright, after all.
But Parker's entrance was like a pin to her carefully crafted balloon. His eyes barely lingered on her, sweeping past like she was just another fixture in the room. Not once did he pause to acknowledge her radiance, her divinity.
To him, the goddess might as well have been another mortal in a cheap uniform.
"Tessa," he said abruptly, his voice cutting through the background chatter like a blade, "let's make this quick. I'm already over it."
Isis froze.
Over it?
Something about him made Isis pause. He didn't even glance her way, not even for more than a moment. While the rest of the store was transfixed by her presence, he was glued to his phone, scrolling as though the entire world beyond his screen didn't exist.
Her pride bristled. This mortal had just dismissed the room—her—as if none of it was worth his time. She could feel the weight of her admirers' eyes on her, their silent question echoing in the air: Who does he think he is?
For a goddess used to unwavering adoration, the dismissal hit harder than she cared to admit.
'Who is this mortal,' she thought, narrowing her eyes. 'And why doesn't he see me?'
Her lips tightened into a subtle smile, masking the storm brewing inside her. He'd glanced at her the same way he'd glanced at everyone else. She, who had commanded empires and shaped history.
She, whose very presence was enough to bring mortals to their knees.
And he didn't even blink.
"Oh, we're not done here," Isis murmured to herself, her fingers curling into her palm. The air around her seemed to thrum with an invisible energy, a silent promise that this mortal's indifference wouldn't last long.
Tessa led Parker deeper into the store, oblivious to the tempest brewing in the goddess's mind. The mortal world may have forgotten who Isis was, but she was about to remind it.
And she'd start with him.