(BL) A Regretful Revenge

The glass facade of Himora Corporation towered above the city skyline, sleek and untouchable, just like the man who built it.

Micheal Aouken stood at the entrance, dressed in a sharp navy suit, resume folder in hand. His heart pounded, but his face was unreadable. This was the moment he had trained himself for, the beginning of a long-awaited infiltration.

He stepped inside.

The lobby was modern and intimidating. Minimalist design, marble floors, cold lighting. Everything screamed power. A receptionist greeted him with a professional smile, and within minutes, he was escorted to a quiet waiting lounge on the 18th floor.

The interview process was surprisingly swift, not because it was easy, but because Micheal was prepared for everything.

He spoke with confidence, his voice steady, his portfolio impeccable. Years of freelance work, management experience, multilingual communication skills, and a folder full of certifications, all delivered with a natural air of competence.

He didn't oversell. He didn't smile unnecessarily. He let his presence do the work.

And it worked.

By the end of the session, one of the board members nodded and said, "You're sharp. We need someone like you."

Just like that, he was hired.

Position: Floor Supervisor. A role with authority, access, and eyes on almost everything.

It was more than Micheal expected. For someone new to the company, this wasn't a stepping stone, this was a doorway into the lion's den.

--

His first week passed smoothly.

He oversaw daily operations on one of the company's busiest floors, dealing with project managers, client accounts, and reporting directly to senior staff. His work ethic turned heads quickly.

But despite being in the heart of Himora Corporation, he had yet to see Ken Himora in person.

His name echoed in meetings and emails. His influence could be felt in every policy and decision. But the man himself? Elusive. Unseen.

Until that Thursday.

A last-minute business meeting had been rescheduled to a conference room two floors above Micheal's. One of the senior execs invited him to join, it was standard for floor supervisors to observe top-tier discussions occasionally.

Micheal accepted, not expecting anything… until the doors opened.

And he walked in.

Ken Himora.

Tall. Imposing. Crisp black suit, silver tie, hair styled back without a single strand out of place. His face, calm, focused, unreadable. Every step he took seemed to shift the room.

Micheal froze for a breath.

It wasn't admiration. It wasn't attraction.

It was force.

The man had an aura. People leaned away, spoke softer, straightened their backs. Even the room, large and expensive, suddenly felt smaller with him inside.

Micheal sat at the far end of the table, stealing glances while pretending to read the documents in front of him.

..So this is the man who destroyed my father…

But in that moment, revenge wasn't all he felt. There was a strange, low pulse in his chest, not fear, not awe, but something else.

Tension. Anticipation. Excitement.

And for the first time since entering this building, Micheal realized something dangerous:

He wasn't ready for Ken Himora.

Not yet.

But he would be.