LANCEL GROUP.

****My car rolled to a slow stop in front of the towering glass building, and for a full minute, I couldn’t move. I just sat there, staring through the window, my breath fogging up the glass.

“The Lancel Group”.

I’d seen photos of the company headquarters online — the shining symbol of power, wealth, and success — but pictures did it no justice. The real thing was breathtaking. The entire structure rose like a monument of glass and steel, its mirrored windows reflecting the morning sun so brilliantly it almost hurt to look at. The gold-engraved company logo glimmered proudly above the revolving doors, bold and elegant:

“LANCEL GROUP INTERNATIONAL”.

My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my bag. “Here goes nothing,” I whispered to myself.

The morning breeze caught my hair, carrying the faint scent of fresh coffee and city air. Businessmen and women hurried past me in crisp suits, their heels clicking sharply on the marble pavement. Everything here screamed importance — and for the first time, I felt like I didn’t belong.

But I’d worked for this. I’d earned this.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened my blouse and walked toward the entrance. Right there, I saw the guy from last night… “ Hey, are you stalking me “? I asked, looking pissed.

“Calm your nerves ma'am, I wasn't following you at all, what are you doing here”? He asked.

“It's none of your business, I snapped at him” . I just hope I haven't gotten into trouble with this my sister's idea, I murmured.

He walked inside leaving me behind to wallow in my thoughts.

The moment I stepped inside, my jaw nearly dropped.

The lobby was enormous — easily larger than the entire building where I used to work. The floors were polished marble, veined in gold and ivory, gleaming like liquid light. Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals scattering rainbows across the space. The air was cool and faintly scented with vanilla and cedarwood, as if even the atmosphere was curated for luxury.

At the far end, a sculpted fountain glittered — a graceful marble woman holding a glass globe that poured water endlessly into a silver basin. Behind her, the grand staircase spiraled upward in smooth arcs, leading to floors that disappeared into the gleaming heights above.

Employees moved with purpose, confident and polished. Everyone looked like they belonged to a different world — perfectly tailored, effortlessly composed, speaking in quiet tones as they tapped on sleek tablets or sipped designer coffee.

I must’ve looked lost because the receptionist, a young woman with a professional smile and an earpiece, gestured me forward.

“Good morning, miss. Welcome to Lancel Group. You must be one of the new hires?”

“Yes,” I managed, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt. “Vera Collins.”

She typed something quickly into her computer. “Of course. You’re in the Administrative Division, correct?”

I nodded.

“Wonderful. Your orientation will begin in the executive conference hall, fifteenth floor. Take the first elevator to your right.” She handed me an access badge with my name printed neatly on it.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling faintly.

As I stepped toward the elevator, I caught my reflection in one of the glass panels — nervous eyes, trembling hands, and a heart that still carried last night’s confusion. I took another deep breath. Focus, Vera. This is your fresh start.

The elevator ride felt endless. My pulse quickened with each ding of passing floors. Fifteenth. Finally.

When the doors slid open, my astonishment returned.

The fifteenth floor looked like something out of a luxury magazine — wide hallways, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the city skyline, and offices made entirely of glass. Sunlight spilled in, casting golden light over the polished wood and pristine white furniture.

I walked slowly, absorbing every detail. Each department was labeled in shining gold letters — Finance, Legal, Marketing, Human Resources. Every turn whispered professionalism, wealth, and something else: power.

It was intimidating and exhilarating all at once.

At the far end of the corridor, a large door stood open, revealing the conference hall where other new employees had already gathered. I slipped in quietly, taking a seat near the back.

Everyone was chatting softly, exchanging polite smiles and introductions. I tried to focus, but my thoughts kept wandering. Who was that man from last night? The one I’d mistaken for a gigolo. His voice, his presence — the way he’d looked at me.

I shook the thought away. Not now, Vera. Not here.

The sound of heels clicking against marble made everyone turn.

A woman in her forties, poised and elegant, entered the room. “Good morning, everyone,” she began, her tone firm but kind. “Welcome to Lancel Group International. You are among the select few chosen out of thousands of applicants. Be proud of yourselves.”

A ripple of murmurs followed — excitement, pride, disbelief. I sat a little straighter, trying to take it all in.

“Before you’re assigned to your departments,” the woman continued, “you will meet the company’s CEO for a brief introduction. He’s a busy man, but he insists on welcoming every new intake personally.”

The room buzzed with whispers. The CEO of Lancel Group was something of a legend — powerful, brilliant, mysterious. Few people had ever met him up close.

I smiled faintly. Well, this should be interesting.

The woman continued, “Please remain seated. Mr. Lancel will be here shortly.”

Mr. Lancel. The name sent an odd shiver down my spine. I’d heard it countless times in the media — the young CEO who transformed the company into an empire, the man everyone in the industry admired or feared.

Moments later, the door at the far end opened again.

The room fell silent.

I turned — and my breath caught.

The man who walked in exuded quiet authority. He wasn’t just handsome; he was the kind of man who made the air shift when he entered a room. His dark suit fit perfectly, his presence calm but commanding. His gaze swept over the crowd briefly, polite yet sharp.

And then — his eyes met mine.

The world stopped.

My heart slammed against my ribs. The room blurred around us.

That face. Those eyes. That voice echoing faintly in my memory.

It was him.

The man from Room 503 at Modella Hotel!

The man I’d called a gigolo!

The CEO of Lancel Group!

Lance Lancelot!!!!

I screamed in my mind.