Scratch that! He is definitely crazy

SERAPHINA

The sour face of my department manager greeted me the minute I stepped through the doors.

“What exactly did you tell Mr Blackwell the day he asked for you?”

“Nothing”

“Really? Then why in God’s name is he summoning the whole fucking department to the board room, something about a project proposal that you have for him”

That was today and I was in no way prepared.

Do not get me wrong, I had something to present… a proposal on the way forward but I did not think it was good enough.

I had spent the whole day after dancing for my fucking boss at my other job and having him threaten me to think about something and I had come up short.

It was only last night after having an unreasonable and unhealthy amount of punch drink that I was able to come up with something.

“He wanted a proposal for our department and asked me to get something ready in two days”

“And you did not think to inform me as the department’s manager, Seraphina? You want me looking like a fool, don’t you? Is that your way of revenge for me besting you to become manager?”

I rolled my eyes internally.

Everyone knew Darren was a fool and should not have been made anything but as usual he had gotten the spot because somehow he played golf with the executives on Saturdays and whatever they did in their leisure.

“It totally skipped my mind” I said.

“Of course it did. Let me see it”

He put a hand out and grabbed the file I was holding, his eyes taking each page one after the other.

I could tell he was not impressed because he had his nose turned upwards like he was reading something distasteful.

“This is what you are going to present?!” He snapped at me.

“Yes…”

“Then you are so dead” Darren cut in before I could say anything.

…

As soon as I walked into the boardroom, my knees turned to jelly.

Darren had not exaggerated when he said Tristan summoned everyone to the boardroom. The whole fucking company was there from executive to the cleaners.

I had thought while dressing up for work that if anything went wrong, it would just be between him and I but I was wrong.

Tristan was going to embarrass me in front of everyone!

Our eyes met from across the room and I could swear he was smiling at me.

The fucking devil!

“Let us welcome, Violet” I heard him say.

I froze where I stood. He did not just…

“Errmm, Seraphina, sir” Darren corrected.

“Yes, of course… pardon me. Let us welcome Ms Cross, the woman of the hour”

I heard a round of scattered applause from everyone in the boardroom.

I took a deep breath, cleared my throat and strutted to the front of the room.

“Good morning everyone, I will be presenting a proposal for the improvement of certain areas in the company.” I began, surprised at how clear my voice was.

The massive holographic screen flared to life behind me, casting a pale glow across the room.

“I call it Project Requiem,” I said. “An evolution of our existing sensory simulation line, but designed to move beyond simply replaying emotions or memories. This is about reconstruction. The mind has always been seen as a vault, as closed, linear, dependent on the past. What I am proposing is a system that allows the brain not only to relive what was, but to reshape it.”

A ripple went through the room. I saw a few confused frowns, others leaning forward with interest. Tristan’s gaze never left me.

I tapped the screen and a schematic unfolded.

“Our existing products: Project Siren, Project Mnemosyne, and others focus on playback. A user experiences what has already been recorded, or what has been artificially simulated through AI-driven emotional triggers. But we have hit the ceiling there. The human mind is more than memory, it is imagination, it is regret and it is desire. Requiem would take fragmented data from the user’s neural pathways and rebuild experiences that never existed, but that feel as though they did.”

I paused to let it sink in.

“What we are creating,” I continued, “is not another sensory toy. It is emotional architecture. A system that can synthesize meaning which is something we have only ever been able to mimic.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Darren fidgeting, no doubt praying I would implode. Greta was smirking from her seat in the back, arms crossed. But then I saw a few of the tech analysts whispering to each other, nodding. One of the R&D leads even looked intrigued.

“Technically,” I went on, forcing myself to slow down, “we already have the framework. Our neural capture models can record signals from the hippocampus, the amygdala, and the limbic cortex. Requiem would reverse-engineer that process using an adaptive AI to identify emotional deficits and create closure through simulated experience.”

Tristan leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the table. “Closure,” he said softly.

“Yes.” I met his gaze head-on. “Closure. Grief therapy. Trauma rehabilitation. Even emotional recalibration for patients suffering from depression or PTSD. Our current tech indulges fantasies. Requiem heals the mind that dreams them.”

The silence that followed was thick.

I exhaled slowly, my palms slick with sweat. “We spend billions building devices that entertain the brain. What if we built one that could restore it? The applications are endless from medical to military to private markets. Imagine a soldier being able to process combat memories through controlled simulation. Or a person saying goodbye to someone they lost and never had the chance to. Requiem does not just simulate…it gives meaning to what was lost.”

There it was…My ace.

I looked at Tristan as I said the next part deliberately. “We spend so much time trying to escape reality through illusion. What if the illusion could help us return to it instead?”

He was utterly still…Just those sharp eyes, watching me like he was trying to peel back my skull and read my thoughts.

I finished with a small nod. “That concludes my proposal.”

Silence followed after this and then softly, someone clapped, then another, then a ripple spread through the room. Even Darren, stunned and cornered, hesitated before joining in with a weak clap.

But my eyes were on Tristan.

He did not move or clap. I could not even tell if he was breathing from the look of him.

Then slowly he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“Interesting” He finally said.

“Thank you” I said carefully.

“Though,” he continued, his voice calm, “it is quite ambitious. Neural reconstruction carries dangerous side effects. You would need to rewrite half of our AI protocols.”

“I know,” I said quickly. “But I have already started mapping the neural framework for emotional synthesis. If I had access to the advanced simulation models from the upper division, I could…”

“You have already started?” he cut in.

“Yes.”

He arched a brow. “Without authorization.”

I clenched my jaw. “It was just a personal…”

I stopped talking when I saw his lips twitch.

He was joking.

“The concept is impressive. Risky, but potentially revolutionary.”

My pulse jumped.

“I want a prototype model ready for internal testing in one week,” he added.

Darren’s jaw dropped. “A week, sir?”

“Yes,” Tristan said evenly. “If Ms. Cross believes her idea can redefine what Obsidian stands for, let us see if she can get it done”

I forced myself not to grin.

He looked back at me, eyes glinting. “You did not disappoint, Ms Cross”

There it was,  that dark, teasing edge again, the one that made my skin prickle and my blood hum.

“I did not intend to, Mr. Blackwell,” I said softly.

“Good.” He rose from his seat, gathering the files in front of him. “Meeting adjourned.”

The moment he left, the boardroom erupted into hushed chatter. I felt every eye on me.

Darren stormed over. “You think you are clever, don’t you?” he hissed.

“I do not know what you are talking about” I smiled sweetly at him.

I had barely made it back to my desk when my comm buzzed.

“Hello?”

“Meet Mr Blackwell in his office now”

I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair, and stepped into the elevator. The mirrored doors shut around me, swallowing my reflection.

I tried not to think about how my pulse raced in my throat, or the memory of his eyes during the presentation, cold but also alive in a way I had seen just once… when he looked at me back at the club.

He was waiting inside his office, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, silver watch glinting at his wrist.

“Ms. Cross,” he said without looking up. “Close the door.”

I obeyed.

He finally turned, eyes tracing me with that same unnerving precision that made me forget how to breathe.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked, keeping my voice even.

“Yes.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”

I sat. My knees brushed the underside of the glass table, and I folded my hands tightly in my lap so he would not see how they trembled.

He watched me for a long moment before speaking.

“The proposal was bold. You managed to make a room full of old men look awake for the first time in years.”

It was a compliment… a real one.

“Coming from you,” I said, “I will take that as high praise.”

He inclined his head slightly. “It is.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the faint hum of the city and the low pulse of my heart.

“You should wear your hair down often”

I felt my face heat. “I did not realize how I wear my hair had anything to do with company.”

He smiled at this.

“You are right, it does not. I wanted to talk about your proposal.”

I followed him with my eyes. “Project Requiem?”

He nodded. “It is very promising and I plan to back it up”

That surprised me. “You will support it?”

“Yes.” He looked up, gaze steady. “On one condition.”

There it was…the catch. “And what is that?”

He took a step closer, close enough for the light from the window to catch in his silver eyes.

“You have proven you are not afraid of me,” he said quietly. “You are intelligent, composed, and you understand how this company works better than most of my executives. Which makes you useful…Indispensable, even.”

I swallowed.

I had no idea where he was headed.

“It also makes you very intriguing”

I was not sure whether to thank him or run so I did neither.

“I have a different proposal for you, Ms Cross”

Something in his tone made my skin prickle. “What proposal?” I asked carefully.

“I want you to marry me.”

For a heartbeat, I thought I had misheard him.

“Excuse me?” I managed.

“That is my proposal,” he said evenly. “Marry me, Ms. Cross.”