A knock pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Come in."
Alfred stepped inside, wearing a crisp charcoal suit that fit him far better. His posture was straighter these days.
"Staff onboarding is progressing," he said as he approached the desk. "Accounting is fully operational. The legal division framework is ready, we just need your approval on the final structure."
"Good," I replied, gesturing to the chair in front of me. "Sit."
He did, placing a leather folder on my desk and sliding several reports toward me.
"We've finalised jurisdictional coverage, drafted internal compliance protocols, and initiated talks with two external firms for partnership contracts," he continued. "At this stage, we should keep the legal department flexible."
"Agreed," I said, scanning the summaries far faster than he could track. "Ark doesn't limit itself."
He smiled faintly. "You chose a fitting name."
We moved on to financials. That was where the real issue lay.
"Our primary revenue stream," Alfred began carefully, "remains your activity in the stock market."
"Which is precisely the problem," I said.
He leaned back slightly. "It is… highly profitable."
"It's unstable," I corrected. "And suspicious if it continues at this rate. Ark cannot rely on me treating the market like a personal playground."
He didn't argue. He rarely did without reason.
"We need grounded income," I continued. "Something scalable, something expandable."
Alfred tapped a finger lightly against the armrest. "You mentioned earlier the idea of opening a typography business."
"I did."
He exhaled slowly. "With all respect, that sector is competitive and margin sensitive. It would require significant operational effort before turning profitable."
I smiled slightly. "Only if we run it traditionally."
That caught his attention. "You have something in mind."
"Several things. If executed properly, revenue won't grow linearly."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Exponentially?"
"Exactly."
Alfred studied me for a moment. "And you intend to remain anonymous in this venture?"
We had already discussed it, my unwillingness to become the public face of anything. No interviews, no features, no flashy 'young prodigy CEO' headlines.
"Yes," I said calmly. "I stay behind the curtain."
"Good," he replied without hesitation. "Then, instead of building from scratch, we can acquire a small typography firm near bankruptcy. Restructuring would be faster than constructing an entirely new operation."
I considered it for less than a second. "Agreed. Find candidates. Preferably one's bleeding but not yet dead."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll ensure the company is distressed, not deceased."
"Appreciated."
We shifted to additional revenue streams.
"There is another possibility," I said. "A software development branch."
"For what industry?"
"Engineering, infrastructure modelling, industrial design, simulation systems."
Alfred's brows rose. "That is… specialised."
"I'm aware."
I didn't elaborate on how instant mastery made programming languages feel like children's puzzles, or how knowledge from a previous life's university education allowed me to conceptualise systems several generations ahead of what currently dominated the market.
"I can design programs that outperform existing platforms in efficiency and predictive modelling,"
"I'm not looking to build a massive development studio," I added. "I need a compact, highly competent software department, people who can maintain the core systems, patch vulnerabilities, implement upgrades, and adapt features as the market evolves."
I leaned back slightly. "And engineering software subscriptions are expensive as hell."
"That they are," Alfred admitted dryly. "Subscriptions would provide stable cash flow."
"And prestige," I added.
He gave me a long look. "Sometimes I forget you're seventeen."
I smiled slightly at that.
Then, we went over projected costs, staffing requirements, potential acquisition targets, and phased implementation timelines.
Eventually, the major points were settled.
"I'll be away for a couple of weeks," I said as I closed the final folder.
"Out of town?"
"Yes. I'll work a few hours each day remotely. If something critical happens, I can return in under a couple of hours."
He didn't ask how. He had learned not to.
"And if it's not critical?"
"Handle it."
A faint breath of amusement escaped him. "Of course."
"I'll prepare acquisition lists and preliminary development outlines for the software branch," he added.
With that, the conversation reached its natural end. Alfred gave a small nod, then stood. He turned toward the door and began walking in measured, unhurried steps, already shifting back into the rhythm of daily operations.
"Alfred."
I called out to him suddenly.
He paused at the door. "Yes?"
"You did well these past two weeks."
He looked genuinely surprised. "Thank you."
"Safe travels," Alfred added after a brief pause, his tone returning to its usual composed calm.
"I'll be fine."
He gave a slight nod, then stepped out. The door closed behind him.
____________________
After finishing the last of my work, I shut down the monitors and let the office fall into a comfortable silence. The city skyline beyond the glass walls shimmered in the late afternoon light, all steel and ambition. For a brief moment, I simply stood there, hands in my pockets, listening to the faint hum of the building. Ark was moving forward faster than I had expected. Faster than most companies ever dared to.
I crossed the room to the hanger and slipped into my blazer, adjusting the cuffs. I picked up my briefcase, mentally reviewing its content: laptop, encrypted drive, a few physical documents, and other essentials I would need to work remotely.
When I stepped out of my office, the secretary looked up immediately. She had dark hair that framed her face neatly, sharp eyes, and the kind of beauty that drew attention without effort.
"Leaving already, Mr Ashborn?" she asked, her tone professional but her gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary.
"For now," I replied.
She offered a polite goodbye, though there was something unmistakably warmer beneath it, a subtle, lingering look that was anything but corporate. I understood the logic behind it. Young, reasonably handsome, financially successful, and apparently competent. On paper, I was a promising investment.
Unfortunately for her, all she received in return was a courteous smile. "Thank you. Have a good evening."
That was as far as it would ever go.
Ever since I had transmigrated, I'd noticed something peculiar. There was no impulsive rush in me to chase women, no reckless desire to indulge simply because I could. At one point, I had even wondered, half seriously, whether something was wrong with me. Some issue with potency, perhaps. A supernatural side effect no one had bothered to warn me about.
But no. The desire was there.
It was just… selective.
I didn't want just any girl. I wanted a partner, someone steady. Someone I could rely on emotionally. Someone I could speak honestly with, even if not entirely honestly. Because the first rule of reincarnation still applied: you never tell anyone that you were reborn into a world that used to be fiction in your previous life. Some secrets are not meant to be shared. Some truths are too heavy for anyone else to carry.
I suspected it was my beast side influencing me more than I cared to admit.
Lions, by nature, favour harems.
Thankfully, that instinct was balanced by the other half of me, the eagle.
It was as if the eagle and the lion had begun a formal dispute inside my head.
If I was denied quantity, the lion inside me did not accept it in silence.
"What do you mean no pride?" the lion's voice rumbled in the back of my mind. "That is not how this works."
The eagle responded, cool and cutting. "One is enough."
"Enough?" the lion scoffed. "A king can't just have one"
The eagle said calmly. "One well-chosen is worth more than a thousand."
There was a long, reluctant pause. I could almost feel the lion pacing in irritation before finally stopping.
"Fine," it conceded at last. "If there is no quantity… then I demand quality."
"Not just anyone. A queen!" he declared, chest puffed and pride unmistakable even in thought.
The image of such a conversation unfolding entirely in my own mind.
By the time I reached the underground parking lot, my internal debate had settled into quiet clarity. The lights cast long reflections over polished concrete. Parked near the elevator was my recently purchased Audi sedan. I had no interest in hiring a driver. Control was a habit I wasn't willing to surrender.
I unlocked the car, opened the driver's door, and placed my briefcase on the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. The engine purred to life with restrained confidence. I eased the vehicle out of the parking space and guided it slowly toward the exit ramp.
Instead of heading toward the flat I had rented near the office, I drove in the opposite direction, toward the house I had rented after moving from the motel. It was farther from the city, quieter.
Which was precisely the point.
For what I was planning next,
[Hello everyone! I know some of you might be running low on patience waiting to see Alice and Samael interact. We're almost done building his background story. I wanted him to create something himself, using his gifts, before moving to Forks. So, there will be just one more chapter before Forks. What do you think so far?]