Aphrodite
Chapter 1

Rachel jolted upright, her heart racing as the alarm blared. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead as she struggled to catch her breath. It was another one of those strange dreams - a vision of a menacing beast chasing her. But this time, she was trapped in a tight dress and a constricting corset that hindered her escape. In the dream, the beast had arrived with an army, and they had launched a brutal attack on the castle walls. Amid the unfolding chaos, Rachel scrambled up the stairs, her dress tangling at her legs, hindering her escape. Meanwhile, men adorned in kilts swiftly drew their weapons, prepared for battle. The air was filled with the echoes of explosions and the metallic ring of swords meeting in combat.

Rachel endeavoured to grasp the fleeting fragments of her dream before they dissipated. She yearned to decode its mystery, to uncover the reason it haunted her nights. The struggle to recall the dream’s final moments was intense — the moment she had taken that daring leap from the castle’s ancient walls to the jagged cliffs awaiting below.

Finally silencing the blaring alarm clock, Rachel welcomed the room’s sudden silence. She inhaled deeply, attempting to dispel the dread lingering from her dream. Aware of the demanding day ahead, she resolved not to let the nightmare cloud her focus at work.

She tossed aside the blanket and prepared for another long day at work. “Shit, that felt so real,” she muttered. For the third time this week, disturbing dreams had caused her to oversleep.

“Of all days to be late,” she grumbled as she made her way to the bathroom.

Her hands trembled as she attempted to apply her eyeliner, prompting her to take a deep breath in an effort to soothe her frazzled nerves. She swept blush across her cheeks, her pallid complexion betraying the sleepless nights and absence of sunlight. Her lips, naturally vivid, appeared as though she had already applied lipstick. Tying her red hair into a messy bun, her phone chimed—a message from her manager. She was late, sparking his concern. The presentation, the crucial pitch, was scheduled first thing that morning.

Swiftly donning a white collared shirt and grey skirt, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Her gaze wandered to the small landscape painting she’d created, inspired by a particularly vivid dream. It depicted a group on horseback traversing lush, green hills, their faces obscured, black cloaks draping them, hoods drawn over their heads, with the hilts of swords just visible. She longed for the day her art could sustain her, freeing her from the corporate grind. Shaking off the thought, she dashed to the kitchen, snatched an apple, gathered her essentials, and sped out the door.

****

Seated at her desk, she attacked the keyboard with intensity, still rattled from the morning’s events. The train’s delay, exacerbated by the oppressive heat, had not only left her with embarrassing sweat marks but also made her late for the crucial client pitch. Despite her efforts to compose herself, her confidence wavered under the weight of her tardiness. The client, though understanding and accepting her apologies with a nod of grace, couldn’t completely ease her discomfort. And Lindon’s disapproving expression had spoken volumes.

The incessant murmur of her colleagues’ conversations and the assistant’s constant phone chatter wore on her already frayed nerves. Glancing out the window, she noticed that it was a beautiful day outside. From her vantage point on the skyscraper’s lower floors, the city view was impressive. Nestled in a posh city district, their boutique marketing firm boasted an address where the rents soared as high as the buildings themselves.

Rachel lifted her eyes from the confines of her gray cubicle just as a man and woman from a different division briskly walked by the meeting rooms. Both were dressed in sharply tailored suits that defined professional elegance, with the woman’s hair styled with precision. The man’s clean-shaven face was youthful, but the occasional silver strands in his hair subtly revealed his true age.

As they neared, his gaze dropped to Rachel. At first, she didn’t give him much thought. However, the moment he blinked, she was startled by his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of green. Her surprise made her jolt, knocking her glass of water off the desk. Hastily, she spun her chair around and bent down to pick it up.

Pausing at her desk, he offered, “Do you need a hand?”

Rachel held back a sharp reply, managing to say, “No, no. It’s just water.” She gently placed the glass back on the desk, relieved it was intact. As she reached for a tissue, she glanced up at him again, only to notice his eyes had shifted to a warn shade of brown.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said as he extended his hand. “I’m Gabriel. I joined a few weeks ago.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she replied, shaking his hand. “I’m Rach—”

But before she could finish, a familiar voice interrupted from behind, Lindon. “Rachel, can we talk?” Gabriel flashed a quick smile and moved down the hallway with his colleague. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“No, it’s fine. I just managed to spill water everywhere,” she replied, dabbing at her grey skirt with tissues in a vain attempt to conceal the water marks.

Lindon grabbed a chair from an empty cubicle and took a seat next to her, his presence marked by the sharp scent of cheap cologne. His hair was slicked back in the style reminiscent of a stereotypical car salesman, and he invariably wore a suit paired with a tie that hung too loose. His nasal voice had a way of grating on her nerves every time he spoke. Around the office, he was known for frequently pulling out a worn handkerchief from his pocket, probably due to his persistent sinus issues.

“I wanted to talk about this morning,” he said.

“I’m sorry I was late. You know how the trains are sometimes.”

“I know Rachel.” Lindon squeezed the space between his thumb and forefinger, a gesture he often made when engaging in difficult conversations. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay?”

“Do we need to go into an office, Lindon? I’d prefer not to discuss the pitch at my desk.”

“No, I... um, to be direct, the client didn’t really warm up to your pitch. They found your ideas somewhat bland. Could you maybe draft up something different?”

“Bland?” she said, replaceing it ironic coming from someone whose entire persona was unremarkable. “I think that’s a bit of an overstatement, don’t you? Yesterday, when I showed it to you, you said it was fantastic.”

“I understand that, but ultimately the client has the final say. Could you put together an alternative proposal by Monday?”

She pressed her fingers to her temples. “You want me to work on the weekend again?” she asked, feeling a tinge of frustration. She couldn’t afford to put in extra hours, not with her art exhibition coming up on Sunday night.

“It’s part of the job. When the client isn’t satisfied, we have to go the extra mile for the company. I’ll review it on Sunday night and we’ll pitch again on Monday. You can count on me, Rachel.”

“I’m not sure I understand. I already ran it by you. Maybe we should bring in someone else for a fresh perspective.”

Concealing her frustration proved challenging. Lindon wasn’t known for leading by example, and his perpetual dissatisfaction stemmed from a fundamental misunderstanding of the job. It wasn’t the first occasion where he had initially lauded a pitch, only to discard it following the client’s preference for an alternative direction.

“Is something wrong, Rachel? You’ve been coming in late. You look tired. Are you not up for it?”

His expression made it clear that “no” was not an acceptable answer. He wouldn’t bring in anyone else because he was assessing her performance. He had been keeping tabs on her arrival times, and despite the fact that she had worked late nights at the office, that didn’t seem to matter.

“It’s better to take the time and get it right. To ensure that it’s exactly what they’re looking for,” she explained, hoping to make him understand her perspective. “It would have been more helpful if I had the chance to consult with the client directly. I don’t understand why you insist on creating a distance between us and the client. Working on a new pitch all weekend is pointless if I don’t have a clear understanding of their desired angle.”

“Rachel, this is marketing. There are competitors to contend with, and if you can’t meet the deadlines, perhaps this isn’t the place for you.” The condescending look on his face made her want to lash out, but she kept her feelings bottled up and clenched her jaw instead.

Rachel’s frustration surged at his dismissive attitude, recognising his attempt to sideline anyone on the team who dared to voice an opinion or stray from his directives. Aware of the cutthroat nature of their industry, she was determined not to become another victim whose work he claimed as his own, as he had done with others.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you want to keep this job, you need to be fully committed,” he replied. “Do you believe that you’ve been fully committed?”

“Of course I have.”

“But have you? Beth mentioned you were approaching art galleries about getting your paintings out there.”

Lindon’s unexpected comment threw Rachel off balance, her irritation escalating as he ventured into the territory of her personal life. She fortified her resolve, prepared to hold firm against his unreasonable intrusion.

“So what?” she snapped. “I do that in my own time. That doesn’t affect my work.”

Lindon’s frown deepened. “But it does. You need to decide what’s more important to you. Job security and stability, or a hobby that may or may not make you any money.”

She forced herself to smile. “I hear what you’re saying, Lindon. I’ll come up with some new ideas over the weekend. Is there anything else?”

He grinned, slapping his thighs in a gesture of finality.

“That’s good to hear. There’s so much opportunity for you here if you commit yourself to the company and your work. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll be promoted to my role.” He stood and reached for his handkerchief.

“Thanks, Lindon,” she replied as she tensed her hand.

The hollowness of his words left a sour taste in her mouth. It was clear to her that his aim was to coax more work out of her through manipulation. Watching him walk away, a sense of entrapment washed over her. Despite the need to pay her bills and the decent salary the job offered, she knew her passion and self-respect were on the line. Silently, she pledged to begin searching for an escape from this toxic work environment.

Rachel was stunned to learn that Beth, her dearest friend, had disclosed her art project to Lindon. Despite working in different departments, Beth often became too open after indulging in a few drinks. The realisation that her personal pursuits were now fodder for workplace manipulation left Rachel feeling betrayed.

****

While her coworkers headed out for their usual Friday get-together, Rachel decided to stick around, putting in extra hours at her desk. She carefully turned down any offers to join, aiming to catch Lindon’s eye with her hard work as he left the building. Rachel was set on proving her deep dedication to her role.

Once the office had cleared out, Rachel gathered her laptop and headed home. She continued to work on the train, donning her headphones to drown out the surrounding clamor. However, her commute was interrupted by another peculiar incident—a stranger’s gaze met hers, their eyes glowing an eerie orange. Despite the unsettling feeling it provoked, Rachel chalked it up to her sleep deprivation.

Rachel pressed on with her work from her apartment until Beth showed up. Committed as she was to her job, she had made a promise to celebrate Beth’s birthday with drinks. Having spent the last few weekends buried in work, Rachel felt a strong sense of obligation to fulfill her promise. Yet, she counted on Beth to keep their outing discreet. The client’s needs were her top priority, and she was keen to avoid any perception that might question her dedication.

Beth paced around Rachel’s bedroom. “Are you ready yet? Your makeup looks great as it is. No one will notice if your eyeliner isn’t perfect. Mine never is, and it’s fine.”

Rachel let out a small sigh. “Can I ask you for a favour?”

Beth sat down on the edge of Rachel’s bed and looked up at her. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Could you please not discuss my art with anyone at work?”

“Why not? You’re an amazing artist.”

Rachel continued to curl her hair around the iron, “I just want to keep my work and personal life separate.”

“Did something happen?”

“I got you that job downstairs at reception because you asked for my help. I love working with you, but not everyone in the office is on our side. I just want to make sure things stay professional at work. And, if it’s okay with you, I’d rather keep our plans for tonight between us.”

“Are you talking about Lindon?” Beth asked, a hint of disgust in her voice. “He’s a slimy piece of garbage, isn’t he? No one wants to work for him. Apparently, a few of his team members have left due to burnout.”

“I think I’m next on his hit list. Nothing is ever good enough. He’s asked me to work on a new proposal all weekend, and I’m still worried about going out.”

Beth didn’t seem to fully comprehend the pressure Rachel was under, brushing it off as just another difficult manager. “You can say no to him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Rachel sighed, frustrated that her friend couldn’t understand her predicament. “I don’t want to say no,” she explained. “I don’t want to have to choose between my passion for art and my income.”

“I’m sorry, Rach,” Beth said apologetically. “I won’t mention anything to Lindon. But let’s focus on more important things for tonight. I want to replace my Mr. Mysterious.”

“He’s not going to be there, Beth,” Rachel chuckled as she continued to curl her hair, the scent of burning hair filling the room.

“If you take any longer, he definitely won’t be there,” Beth retorted, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

“You know, if you hadn’t shown up an hour early, you wouldn’t have had to wait. Maybe next time, we should just meet at the venue.”

“But I love having a pre-drink before we head out. It helps me loosen up.” Beth grabbed the half-empty wine glass from the nightstand. “And by the way, your bed is so comfortable.”

“Please don’t spill anything on it,” Rachel replied with a playful warning.

As soon as Rachel set down the curling iron, Beth grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her over to the cupboard mirror. With an excited smile, she admired her friend’s wavy curls, biting her bottom lip in approval. Rachel’s hair style perfectly complemented the smoky makeup.

Glancing over at Beth, Rachel couldn’t help but smirk. Her friend was posing playfully in front of the mirror, looking stunning as usual. With mesmerising blue eyes and long blonde hair, Beth had always been the envy of Rachel, who struggled with frizz most mornings.

Ready to get the night started, Rachel picked up her bag and turned to Beth. “I’ve heard rumours that the mafia runs this place. Is that why you’re so keen on going? Looking for another bad boy?” Rachel teased. “The last time you went for the bad boy at school, you got in trouble for stealing booze from the bottle shop and drink driving.”

Beth laughed, winking mischievously. “You know me, rules are made to be broken.” She grabbed a set of keys and shoved them into Rachel’s hand, pulling her towards the front door. “Besides, we need to replace you a man. You can’t be single forever.”

****

Arriving at the club late into the warm summer night, the air around them was heavy with lingering heat and humidity. This club boasted a modern Japanese aesthetic, characterised by its minimalist elegance, predominantly featuring black hues accented with bold reds. The dim lighting and unwelcoming atmosphere made it difficult to see other patrons, who mostly kept to themselves.

Beth and Rachel perched at a high table by the bar, nursing their initial cocktails. Beth peered into the dimness, on the lookout for Mr. Mysterious, while Rachel discerned only vague outlines of others. Stirring her drink, Rachel sighed. Despite Beth’s company, a sense of solitude lingered. The pursuit thrilled Beth, yet Rachel felt detached and uninterested.

“Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the moment?” Rachel suggested.

Beth let out a huff. “It’s not fair.”

“You played hard to get, and look where it got you.” The comment came out more sharply than intended. Beth had fixated on having the man pursue her, yet she never secured his number. “I know it’s your birthday and your call, but this place unnerves me. Why insist on coming here? It’s lifeless and in a sketchy part of town.”

Beth paused to sip her cocktail. “Because we met Mr. Mysterious here, and I need to get his number.”

“Right.” Rachel looked down into her half-consumed drink. “Can we go after this drink? There are some great clubs on the other side of town. I’ll get us a taxi and we can dance the night away.”

“We can’t abandon the mission now. You’re supposed to be my wing-woman!”

“We’re not giving up on anything. There are plenty of single guys at other places. This spot is dead, and by this time, everywhere else in the city is bustling. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Rachel’s eyes drifted across the room and settled on a figure, freezing her in place. She found herself unable to look away, captivated by a hypnotic quality that seemed to emanate from the person.

“Rachel,” Beth’s voice cut in, her hand shaking Rachel’s shoulder to snap her out of her trance. “What are you staring at?”

“Who is that?”

“Why? Are you going to go over and ask for his number?”

Rachel’s gaze clung to the figure, drawn by an irresistible force. His look held a magnetic pull, casting a spell that made it difficult to look away from his captivating eyes.

The trance was shattered when a bartender approached, setting a drink on their table. Rachel, puzzled, glanced up at him, certain she hadn’t ordered anything. “Compliments of the gentleman,” the bartender indicated, nodding towards the man with the glowing eyes.

Rachel was torn between curiosity and caution but chose to politely refuse. “Please tell him thanks, but no,” she told the bartender, sliding the drink back.

Beth observed with interest. “You’re really going to turn him down? At least go say hi.”

Rachel, firm in her stance, responded, “I’m not up for it,” aware of her workload and her current disinterest in romantic entanglements. She pushed the drink away again, but the bartender remained insistent.

“He’s not someone whose offer you can easily decline. This is his establishment,” the bartender cautioned, his voice carrying an ominous undertone.

Leaving the luminous green drink on the table, Rachel regarded it with suspicion, as if it might be laced with something sinister. When her gaze returned to the enigmatic man, she found his eyes still locked on hers, seemingly attempting to delve deep into her very soul.

“Can we just go?”

“If it’s spiked, I’ve got your back.” Beth seized the glass, sampling it. “Wow, that’s... unique.” Her expression twisted.

With Beth having taken the plunge, Rachel found it difficult to resist the temptation. Under different, more sober circumstances, she might have hesitated. Her heart pounding, Rachel cautiously sipped the beverage, bracing for any ill effect. To her surprise, it was delicious—a blend of sweet and tart, with a subtle kick of alcohol.

Beth laughed. “I told you not to be such a scaredy-cat.”

Rachel took another sip, feeling a strange warmth spread through her body. It was as if the drink was affecting her. She looked back at the mysterious man, and this time, he gave her a small nod of approval, as if he was pleased that she had finally tasted the drink.

Setting the drink aside, Rachel diverted her attention from the man, scanning for an exit. Turning back to Beth, she was startled by her friend’s shocked expression. “What?”

“Your eyes... they’re purple now, your irises. How did that happen?”

“What?” Rachel felt an inexplicable urge to move closer to the man with the glowing presence. However, an inner voice urged caution, whispering mistrust about this stranger. Suddenly, a moment of clarity cut through her confusion, snapping her back to reality. She tore her gaze away and rose to her feet. “I need to leave.”

"Mr. Mysterious isn’t even here yet, and you’ve caught someone’s eye for the first time in forever!” Beth clung to her wrist, dismissing her attempts to pull away.

“Beth, I’m too worn out for this. Why don’t you stay and keep the strange guy who sent the green drink company?” With that, she freed herself from Beth’s hold.

“Look, Rach, it’s my birthday. If you’re really not into it here, then fine, we can leave.”

“I just have a weird vibe about that guy. You head out the front, and I’ll catch up with you there.”

“Why? Where are you going?” Beth asked, puzzled.

“I’m going to head out the back.”

“Is that a good idea?” Beth sounded concerned.

“I don’t want him watching me leave. I have a bad feeling about this, okay? I’ll meet you out front.”

“Okay.”

Rachel moved toward the back exit, but a curious feeling made her glance back to see if the man was still focused on her. Surprisingly, his eyes were still emitting that strange glow. With that, she quickly turned and exited the club, intent on putting as much space between them as possible.