Vincent leaned against the reception desk, watching Stephanie closely. Her narrowed eyes stayed on him, suspicion still flickering beneath the surface. He had planted the thought in her mind—she was considering it, even if she wasn't convinced yet.
He just had to push a little further, find the cracks in her defenses.
"Stephanie," he said, lowering his voice slightly to make it more personal. "You're exhausted, up since seven, buried in paperwork, chasing suppliers, handling guests. This place never lets up, does it?"
She let out a slow breath but didn't answer immediately. She kept her attention on the papers in front of her, sorting through them with deliberate movements. But Vincent saw the shift—she was listening.
He stepped forward, resting his hand on the desk like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I'm not just throwing words around. This motel is struggling. Bills keep piling up, guests are disappearing, and the bank is closing in. I'd be just as stressed."
Finally, she met his gaze, one brow lifting slightly. "You know a lot. What are you, a detective or just a damn know-it-all?"
Vincent chuckled, his voice smooth and easygoing. He leaned in slightly—not enough to be intrusive, just enough to hold her focus. "I'm no detective, no genius. I fix things. This place has potential, but I need you to help make it happen."
Stephanie scoffed, but he noticed the hesitation in her expression. The sharpness in her eyes was fading, giving way to something else—uncertainty. She bit her lower lip briefly, a subconscious reaction she probably didn't even realize.
Vincent knew he had her on the hook. Now was the time to shift gears.
"You know," he said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper, "I see you. Pushing through, never backing down, even when everything is falling apart. That kind of grit isn't something you see every day."
Stephanie blinked, caught off guard. She narrowed her eyes again, but this time it wasn't suspicion—it was disbelief. "Don't try sweet-talking me. I ain't got time for bullshit."
Vincent's smile widened just enough to look sincere. He understood how people reacted—confidence and charm always worked. He let his jacket slide slightly off his shoulders, revealing a hint of muscle beneath the fitted shirt.
Not a coincidence. A calculated move.
"Sweet-talk?" he asked, still holding her gaze. "Just facts, Steph. Can I call you that? I want to make this place work, make things easier for you. No more money problems, no more late nights scrambling to keep this place running."
She turned away, pretending to focus on her papers again, but Vincent caught the faint redness creeping into her cheeks.
She was rattled. That was progress.
"Picture it, Steph," he continued, keeping his tone persuasive but relaxed. "A packed motel, steady cash flow, bills paid. No more fights with your husband over money. Maybe you get a coffee, some new clothes, even a damn day off."
Stephanie snorted softly. "What, now you're selling me shoes too?"
Vincent shrugged, his grin widening. "Why not? You deserve better. I can make it happen. You just gotta trust me."
She studied him now, skepticism shifting into contemplation. She was weighing his words, searching for an angle. After a long pause, she leaned back, crossing her arms.
"If I say yes," she said slowly, "what's in it for you? Nobody does this kind of thing for free."
Vincent nodded, respecting her instincts. He had to be honest, at least to a degree. The system forcing him into this situation was something he couldn't explain. But he needed her to believe this was a fair deal.
"I handle the operations," he said plainly. "You keep the title, but I make the calls. I have the right connections to turn this place around. We split the profits, fair and square."
Stephanie tapped her fingers against the desk, thinking. "And if I say no?"
Vincent leaned in slightly, his smirk settling back into place. "Then I'll be back tomorrow, cracking jokes, talking my way through this, until you say yes. I'm patient, Steph. I don't quit."
She rolled her eyes, but the slight smile tugging at her lips told Vincent everything he needed to know.
"You're a real pain in the ass," she muttered.
"Only for people I like," Vincent answered smoothly. He knew the words could be taken in different ways. He didn't mind—it kept her engaged.
Stephanie stayed quiet for a few moments, then sighed. "Fine. I'm not saying yes, but I'm not saying no either. Show me numbers, show me real plans. If it's legit, we'll talk."
Vincent grinned, satisfied. "That's all I need. Tomorrow, I'll bring the details. Maybe even a coffee, so we can talk like civilized people."
She shook her head, but the smile remained. "Don't get cocky."
Vincent nodded and stepped back from the desk. "Tomorrow, Steph. You'll see."
As he walked toward the exit, the system flashed a message.
[Progress Updated: Influence on Stephanie Moore – 60% Complete.]
His thoughts churned. She was close. Hesitant, but she was considering it. He just had to seal the deal.
Vincent woke up to the familiar, grating beep of the system blaring in his head.
His eyes snapped open, his heart pounding as he sat up in the motel's lumpy bed. The damp, musty smell grounded him in reality.
No dream. No escape. Just him, this rundown motel, and the system that had hijacked his life.
The transparent screen flickered in front of him, neon-blue text glowing in the dim morning light seeping through the cracked blinds.
[Daily Task for the Heir:]
[100 push-ups.]
[100 sit-ups.]
[Running 2 km, 10 laps.]
[Time remaining for Daily Task: 20 hours 30 minutes.]
Failure to complete the Daily Task will result in System Penalties: Intensive VR Simulation Protocol Activated.
Vincent groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.
"Every damn morning," he muttered, frustration simmering in his tone.
His muscles still ached from yesterday's workout, but the system didn't care.
Ignoring it wasn't an option. He had learned that the hard way. The moment he resisted, his body stopped listening to him, moving under the system's control like a puppet on strings.
The memory of forced movements, of his body obeying commands he didn't give, sent a fresh wave of revulsion through him.
He hated that.