ChaosReader

I snuck a look at him. The TV demon was still talking animatedly into his phone—perfect smile, smooth cadence, graceful hand motions.

Except the static in the air felt heavier. Denser. Irritated.

If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I would’ve missed the tells.

His fingers tapped the desk too sharply.

The corners of his smile twitched.

Every screen in the room flickered a fraction darker.

Something was off.

Our gazes met. Red eyes rimmed with blue static. My heart stuttered. I looked away. The tension coiled tighter around my ribs.

Shockwave swam in tight circles, mirroring my nerves. I tried to breathe. Tried not to spiral. Tried not to think: I’m so screwed.

When Vox finally cleared his throat, the sound cracked through the room like lightning.

“Sir?” I straightened automatically.

His smile was too controlled. “Y’know,” he began lightly, “I’ve been thinking.”

My stomach twisted. Vox thinking was dangerous. People got rewarded… or destroyed.

“You call yourself my assistant,” he continued, lounging back. “But you haven’t been very invested lately.”

“I—have I done something wrong?”

“You didn’t,” he snapped—too harsh. He inhaled sharply, like the breath hurt. “You didn’t. You’re good. You’re…” His smile twitched, glitch-lines crawling across it. He reset instantly. “—Great.”

Then he smiled wider.

“You’re fired, sweetheart.”

He said it with a little laugh. Like he was joking. But I knew he wasn’t. If anything, I was the joke. He said it like we were nothing. Like, I didn’t mean anything to him.

The floor dropped out from under me. My chest hollowed. The buzz of the monitors suddenly became deafening.

He looked away—too fast. Like watching me break was unbearable. Or maybe that was just my stupid, desperate imagination.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

I don’t remember standing. I don’t remember walking. One blink and I was outside his office, the door shutting behind me like a final verdict.

I speed-walk over to my office. A glorified closet, honestly. I only dealt with it because the job paid well and Vox was… Vox. My hands shake as I bring out a box. I’m fucking fired.

My hands move on their own. They shred papers and taxes. They sweep everything that’s mine into the box and everything Vox gave me into the trash can. The digital drawing tablet? Trash. The super cool watch? Trash. The signed picture of him that was supposed to be a gag gift? Trash.

The only thing I kept was the jacket he gave me for my birthday—a dark blue VoxTech hoodie with red circuitry lines and my initials embroidered inside the collar. I tell myself I’m keeping it because it’s stylish and expensive. I’m a liar.

Once I’m done making a mess of my closet office, I storm out—my heart races. What was I supposed to do now?

I was… just another cog in Vox’s machine. Replaceable. Disposable. I was tossed aside. I started shaking again. My eyes burned. Stop crying. He’s just a man. You were just an employee. There was no we. There was never a we.

Taking a deep breath. I continue walking. I could go groveling back to Vox, humiliate myself, and hope he let me crawl back in. Or I could try Carmilla’s weapons company… but I’d need a portfolio, references, the whole nightmare. I wish I could just have a break.

I pass by Valentino’s studio on my way out. Angel was… one of the only people here who actually treated me like a person. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I just had to be quick. Cinder would be waiting at home, but who knew how long “home” would still be home.

I try to keep my eyes away from all the naked bodies, but there’s so much skin, I fail. I notice bruises on some of the extras. People are rushing everywhere as Val yells at them. Clothes and props fly everywhere. It smells like perfume and sweat. I hate Valentino so fucking much. He hates me, too.

I wait in the dressing room. Angel usually has a break around this time. I shivered, remembering what happened the last time I was here. Val was an absolute dickhead, and I wish I could do something, anything. But here I was a coward and now jobless.

Alone in the dressing room, I repeated thoughts over and over like a mantra.

“It’s just a job.”

“He doesn’t care.”

“I don’t care.”

Soon Angel pushed the door open with his hip, complaining about something Val had yelled at him about. “—and THEN the bastard threw a whole shoe at my head! A SHOE! Like I’m some kinda—”

He stopped mid-rant when he saw me. His grin spread slowly and genuinely. “Heyyy, you waitin’ for me?” He flopped dramatically onto the vanity chair, and the guy he was talking to awkwardly backed out of the room.

Taking my eyes off Angel’s coworker, I tried to smile. “Yeah. I… I needed to talk to you.”

Angel’s expression changed slightly. Still playful, but alert too. “Aw hell. You look like someone kicked Cinder. Or like Valentino offered you a hug. What happened? Vox yell atcha? Ya look like you seen a demon.”

My throat tightened. “Angel… I got fired.”

Angel froze. “Fired? By Vox??”

You nodded.

Angel’s face twisted — anger, sadness, something softer.

“…you look like somebody ripped out your heart with pliers.” He said it gently, without the usual showmanship.

“I’m fine,” I lied, lip trembling.

He huffed. “Sweetheart, you ain’t.” His lower hand squeezed my shoulder. “Did you cry?”

You swallowed. “No.”

“Did Vox look pissed? Or… y’know…” Angel waved a hand vaguely. “…all weird and twitchy?”

You froze. Nodded. Because yes — he had.

Angel sighed. “So he did that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where he acts all cold, even though he’s feelin’ six emotions at once under the screen saver.” Angel crossed his arms. “Look, you two were close. Closer than he lets people be.”

Your breath stung.

“He didn’t fire you because you suck,” Angel continued. “He fired you because he’s Vox — and Vox ruins things the second he starts to care about ‘em.”

I shrug weakly and try to change the subject. “I just need… need to figure out what to do next. I don’t really have anywhere to go. And I don’t want to beg Vox to take me back.”

Angel scoffed, waving a hand. “First off—don’t you dare grovel to that walking flatscreen. He ain’t worth the polish on your damn toenails.”

I let out a breathy laugh. Angel brightened a little at that.

“Second,” he continued, softer, “ya know Charlie’s hotel’s always open, right? Free room, free food, therapy if ya want it.”

I blinked. That sounded good, but- “I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

Angel gave me the look. The one that said he liked me too much to let me bullshit myself.

“Trust me. You walk in, Charlie’ll throw confetti, Alastor’ll stare like you’re a bug, Vaggie’ll probably welcome you after a security check.”

I snort again. Angel smirked. “See? You’re already smilin’.”

“I just…” You look down. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Then don’t be.” Angel asserted. “I’ll bring you to the hotel with me, get you introduced, and then you can crash there.”

I swallow, overwhelmed. “You… really think it’s okay?”

Angel shrugged, grinning widely. “Charlie loves takin’ in strays. She’ll be thrilled.”

“Now let’s go before Val has me working overtime.”

“Oh my gosh! A new hotel resident!”

Charlie actually throws confetti. Literal confetti. Angel wasn’t kidding.

I blink as glittery paper rains down on me. I manage a small smile—her excitement is… weirdly refreshing after the day I’ve had. It’s hard not to absorb even a little of that sunshine.

She stepped in for a hug, and Cinder—who had crawled up into my arms on the walk over—yowled and bolted into the shadows, offended by the sudden affection.

Great. Now both my cat and I were panicking.

I stiffened. Too close. Too soon. Too much. I gently peeled Charlie’s arms off me just as a hand landed on my shoulder. Static crawled across my spine.

Alastor.

“Well, well,” he purred, “what a surprise.” Vox said plenty about Alastor—none of it reassuring.

I give him a grimace of a smile. “Ah—sorry, but can you remove your hand? I’m just… not big on touch.”

His hand falls, but his eyes watch me. Only then do I realize I’m wearing the VoxTech hoodie. First impression, and I’m literally wrapped in the branding of Alastor’s greatest rival.

His grin sharpened. “Oh dear, Vox let his little favorite slip away? How careless. How unlike him.” His neck bent as he spoke, static crackling with each movement.

“I wasn’t—” I stopped, heat rising. “I wasn’t his favorite.”

“Sure you weren’t,” He said condescendingly. “Wearing his colors still? Either loyalty… or heartbreak. I wonder which.”

It felt like a punch.

Angel steps in front of me like a sparkly pink shield. “Alright, strawberry pimp, back it up.”

I adore him a little for that.

“She literally walked in the door five seconds ago. Don’t go scarin’ her already.”

Alastor’s smile thins—still polite, but no longer pleasant. A predator denied an early taste.

“No offense meant. I’m simply curious.”

Charlie jumps in, hands fluttering. “Angel’s right! We want her to feel welcome, not overwhelmed. Sorry! I get excited.” She looks at me, worry softening her demeanor. “Are you okay? We’re not too much, are we?”

I exhale, shoulders finally loosening a fraction. “I just… had a long day.”

Understatement of the century.

“Why don’t I show you your room?” Charlie chirps.

For the first time since Vox fired me, something in my chest eases.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’d… like that.”

Angel hooks an arm around my shoulder—light, cautious, waiting to see if I’ll flinch.