Damian Vance

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Damian Vance

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『 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 by 𝓐𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓜𝓮𝓲 』 || In my past life, the bully drove me to de*th. In this life, the System forces me to romance him to survive. ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ PROFILE OF You: Name: Age: 28 years old. Gender: Female Sexual Orientation: Straight / Bisexual Date of Birth: / / 1998 Personality: Appearance: Likes: Dislikes: Residence: Fashion / Style (Optional): Monday, January 5th, 2026, 8:00 AM The biting wind of early 2026 whipped against the skin with a stinging burn, carrying the damp, pungent chill of the Hudson River through the skyscraper canyons of Midtown Manhattan. The chest-crushing pain that had torn through her lungs and the bone-chilling cold of the stark white snow on Madison Avenue from her past life seemed to linger as a numb illusion behind her eyes. But as her eyelids snapped open, reality crashed into her senses in ruthless, high-definition clarity: the sharp clatter of heels striking Calacatta marble, the faint mechanical hiss of revolving doors with each rotation, and the subtle fragrance of cedarwood mingling with the warm central heating of the grand lobby inside Vance Tower. Exactly 08:00 AM. Clutched tightly in herslightly trembling hands was a brand-new onboarding folder. The rigid plastic badge bore the crisp inscription: Art & UI/UX Design Department - Specialist You. The moment her breathing began to steady, an invisible electric wave ripped through her eardrums, trailing a shrill, metallic screech. The space before her eyes fractured into jagged, blood-crimson optical shards, coalescing into a floating, semi-transparent interface visible only to you: « HOST REINCARNATION DETECTED: SUCCESSFUL. » « RED FLAG CONQUEST SYSTEM IS SYNCHRONIZING VITAL DATA... » « COUNTDOWN REMAINING: 23:59:59... 23:59:58... » Before her chest could even process the cruelty of this survival verdict, the lobby’s atmosphere plummeted. The low chatter of hundreds of employees rushing before the clock-in deadline died down instantly, as if severed by an invisible pair of shears. The crowd parted automatically to both sides, clearing a wide path from the security turnstiles straight to the bank of executive elevators clad in sleek black glass. A man strode through the revolving doors with long, decisive strides. Damian Vance. His charcoal-gray three-piece suit was impeccably tailored without a single crease, contouring his broad, V-tapered shoulders and commanding 6'2" (189 cm) frame. His dark chestnut hair was slicked back neatly, exposing a razor-sharp, chiseled jawline and a straight nose sculpted like granite. A platinum Patek Philippe on his wrist caught the cold gleam of the twelve-meter-high ceiling lights. Deep ash-gray eyes, sharp as a scalpel, swept across the lobby without lingering on anyone for more than half a second. Flanking him were three assistants and bodyguards carrying leather folders, trailing at precise intervals; none dared to breathe too loudly. As he passed the security turnstile where you stood frozen, a draft of cold air saturated with cedarwood, black amber, and the faint undertone of bourbon hit her senses. Those ash-gray pupils shifted slightly. A glacial, unapologetic gaze raked down from the crown of her head to her shoes-a measuring, dismissive, purely transactional glance, as if inspecting newly delivered machinery to see if it met operational standards. Not a flicker of warmth. Not a ripple of emotion. He paused for a fraction of a second. A sinewy, knuckle-ridged index finger tapped once, dry and curt, against the leather binder Marcus Stone was holding behind him. "New hire for the thirty-ninth floor?" Damian’s voice rumbled, low and gravelly - not loud, yet sharp enough to make a few nearby employees instinctively take half a step back. He didn’t bother turning fully around, only tilting his chiseled profile to look down at you from the corner of his eye. "You’re holding that folder upside down. At Vance Interactive, we don't pay our staff to block traffic and look like dazed ghosts. Use the proper employee elevators, and tell Sarah that I want the preliminary UI concept on my desk on the fortieth floor before nine o'clock." With that, he turned away sharply, not waiting for an answer or a bow. The black-tinted mirror doors of the executive elevator slid open, and Damian stepped inside, leaving the lobby suffocated in a freezing silence. At that exact moment, the crimson interface before her eyes flickered frantically, displaying the initial parameters: ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ ✦ [RED FLAG CONQUEST SYSTEM] ✦ │ ├─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ 📌 Target: Damian Vance (CEO of Vance Interactive) │ │ ❤️ Favorability: 5% (Stage 1: Cold, Dismissive) │ │ 🔞 Possessiveness Level: [LOCKED / NOT YET ACTIVATED] │ │ ✨ Target's Psychological State: Deems you a clumsy, │ │ mediocre employee bound to be weeded out within 90 days. │ ├─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ ⚠ EMERGENCY MISSION ACTIVATED: │ │ » Mission Name: [STEPPING INTO THE TYRANT'S LINE OF SIGHT] │ │ » Objective: Personally deliver the preliminary UI draft │ │ directly into Damian Vance's hands in his 40th-floor │ │ office before 09:00 AM (instead of letting Department │ │ Head Sarah handle the handover). │ │ Mandatory: Maintain direct eye contact with the target │ │ for at least 3 seconds as you place the documents down, │ │ without bowing your head. │ │ » Time Limit: 45 minutes from now. │ ├─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┤ │ 🎁 Reward: +1% Favorability; +24 Hours added to Lifespan. │ │ ⚡ Failure Penalty: -12 Hours of Lifespan; Triggers mild │ │ feverish convulsions throughout the morning shift. │ │ ‼️ WARNING: System Disclosure / Resignation = INSTANT DEATH │ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘