Corporate Restructuring

The twins lay tangled in pink satin sheets, their matching D-cups rising and falling with each breath. Zane stood over them, rolling the remote between his fingers. Three days of non-stop debauchery had left the house reeking of sex and strawberry lube. Anna's once-pristine home office was now a neon-lit fuck den, the walls plastered with their OnlyFans promo shots.

He nudged Alena's thigh with his foot. She didn't stir. Even their enhanced stamina had limits.

Fuck. I'm bored.

The realization hit like a hangover. He'd reduced his tormentors to giggling fuckpuppets, but now what? Unemployment still gnawed at him. Anna wasn't the only one who'd fucked him over.

Stephanie Marshall.

The name tasted like battery acid. That prissy British cunt had rubber-stamped his termination without a second thought.

Zane stepped out into the cool morning air, the remote humming in his pocket. He knew VirtuTech's security rhythms better than anyone—after all, he'd helped design their surveillance protocols. The downtown skyscraper loomed in the distance, its glass facade reflecting the sunrise like a smug smile.

He took the subway, blending in with the early commuters. No one glanced twice at another guy in a hoodie. The train rattled through the tunnels, each stop bringing him closer to payback.

By the time he reached VirtuTech's corporate plaza, the morning rush was in full swing. He slipped in through the loading dock—the same blind spot he'd exploited during his late-night coding sessions. The security guard barely looked up from his phone.

The executive elevator required a keycard, but the remote made short work of that. As the doors slid shut, Zane caught his reflection in the polished brass. He looked like shit. Perfect.

Stephanie Marshall's office smelled like Earl Grey and expensive leather. The view from her modest corner window showed a parking lot and half-dead potted plant - a far cry from the executive suites she clearly thought she deserved. At 45, she was what polite company called "handsome" - all sharp angles and no-nonsense practicality. Her frizzy brown hair was perpetually wrestled into a messy bun, and her boxy off-the-rack suit jacket strained across broad shoulders built for carrying grudges.

Her husband's sudden appointment as CEO of First Manhattan Bank had shipped her across the Atlantic like excess baggage. While he got a penthouse and seven-figure bonuses, she'd stubbornly taken this VirtuTech director role - not because she needed the money, but to prove (to whom exactly?) she wasn't just some rich banker's wife.

When Zane had been called into her office that final day, she'd barely looked up from her spreadsheets. Her voice had that particular British knack for making even termination sound vaguely disappointing.

_"We've reviewed Ms. Cheng's complaint and decided to part ways. HR has prepared a settlement." A stack of papers slid across the desk like a bad tip. "Sign these by Friday or the offer expires."_

No eye contact. No pretense of fairness. Just the quiet **** of bureaucracy wielded by someone who genuinely believed she was doing him a favor.

Now, months later, Zane's fingers tightened around the remote. He could almost smell that awful bergamot hand cream she used. Maybe after dealing with Anna and Alena, he'd pay Stephanie a visit too. See how her precious professionalism held up when reality itself started bending.

Zane watched from the doorway as she stabbed at her keyboard, those ridiculous librarian glasses perched on her hawkish nose.

"Security!" Her chair screeched back when she spotted him. "How the hell did you—"

The remote pulsed.

Stephanie froze mid-reach for the panic button, her arm suspended like a broken marionette's. Only her eyes moved, darting between Zane and the device in his hand.

"Miss me?" Zane kicked the door shut. "I heard Anna won't be coming in anymore. Thought I'd pop by for my old job." He tapped the remote. "Unless you'd prefer to revisit that whole... inappropriate conduct discussion?"

Stephanie's mouth worked soundlessly. A vein throbbed at her temple.

Zane circled her desk, trailing fingers across the framed family photo—Stephanie in a stiff pantsuit, her banker husband, their gawky teenage son. All teeth and no soul.

"Funny." He flipped the frame face-down. "In fact, I don't want my old position back." The remote chimed as new parameters loaded. "I want yours."

> User Override: CEO Authorization

> Executing...

Stephanie made a wet, **** sound as reality rewrote itself around them. Her mahogany desk plaque shimmered and reformed:

ZANE LAU

CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER

"Better." Zane could feel a shift in the air. "Now... what to do with you?"