5. Am I Dreaming?

Chapter Five

"I’m so sorry, Henry," Jasmine whispered, her voice trembling as she touched his bruised arm.

"You don’t deserve this."

Henry smiled weakly and kissed her on the forehead. "Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine."

That night, after the argument settled, Henry had no choice but to sleep on the cold floor, as he often did. His mother-in-law had made it clear long ago that he wasn’t allowed to share the bed with Jasmine.

Early the next morning, Henry woke up before dawn, his body stiff and sore from the hard floor.

Jasmine was still asleep, and he leaned down to gently kiss her forehead. She stirred slightly, smiling up at him.

“I promise, Jasmine,” Henry said quietly, “I’ll work hard. I’ll make sure you live like the queen you deserve to be.”

Jasmine chuckled softly, still half asleep. “Stop dreaming, Henry. We’re poor, and now I don’t even have an allowance. Grandma cut me off. They’ll never let us live in peace.”

Henry hesitated, wanting to tell her about the black card, but before he could say anything, Jasmine’s mother appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring at him.

"I’m here to make sure no one gives you food or water, Henry," she snapped.

"You’re still under punishment. And don’t even think about using the toilet or taking a shower. You’ll stay filthy until I say otherwise."

Without arguing, Henry gathered what little dignity he had left and left the mansion, his stomach growling and his mind racing.

Outside, Henry pulled out his old, broken phone, its cracked screen barely functioning.

He scrolled through his emails, hoping to find some good news or an opportunity, anything that would help him get through the day. His eyes widened when he saw an email from the

**HEXAGON CONSORTIUM**.

He clicked it open and stared at the message, unable to believe his eyes.

The email invited him to a meeting with the vice president of HEXAGON, the largest conglomerate in the country.

The HEXAGON building, an 80-story skyscraper, was the hub of real estate, commercial businesses, hotels, and more. Everyone knew about it—it was a symbol of power and wealth.

Henry stood frozen for a moment, reading the email over and over. It seemed surreal. He was jobless and destitute.

Why would someone like the vice president of HEXAGON want to meet with him? Was this related to Mr. Anderson and the black card?

He didn’t have the answers, but he was curious. Without wasting any more time, he decided to go see for himself.

Henry walked to the side of the mansion and pulled out his old, wretched bicycle. The rusty chains groaned as he pedalled, and the wheels made a creaking sound with every turn. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.

As he rode toward the towering HEXAGON building, the bicycle creaking beneath him, Henry couldn’t help but wonder if his life was about to change forever.

Henry rode his creaky old bicycle to the grand gates of the **HEXAGON CONSORTIUM**, feeling the weight of his nerves with each pedal.

The towering 80-story building gleamed in the distance, and his heart raced as he approached. But as soon as he reached the entrance, two towering security guards blocked his path.

"Hey, beggar, where do you think you're going?" one of them sneered, eyeing Henry’s worn-out clothes and rusty bicycle with disgust.

"This isn’t the place for people like you."

Henry frowned, feeling a sting of humiliation. He tried to stay calm. “I’m here for an appointment. I’ve been invited to meet with the vice president.”

The other guard, bigger and meaner-looking, crossed his arms and smirked.

“An appointment? With the vice president?” He gave Henry a once-over and laughed.

“Look at you! Trashy clothes, an old bike that looks like it’s about to fall apart. Who do you think you are? Get out of here before you embarrass the clients.”

Henry clenched his fists, his frustration rising.

"I’m telling you, I have an appointment," he insisted, trying to stay respectful.

The big guard stepped forward aggressively and shoved Henry roughly.

“I said, get lost!” he barked, his tone turning hostile. As Henry stumbled back, the black card and Mr. Anderson’s business card slipped from his pocket and fell to the ground.

The guards froze when they saw the shiny black card on the pavement. Their eyes widened in shock as they whispered frantically to each other.

They had clearly seen this type of card before—only the most powerful and wealthy carried it.

Clearing their throats nervously, the smaller guard quickly muttered,

“Uh, you can go in, but keep that lousy old bicycle far from the entrance. We don’t want anyone to see that piece of junk. It’ll ruin the consortium’s reputation.”

Henry hesitated, his anger simmering. The guards had no right to treat him this way. Still, he swallowed his pride and nodded, deciding it wasn’t worth a fight. As he wheeled his bike behind the building to park it, he heard them snicker.

“Don’t worry, no one’s going to steal that thing,” the big guard called after him, laughing.

“It’s too useless for anyone to bother with or steal.”

Ignoring their mocking laughter, Henry secured his bike behind the building and entered the grand lobby.

The moment he stepped inside, he was greeted by a beautiful, smart-looking receptionist sitting behind a sleek marble desk. She was dressed impeccably, her hair styled in a neat bun.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I assist you?” she asked politely, her voice professional but kind.

Henry cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m Henry. I’m here for a meeting with the vice president.”