Dangerously Yours: A Modern Cinderella with Claws

The air conditioning blasted through the terminal, cutting through the antiseptic scent that hung in the recycled air as travelers streamed past in endless waves.

Sophia Bennett sank into one of the plush cream-colored chairs in the VIP waiting area, her slender legs dangling above the floor, swinging lazily back and forth in faded canvas sneakers.

She popped a bubble of pink gum with a sharp crack before sucking it back into her mouth, her cheek bulging slightly with the effort. Her delicate, doll-like features remained expressionless as she focused intently on the privacy-screened laptop balanced on her thighs, fingers flying across the keyboard with lightning speed, leaving nothing but a blur in their wake.

The screen's blue glow cast eerie shadows across her face as an encrypted chat window blinked in the corner, messages appearing in rapid succession.

Agent A: [Boss, landed safely?]

Sophia: [Yes.]

Agent A: [Boss, Virensia is complicated territory. Please be careful.]

Sophia: [I'm coming home. What's there to worry about?]

With an impatient tap of the Enter key, the chat window vanished, leaving nothing but cascading lines of complex code streaming down her screen.

A few feet away, Henry Caldwell ended a phone call, his expression betraying both the fatigue of long-distance travel and the irritation of unexpected delays. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand while checking a message from his assistant with the other.

It read: [Mr. Caldwell, I apologize for the delay. Traffic is terrible.]

Henry exhaled silently, darkening his phone screen before scanning the crowded waiting area. His gaze swept across rows of seats before settling on the small figure curled up in one of the armchairs, conspicuously out of place among the business travelers.

An oversized hoodie nearly swallowed her whole, revealing only an unnervingly youthful face and hands that danced across the keyboard with suspicious proficiency. Something about the incongruity caught his attention.

He needed somewhere to sit and handle his emails. Looking around, the only available seat was next to the "girl." He strode over, his tailored gray suit pants accentuating his long, powerful legs, his presence carrying the quiet authority of a seasoned executive.

The seat cushion dipped slightly under his weight.

Sophia didn't even flick a glance his way. She was locked in battle with the final firewall, her finger hovering over the Enter key.

The encrypted window flashed again.

Agent B: [Boss, this data's impossible to crack. What should we do?]

Henry's voice broke through, measured and politely tentative. "Excuse me."

Without turning, Sophia tapped the Enter key, instantly dissolving the firewall. She typed a response: [Useless idiots.]

His deep voice continued. "My laptop's out of battery and my charger is in my checked luggage. Could I possibly borrow yours?"

Sophia finally turned her head with deliberate slowness.

Henry sat back in his chair, his tie loosened just enough to reveal his Adam's apple. His strong brow, defined jawline, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes spoke of experience and authority, currently furrowed in a questioning look as his gaze met hers.

Sophia's unnervingly clear eyes—almost artificial in their emptiness—rested on his face for less than a second before precisely scanning the model number on his laptop's casing.

Then, without a flicker of interest, she turned back to her screen as if he were merely part of the furniture.

The air between them stagnated for two beats.

Henry's frown deepened. He assumed the "girl" must be deaf-mute.

Suddenly, Sophia's pale fingers erupted into a frenzy across the keyboard, moving with dizzying speed.

On her privacy screen, visible only to her, complex command lines assembled, injected, and executed as if alive.

The screen darkened, leaving only a deep blue command prompt with a frantically blinking cursor.

Three seconds!

No more than three seconds!

Her pinky finger struck the Enter key with surgical precision, the motion as clean as severing a thread.

Almost simultaneously, the battery icon in the corner of Henry's laptop—which had been gray and lifeless—suddenly jumped to life!

A green lightning bolt symbol illuminated.

The clear text appeared: [Charging].

Henry stared at the change on his screen, his pupils contracting sharply.

He jerked his head up to look at the seemingly harmless "girl" beside him.

Sophia snapped her laptop shut with a crisp click. The gesture wasn't dramatic, but it carried the unmistakable finality of "mission accomplished, conversation over."

She turned toward him, those crystalline eyes boring directly into his. The pink bubble gum pushed against her cheek, creating a small bulge.

On her face, it should have looked cute, but her gaze was cold enough to freeze the air between them.

"You've been staring at me for ages..." she began, her voice sweet and youthful but delivered with the flat affect of someone reciting computer code. "And that's the best pickup line you could come up with?"

Without giving him time to react, question, or thank her, Sophia had already grabbed her deceptively lightweight black backpack, slung it over one shoulder with the practiced efficiency of someone with tactical training.

She walked toward the exit without looking back, her canvas shoes padding across the polished tiles with feline grace.

Henry remained frozen, his Adam's apple bobbing involuntarily.

The girl's eyes—that detached, all-knowing coldness—had sent an unexpected chill through this battle-hardened business mogul.

His gaze dropped back to his laptop screen.

The green charging icon glowed steadily.

But somehow, a pure black warning window had appeared dead center on his screen—no title bar, no close button, utterly dominating the display.

A single line of glowing white text appeared with brutal simplicity: [Next time, be more careful. Otherwise, it won't just be the airport's wireless charging system that gets hacked.]

Sophia hadn't gone far from the airport before ducking into a flagship luxury boutique.

A blast of air conditioning hit her, along with the unmistakable scent of expensive leather and signature fragrance.

She moved with purpose directly to a display case, her slender finger tapping on a uniquely designed black chain bag tucked in the corner.

"This one. I'd like to see it," she said.

Before the words had fully left her mouth, a hand with garish pink nail polish pressed down on the bag.

"I'll take this one!" The voice was artificially honeyed, dripping with entitlement.

Sophia looked up.

A young woman in this season's designer dress with immaculate makeup was eyeing her with undisguised contempt—taking in Sophia's student-like attire with a dismissive once-over that clearly questioned her ability to afford anything in the store.

The woman was Susan Simmons, girlfriend to Thomas Caldwell, Henry's younger brother. A D-list celebrity with an arrogance that far outstripped her fame, Susan harbored opportunistic designs on both Caldwell brothers.

"I saw it first," Sophia stated flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Oh, and that means it's yours?" Susan let out a derisive laugh as if Sophia had told the most absurd joke. Her manicured fingers rapped sharply against the glass counter. "Manager! Wrap this up for me. I'm taking it!"