The towering glass structure of Oscorp seemed to reflect the sky itself, cold and unyielding, its sharp edges designed to assert dominance over everything that surrounded it. You stood at the entrance, your heart hammering slightly faster than usual, though you had done this many times before—walking into a new job, new office, new challenge. But something about this place felt different.
Maybe it was the weight of the name itself. Oscorp. The place where corporate power, money, and ambition intersected, fueled by the enigmatic Harry Osborn—the youngest CEO in the company’s history and the son of the infamous Norman Osborn. He was a legend in the business world, a man both revered and feared, and you had just been hired under his direct supervision.
You took a deep breath, adjusting your blouse as the wind picked up around you. Today was the first day of your new job as a senior analyst. You had the skills to make it in the corporate world, and now, you had to prove it.
As you stepped through the sliding doors into the sleek lobby, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your life was about to change. The polished marble floors gleamed under the overhead lights, and the staff behind the reception desk barely glanced up as you passed by. You made your way toward the elevator, your heels clicking sharply on the smooth floors. Your pulse quickened.
The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. As you ascended, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator wall. You adjusted your hair, smoothing it back from your face, straightening your blouse one last time. It was a routine habit, a way to center yourself, but today, the usual calming effect was elusive.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open onto the floor of the executive offices.
Harry Osborn’s office was everything you expected and more. The sleek lines, the modern art pieces, the sharp angles of the furniture—it all screamed power, authority, and control. And yet, there was an underlying sense of isolation, as though the room itself had been designed to keep anyone at a distance.
You knocked on the door, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet space. There was a pause before you heard his voice—smooth, velvety, and tinged with an almost tangible command.
“Come in.”
You opened the door, stepping into the office, and there he was—Harry Osborn. Sitting behind a polished glass desk, his eyes immediately locking with yours. His posture was impeccable, shoulders squared, exuding a quiet confidence that was almost overwhelming. He was dressed in a dark tailored suit, his tie perfectly knotted, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up slightly as if to indicate he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, despite the suit.
He studied you for a moment, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, not in the way a man might look at a woman, but with the detached assessment of a strategist—calculating, measuring. His gaze lingered a beat too long before he finally spoke, his voice low but firm.
“Ms. [Y/N], I assume?”
You nodded, offering your hand in greeting. His gaze flicked to your outstretched hand before returning to your face, a slight curve of amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth. Instead of shaking your hand, he leaned back in his chair, clasping his fingers together as if he were in no rush to move.
“Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the chair across from him. His voice was commanding, but not harsh—almost as if he was testing you. As if your response mattered. You walked over and sat down, maintaining your composure despite the butterflies fluttering in your chest.
“Let’s not waste time with pleasantries,” Harry said, folding his hands and resting them on the desk in front of him. “I’m sure you’re aware of what Oscorp expects from its employees. I don’t hire people to be mediocre. I hired you because you’ve demonstrated an aptitude for leadership and critical thinking. I need someone who can keep up with me.”
You met his gaze head-on, your back straight. You weren’t intimidated—not really. You’d faced tougher people than him. But there was something about the way he looked at you that made your pulse quicken, a subtle but undeniable tension that seemed to crackle in the air between you.
“I don’t disappoint, Mr. Osborn,” you replied, your tone firm but confident. It was a statement, not a promise.
Harry’s lips twitched at the corners, a faint smirk dancing on his face. There was something almost predatory in the way he looked at you—like he knew exactly what he was doing, measuring your every word and move.
“We’ll see,” he murmured. His eyes never left yours as he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering just enough to make you feel as though you were the only person in the room. “I run a tight ship here, Ms. [Y/N]. Oscorp isn’t for the faint of heart. People get chewed up and spit out all the time. If you’re not willing to give it everything, then I suggest you leave now. No one will think less of you.”
The challenge in his words was unmistakable. But there was something else there, too—a thread of something darker. You could feel it, like a current running just beneath the surface, and it both intrigued and unsettled you.
“I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Osborn,” you replied, your voice steady despite the growing tension.
Harry studied you for a moment longer before leaning back in his chair, the smirk never leaving his face. “Good,” he said simply. “I like people who don’t back down. You’ll fit in well here, if you can keep up.”
His gaze softened, just a little, but the edge of command was still there. You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a test.
“Now, let’s talk about what you’re here to do.”
You spent the next hour discussing your role in detail—projects you’d be working on, people you’d be managing, the intense pace that would be expected from you. All the while, Harry kept his cool, never allowing his expression to falter. But there was always that underlying intensity, that sharpness to his gaze whenever you spoke, as if he was watching you for more than just your professional skills.
At the end of the meeting, he dismissed you with a simple nod, his eyes lingering on you as you rose to leave.
“Ms. [Y/N],” he said just before you reached the door. His voice was low, but there was an edge to it now—a hint of something more. “We’ll see how long you can keep up with me. I’ll be watching.”
The words hung in the air as you left the office, a strange mix of excitement and apprehension swirling in your chest. You had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into.