Lisse’s predatory smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed just a fraction too sharp. “Vendra, darling. I do hope you weren’t planning on pilfering company property. This office, as you know, is now under new management.” She gestured with an elegant hand, allowing the security director, a man named Baris, to step forward, a heavy termination dossier clutched in his fist. Baris wore a precisely tailored uniform, his expression as flat and impenetrable as dark granite. He smelled faintly of expensive disinfectant and stale coffee. Vendra’s gaze flickered from Lisse to Baris, then to the closed door, the escape route now barricaded by corporate malice. Her mind, usually a pristine ledger of strategic calculations, raced through improbable scenarios. Fighting Baris was out. He was built like a reinforced vault. Reasoning with Lisse was like negotiating with a rogue algorithm – pointless. “New management?” Vendra’s voice was cool, a deceptive calm that belied the internal storm. “I believe I’m still CEO, Lisse. Or did your ‘sympathy PR’ extend to a full corporate coup?” Lisse tittered, a sound like glass chimes breaking. “Oh, Vendra. Always so dramatic. Let’s call it… a necessary restructuring. The board found your recent… eccentricities… rather destabilizing.” Her eyes swept over Jorik, who stood silently beside Vendra, his hand lightly resting on the small of her back. “And your choice of companions hardly projects stability.” Baris took another step, his presence filling the already confined space. “Ms. Challis, I’m authorized to escort you from the premises. Any resistance will result in further legal action.” Vendra ignored him. Her eyes scanned the office. Her gaze snagged on the massive, floor-to-ceiling panes overlooking the glittering expanse of Nova Kyris, thirty-seven stories below. Specifically, her attention fixed on the exterior maintenance cradle, currently parked a mere meter from the frame, its steel chassis glinting under the urban twilight. An audacious, utterly insane idea bloomed. It was a plan that broke every safety protocol, every logical parameter. It was, in short, a Vendra Challis original, born of desperation. “Jorik,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “The rig.” He followed her gaze, eyebrows lifting as the meaning clicked. A flash of admiration, mixed with bewildered terror, crossed his features. “You’re serious.” “Deadly serious,” Vendra confirmed. “Lisse, if you’ll excuse us, we have an appointment with gravity.” Before Lisse or Baris could react, Vendra was already moving. She launched herself towards the glass pane, Jorik a step behind. She fumbled with the heavy, bolted latch, designed to withstand hurricane-force winds. Her fingers, usually so precise with fabric, struggled with the cold steel. Baris lunged, a grunt escaping him. Jorik intercepted him with surprising agility, twisting, and pushing Baris backward into Lisse with a grunt, buying precious seconds. The latch sprang open with a groan of stressed metal. The frigid, wind-whipped air of Nova Kyris streamed in, smelling of ozone and distant exhaust. The city lights spread out below them, a dizzying galaxy of concrete and illumination. Vendra didn't hesitate. She swung one leg over the sill, then the other, her silk skirt billowing around her. Jorik followed, his lithe frame making it look deceptively easy. They were now perched precariously on the narrow platform of the maintenance cradle. Baris recovered, his face flushed with fury. “Stop them!” he roared, disentangling himself from Lisse. But it was too late. The rig was an industrial contraption, its controls a crude panel of levers and buttons. Vendra slammed her palm onto a prominent red button, expecting movement. Nothing. She hit it again, harder. “It’s not moving,” Jorik shouted over the wind, peering at the control panel. He jabbed at a few more buttons, but the rig remained stubbornly static, a metal cage defying all commands. A wire dangled uselessly from a snapped connector. “Looks like it took a hit. Probably from the last storm.” Lisse, regaining her composure, stepped to the open threshold, her voice cutting through the wind like a surgical blade. “Foolish, Vendra. Do you know how much a fall from this height would impact your brand’s liability insurance?” She chuckled, a brittle, joyless sound. “Besides, Baris has already activated the facility lockdown. The external shutters will be deploying in sixty seconds. You’ll be crushed before you can even wave goodbye.” Sixty seconds. Not enough time to fix a broken mechanism, not enough time to be rescued. Vendra’s eyes darted to the sheer vertical drop below. Three stories down was the conference suite, its lights blazing. Below that, an endless drop. Her mind, however, was already at work, sifting through the seemingly impossible. “My spring collection,” she announced, a strange gleam in her eyes. “The ‘Nebula’ line. Pure Shimmer-silk. Braided, it can hold almost five hundred kilos.” Jorik looked at her, then at the impossibly thin, iridescent scarves she had been wearing as decorative sashes, a design flourish for her office attire. “You want to… rappel down three stories… with fashion accessories?” He sounded less horrified than intrigued. Vendra was already unhooking the long, flowing scarves from her waist and neck, her movements swift and deliberate. “It’s either that or become modern art, Jorik. Help me.” She began to knot the delicate fabric together, her fingers working with a speed born of years spent in design workshops. Each knot was precise, tested for strength, creating a shimmering, makeshift rope of vibrant blues and purples. It seemed impossible, yet the material, designed for beauty, now offered a desperate lifeline. They secured one end of the braided silk to a sturdy-looking railing on the rig. Vendra, ever the pragmatist, tested it with her full weight. It held. The descent, however, would be terrifying. The wind whipped her hair, and the sheer drop felt like a hungry maw. “You first,” Jorik instructed, his voice firm, his eyes reflecting the city lights. “I’ll brace the line.” Vendra nodded, a flicker of something close to gratitude in her eyes. She gripped the silk, her hands surprisingly steady. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off from the rig, dangling in the vast, open air. Her expensive shoes scrabbled against the smooth, cold glass. The descent was exhilarating and terrifying, a grotesque parody of an haute couture runway. She reached the conference suite, her feet finding purchase on a narrow ledge. Jorik quickly followed, sliding down the makeshift rope with an ease that suggested he’d done more than just take photos. He landed beside her, his chest heaving slightly. The sound of Lisse’s voice, amplified by the thin glass, suddenly became clear. “—And that’s why that televised tell-all stunt on ‘Nova Kyris Morning’ was absolutely crucial,” Lisse was saying, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Inside the conference suite, Vendra’s ex-fiancé sat opposite Lisse, smirking as he swirled amber liquid in a crystal tumbler. “The board wanted an excuse to shake things up. His dramatic confession, so perfectly timed, made Vendra look utterly unhinged. It destabilized her support just enough for my shareholders to make their move. The initial ‘sympathy PR’ was just to throw her off the scent.” Vendra felt hot bile rise in her throat. Her composure fractured, giving way to sharp, calculated venom. Lisse hadn't just orchestrated her heartbreak; she had weaponized it, using an easily led ex-fiancé as a tool to dismantle her entire life. It was no longer about punishing him; it was about tearing Lisse’s empire to pieces. “She used him,” Vendra breathed, her fingernails biting into her palms. “She used him to destroy me.” Jorik’s hand found hers, a grounding pressure. “We heard her, Vendra. Now let’s get out of here before she sees us.” But it was already too late. A flicker of movement caught Vendra’s eye. Below, on a lower maintenance platform, a security guard peered upward, his face contorted in disbelief. His gaze fixed on Jorik’s dangling camera strap, a tell-tale detail against the dark glass. The guard pointed, shouting into a comm-unit. Inside the suite, Lisse’s head snapped up. Her eyes, narrowed to slits, pierced the glass, finding Vendra and Jorik clinging to the exterior ledge. A cold, unfeeling smirk stretched across her lips. She reached for a sleek, black console on the table, her finger hovering over a button marked with a striking red silhouette of the skyscraper. Her voice, now amplified through external speakers, resonated with chilling clarity across the exterior wall. “It seems some pests are attempting an unscheduled egress.” A low, grinding hum began to emanate from the skyscraper's steel skeleton. High above, Vendra heard the ominous creak of massive gears. The automated lockdown shutters, thick panels of reinforced steel, began to descend, slowly at first, then gaining speed, a metallic partition preparing to seal the entire exterior, threatening to crush them against the glass.

Haute Couture Mountaineering