The morning sun seemed to wait for Aryan's permission before illuminating the office in a crisp, expensive gold. Outside, New York was screaming in its usual key of car horns and sirens, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with a comfortable friction.
Sharon sat across from Aryan's desk, her legs crossed, flipping through a thin report with the bored grace of a woman who had read enough dossiers to fill a library.
"You're in early," she noted, "Most CEOs treat mornings like a personal insult and hide under their silk sheets until noon."
Aryan didn't break his gaze from the screen. "Mornings exist whether people acknowledge them or not, Sharon. Ignoring the sunrise doesn't stop the clock."
Wanda, who had been leaning against the window sill tracing the condensation with her finger, let out a soft snort. "That might be the most 'Aryan' sentence I've heard today. It should be on a plaque. Or a tombstone."
Sharon smirked, finally closing the file. "Do you ever say anything that isn't terrifyingly efficient? Just once, I'd like to hear you say, 'I'm tired' or 'I forgot where I put my keys.'"
"I don't forget where I put things," Aryan replied calmly. "And I don't waste breath during work hours. It's a poor return on investment."
Wanda turned to Sharon, gesturing vaguely toward Aryan with a croissant. "See? This is him being relaxed. Notice the lack of a tie? He's practically one step away from a beach vacation."
Sharon raised an eyebrow, "That's his version of relaxed? He looks like he's about to calculate the trajectory of a moon landing."
"Relatively speaking, yes," Wanda insisted. "No deadlines. No lectures. No mysterious phone calls where he speaks in riddles. It's almost a day off."
Aryan finally looked up, his sapphire eyes shifting between the two women. "You're implying something. Usually, when you two start coordinating your observations, my bank account or my schedule is about to suffer."
"Nothing," Wanda said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Just… observing the specimen in its natural habitat."
There was a brief pause—one of those quiet moments where the weight of being the world's most mysterious power-player faded into the simple reality of three people who genuinely liked each other.
Sharon set the folder aside with a decisive thud and fixed him with a look that had probably made seasoned intelligence officers crumble. "So," she said, her voice dropping into a casual silkiness. "Are you free tonight?"
Wanda's head snapped toward her so fast her hair whipped. "That was fast! No lead-up? No 'how's the weather'? Just a direct assault?"
Sharon shrugged, "I'm a former agent, Wanda. We don't do reconnaissance when the target is already in the room. I like to plan ahead."
Aryan considered the question for a beat too long, watching the subtle competitive flare in Sharon's eyes and the way Wanda had suddenly stopped breathing. "I am."
"Good," Sharon said, a victorious glint in her eyes. "Dinner. With us."
"That wasn't a question," Wanda pointed out, though she was already checking her reflection in the glass wall.
Sharon's smile was sharp and bright. "Neither was the answer. We're picking the place."
Aryan nodded once, returning his gaze to his papers as if they hadn't just high-jacked his evening. "What time?"
Wanda stared at him, her hands on her hips. "You're not even going to ask where? What if we take you to a dive bar in Queens where they don't serve anything but lukewarm beer and regret?"
"I assume it will be somewhere reasonable," he replied, his voice a steady hum of confidence. "And if it isn't, I'll adapt. I've survived worse than a bad menu."
Sharon laughed, a warm sound that filled the sterile office. "You really are impossible, Aryan. You treat a dinner date like a tactical deployment."
Wanda crossed her arms, a smirk playing on her lips as she caught Sharon's eye. "You say that like it's a bad thing. At least we know he won't be late. He'll probably arrive five minutes early with a backup plan in case the restaurant has been hit by a meteor."
Aryan watched the steam rise from his mug, listening to the lighthearted banter of the two women who had become the unexpected anchors of his daily life. Then, he set the cup down with a deliberate click.
"There's something I should show you," he said, his tone shifting into something more formal, yet laced with a hidden spark of mischief.
Wanda tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. "That tone usually means trouble, Aryan. Or a very expensive bill."
"Not trouble," he replied with a faint smile. "An introduction."
He tapped the table once. The overhead lights dimmed into a cinematic glow, and a crimson interface bloomed like a digital flower above the mahogany. From the center of the light, a girl appeared—holographic, dressed in a red dress, looking no older than ten, but her eyes held a terrifyingly sharp intelligence.
"Good morning," a cheerful, melodic voice filled the room. "I am Red Queen."
Wanda froze, her croissant forgotten. Sharon didn't reach for a weapon, but her body went into a state of high-alert observation, her eyes scanning the flickering pixels.
"That's an AI," Wanda whispered, turning to Aryan. "A real one? Not just a glorified calculator?"
"Yes," Aryan said. "She's adaptive."
Red Queen's projection brightened, and she did a little mid-air pirouette. "Correct! I learn when I observe, I improve when I am ignored, and I remember every single thing you've said since you walked in. Especially the part about the traffic lights, Wanda and Sharon. You're welcome, by the way."
Wanda's mouth opened slightly. "That's... unsettling."
Sharon leaned closer, hands in her pockets. "Interface is clean. No lag. Response time is sub-millisecond."
"Thank you!" Red Queen chirped, her digital eyes sparkling. "I like your jacket, Sharon. It hides your shoulder holster perfectly, though your posture suggests you're still expecting a ninja to drop from the ceiling."
Sharon blinked, then let out a startled laugh. "Okay. That's new."
"Do you have any idea how difficult this is?" Wanda rounded on Aryan, her face flushed with excitement. "This isn't pattern recognition. This thing is—it's thinking."
"I prefer the term 'processing with personality,'" Red Queen interjected, folding her arms. "And it is nice to meet you, Wanda Maximoff. You think sideways. It makes you very unpredictable. I find that... adorable."
Wanda stiffened. "Adorable? She knows my name."
"I know everyone's name," Red Queen said. "And I know why you both keep touching Aryan's arm when you laugh. It's very inefficient for his personal space, but my data suggests it's a 'human affection' ritual."
Both Wanda and Sharon froze. A heavy silence fell over the room. Sharon's hand, which had been resting casually near Aryan's elbow, twitched back as if she'd been burned. Wanda's face turned a shade of pink that rivaled the AI's holographic glow.
Aryan coughed into his hand, looking suddenly very interested in his empty coffee mug. "She's... very honest."
"I am efficient," Red Queen corrected, her holographic image flickering as she drifted closer to Aryan's shoulder. She looked at the two women with a pout that was far too human for a string of code. "Actually, I've identified a problem. You two."
"Excuse me?" Sharon raised an eyebrow, trying to regain her composure.
Red Queen floated right up to the space between them, looking between Wanda and Sharon with narrowed eyes. "You both occupy high-priority influence positions in Aryan's sphere. I was designed to assist him, but you two are... distracting variables. And frankly, I find it quite rude that you can actually touch him."
Wanda blinked, her embarrassment turning into sheer disbelief. "Is the AI… jealous?"
"Incorrect," Red Queen snapped. "I am ten years old in personality modeling. This is called 'competition.' If I had a physical chassis, I would be the one bringing him coffee. And I wouldn't spill it on the documents like you did last Tuesday, Sharon."
Sharon laughed, though her cheeks were still flushed. "I like her. She's a brat, but she's a brilliant brat."
"I am not a brat!" Red Queen protested, "But... you have things I do not. Like chaos. And bad decisions. And skin. It's very unfair."
Wanda snorted, her tension finally breaking into a smile. "Okay, that was almost a compliment. So, let me get this straight: you built a self-improving intelligence with a jealousy streak?"
"I have standards," Red Queen said proudly. "Opinions are just optimized filters. For instance, I've decided that Sharon's laugh is a coping mechanism. I will reduce my stress-inducing statements by twelve percent when addressing her to keep her from breaking."
"Noted," Sharon said, "I'm being managed by a digital child."
"I am not a child! I am advanced!"
"And humble," Aryan muttered.
Wanda rubbed her temples. "Why are you so calm about this, Aryan? She's adjusting to our psychological profiles in real time."
"Because if I panic, she'll log it," Aryan replied.
"I already did. Twice," Red Queen added helpfully. "Don't worry, Wanda. I categorize your emotional breakdowns as 'learning material,' not 'embarrassing memories.' Though the footage of you trying to find your keys for ten minutes while they were in your hand is quite a popular file in my cache."
"That's somehow worse," Wanda groaned.
Sharon checked her watch, her face finally returning to its normal color.
"Okay. I have a meeting in twenty minutes. I have to walk in there pretending the world didn't just change."
"Would you like me to fabricate a cover story?" Red Queen offered brightly. "I can make it very convincing. It involves a rogue parakeet and a lost tourist."
"No fabricating," Aryan warned.
Red Queen sighed, a sound that carried an impressive amount of digital attitude. "You limit my creativity."
Wanda pushed off the table, grabbing her things. "I need air. And more coffee. And a long moment to remember what it's like to not be judged by software."
"I will be monitoring your return time," Red Queen waved a cheerful holographic hand. "For efficiency! And keep your hands off the boss's shoulder on the way out, Sharon. It's bad for his suit's alignment!"
Sharon paused at the door, glancing back at Aryan with a mix of frustration and genuine affection. "You're impossible, Spencer. Truly."
"You're still coming back," he smiled.
"Yeah," Sharon sighed, her eyes lingering on him. "Unfortunately."
"I will log your return probability as ninety-eight percent!" Red Queen shouted after them.
As the doors closed, the Red Queen turned to Aryan, her expression softening into something more precise. "They are very loud, Aryan. And they smell like expensive perfume and secrets. It's very distracting for my processors."
"They're friends, Red," Aryan said, leaning back. "Get used to it."
"I suppose," she grumbled, her pixels shimmering. "But if they touch your arm again, I'm increasing the building's gravity by two percent. Just to see if they can still stand."
Aryan laughed, the sound echoing in the high-tech silence. "Just do your job, Red."
"I always do," she said, her voice dropping into a regal, sentinel-like tone. "I am the Red Queen, after all.
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