CHAPTER FOUR — TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT
The office was quiet for once, the usual hum of ringing phones replaced by the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. Most of the staff had already left for the day, their laughter echoing faintly from the elevators.
She stayed behind, partly because she still had work to finish… and partly because the thought of going "home" to that cramped apartment made her chest tighten.
Besides, the fewer people around, the fewer chances for someone to notice how little she actually knew about "her" job.
She stretched, gathering the last stack of files she needed to drop off in the archive room, when a voice startled her.
"Still here?"
She turned to find Mr. Xu from accounting leaning against her cubicle wall. "Yeah. Finishing up."
He chuckled. "The boss likes hardworking employees. Maybe you'll last another month."
She forced a polite smile. "Maybe."
When he left, she exhaled. At least someone in this place could talk without oozing malice.
By the time she filed the last document and shut the cabinet, it was nearly eight o'clock. She decided to freshen up before heading home a splash of water on her face might help wash off the stress.
The company's locker room was tucked away behind the staff gym. She pushed open the door and was greeted by the faint scent of detergent and body spray. The room was empty, rows of grey lockers lining the walls, a bench running down the middle.
Perfect. Quick in, quick out.
She went to her assigned locker, turned the key, and shrugged off her jacket. The cotton shirt underneath clung to her uncomfortably; she tugged at the collar to get some air.
The moment her fingers reached for the top button, the door creaked open behind her.
Her blood ran cold.
She whipped around to see him.
The boss.
He stepped inside like he owned the place — which, technically, he did — dressed in a black athletic jacket, gym bag slung casually over one shoulder. His eyes swept the room, landing on her.
"Lin," he said, voice low.
She scrambled to button her shirt back up. "Sir— I didn't know anyone else was—"
"Locker rooms are for staff," he said mildly, setting his bag down on the bench. "That includes me."
She nodded quickly, willing her pulse to slow. "Right. Of course."
He unzipped his bag, pulling out a fresh shirt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the movement of his hands, the way he undid his watch, slipped off his jacket, and immediately turned her head away.
This was bad. This was very bad.
She needed to get out before he noticed something was off.
But as she reached for her jacket, her locker key slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She bent down too quickly and her hair, usually tucked neatly under her cap, loosened just enough for a strand to fall forward.
She froze.
A shadow fell over her. "What's that?"
Her head shot up, and she realized too late that he was standing right there. His hand moved not to grab her, but to pluck the strand of hair from her shoulder. He held it between two fingers, dark eyes narrowing.
"Long hair?" he said slowly.
She forced a laugh, snatching the key from the floor. "From my sister. She—uh—visited."
His gaze lingered on her face, searching for something. For a moment, she thought he might actually press the question.
Then, without a word, he set the hair on the bench and turned away, pulling off his shirt.
She swallowed hard and kept her eyes firmly on the locker.
"I hear you're covering the client meeting tomorrow," he said casually, as if they weren't standing in the most dangerous room in the building for her secret.
"Yes, sir," she said, shoving her things into her bag.
"Don't embarrass me."
The words were simple, but the weight in his tone was not.
She slung the bag over her shoulder. "Understood."
By the time she escaped into the hallway, her hands were trembling. She leaned against the wall, dragging in a breath.
That had been too close.
If he had been even a little more curious…
She shook her head. She couldn't afford another slip-up like that.
Later that night
Back in the tiny apartment, her "younger sister" — the girl from her first morning here sat cross-legged on the floor, sewing a tear in her school uniform.
"How was work?" she asked without looking up.
"Fine," she replied, kicking off her shoes.
"Fine?" The girl glanced up. "That means bad."
She chuckled despite herself. "It means I survived."
"Good. Because we need that paycheck."
The words landed heavier than they should have. In her real life, she'd never thought twice about money. But here, every coin mattered.
And every mistake could cost more than just her job.
She lay in bed that night, staring at the cracked ceiling, her mind replaying the moment in the locker room.
The strand of hair between his fingers. The look in his eyes.
He knew something was off.
The question was how long before he decided to find out exactly what?