Kyle's POV
The drive to the office was blissfully silent, save for the hum of the sedan and the rhythmic clicking of Viola's high heels on the floor mats—a sound that usually irritated me but now seemed to score the soundtrack of my own private victory. She hadn't spoken a single word since stepping into the car, her spine rigid, her beautiful face set in a mask of controlled fury. It was the perfect silence: tense, communicative, and utterly hostile.
"You look well-rested, Head of Editorial Integrity," I noted as we pulled into the underground garage. I enjoy knowing I'd ruined her sleep.
"Thank you, sir," she replied, her voice clipped. "A side effect of the excellent job security you offered."
I gave her a thin smile and got out. "See? We're both benefiting."
We took the private elevator directly to the 30th floor. The moment the doors opened, the office staff—a mix of nervous editorial assistants and tech people—froze mid-stride. They're used to my sudden, solitary appearances, but not this.
I walked straight past the front desk, Viola matching my stride, her resentment radiating like heat.
"Good morning, everyone," I announced, my voice carrying just enough authority to silence the murmurs. "You'll notice we have a personnel change. This is Viola. She is no longer merely my assistant. Effective immediately, she is the Head of Editorial Integrity."
I didn't stop, but I didn't need to. The title alone was enough to spread shockwaves. My team knows I don't give titles…I give orders.
I led her past her old, tiny desk—a pathetic relic of her "internship"—and straight to a large, glass-walled office in the southeast corner. It was previously occupied by the former managing editor who quit after a two-hour meeting with me.
"This is your new office," I stated, pushing the glass door open. It was spacious, had a full view of the city, and a desk large enough to land a helicopter. "It's far enough from me to prevent arguments, and prominent enough to reinforce your authority."
I stepped inside. She remained in the doorway, her blue eyes scanning the room, suspicion battling curiosity.
"And before you ask, no. It is not bugged. That would defeat the purpose of having a live witness present at all times," I added, enjoying the slight flicker of disbelief in her eyes. "My secrets are safer when they're kept by the woman who has the most to lose."
I didn't give her a moment to process the room. I led her back out, pulling her into a cluster of three bewildered-looking individuals near the coffee station.
"This," I gestured dismissively, "is your new team. You are responsible for them. They are responsible for your coffee."
First, I pointed to a young man with overly gelled hair and frantic eyes. "This is Damian. He manages my social media output, ensuring my public persona remains sickeningly heroic. You will ensure he never uses more than three emojis in a single post."
Damian stammered, "W-welcome, Viola."
Viola gave him a sharp, professional nod, her anger now channeled into the performance. "Thank you, Damian."
Next was a woman with severe glasses and a clipboard clutched to her chest. "This is Gail. Gail proofreads everything written under my name for grammatical errors. She is currently terrified of you, which is an excellent starting point."
She managed a weak, "Congratulations."
Viola met her gaze and offered a dry, "We have a lot of work to do, Gail. I'll need a full report on the style guide discrepancies by noon."
Gail paled, clearly recognising the new authority. Good.
Finally, I pointed to a middle-aged woman named Tori who manages my conference bookings. "Tori handles all logistics for my global motivational speaking tour. Your priority is to vet every single appearance to ensure I am not accidentally put on a panel with a journalist who asks too many questions about my private life. We only discuss 'vulnerability,' not vulnerabilities."
Tori simply gave a practiced, neutral smile.
"Welcome to the department, Viola," I concluded, looking pointedly at her. "Your first task is to manage the next international book tour, starting with Tokyo. You have forty-eight hours to finalise the itinerary and ensure the accommodations are up to my standards. Oh, and I want an assessment on the mole's potential identity on my desk by the end of the day. You're clever…prove it. Now, go occupy your new corner."
I didn't wait for her response. I simply walked away, returning to the sanctuary of my own office. I leaned against the glass, watching her. She stood there for a beat, a lone, furious figure among the newly terrified staff, then turned and marched toward her new office.
She had an impossible deadline, an implicit threat to neutralize a mole, and a title that made her a target. And she hadn't run. She looked like she was ready to tackle the impossible. The anticipation of her failure—or, impossibly, her success—was the most exhilarating feeling I'd had all year.
Make me proud Princess.
Viola's POV
The air in my new office was thin, sterile, and reeked of expensive furniture polish and imminent doom. I stood exactly where Kyle had left me, in the center of the vast, glass-walled room. He had tossed me a title, a view, and an impossible list of demands, all designed to keep me spinning until I collapsed.
Head of Editorial Integrity. It was the cruelest joke he could devise. I was meant to guarantee his honesty while standing fully aware of his criminal hypocrisy.
I moved to the large mahogany desk, resisting the urge to run my hand over the gleaming surface. It was all a trap. A beautiful, high-pressure trap.
I tossed my purse onto the chair and walked over to the glass wall overlooking the city. From this corner, I could see down the hallway, right to the doors of Kyle's own fortress. He hadn't just given me an office… he'd given me a watchtower. He wanted me to be highly visible and, simultaneously, to watch his back, and potentially, his brother's.
A shadow fell across the glass, and I turned to see Damian, the young social media manager, hovering nervously in the doorway. He looked like he was about to apologise for existing.
"Viola? Miss. Viola, I just wanted to welcome you," he stammered, twisting his hands. "And, um, to offer you the private key to the office supply closet. The good pens are in there. And... the file for the Tokyo tour is on your desktop."
"Thank you, Damian," I said, trying to infuse my voice with the calmness that my heart certainly didn't feel. "One question. What exactly was your previous boss, the managing editor, managing?"
Damian's eyes darted toward the hallway where Kyle had disappeared. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Nothing, really. He just... answered the phone when Mr. Lodge didn't feel like it. He left because Mr. Lodge made him write a 2,000-word essay on the philosophical nature of proper comma usage. He resigned during paragraph three."
I almost smiled. The philosophical nature of proper comma usage. That was Kyle's sense of humor—witty, cruel, and designed to make his targets self-destruct.
"I see," I said. "Well, Damian, you can return to ensuring Mr. Lodge's social media is sickeningly heroic. I'll take it from here."
He practically bolted.
I closed the office door and walked back to the desk. The Tokyo itinerary was up on the screen, a bewildering series of flights, luxury hotel bookings, and media appearances. It was the first impossible deadline.
But beneath the pile of tour logistics was a separate file, discreetly labeled: 'Integrity Review.'
I opened it. It wasn't the style guide. It contained a comprehensive list of all Lodge Media employees with financial access, their start dates, their recent large expenses, and a log of network anomalies.
Assessment on the mole's potential identity on my desk by the end of the day.
He wasn't just giving me a task… he was giving me access to his most dangerous vulnerability. He was daring me to play his game. He was testing my intelligence and my nerve.
I sat down in the enormous chair, the leather cool beneath my fingers. My hands stopped shaking. The fear was still a cold lump in my stomach, but it was now mixed with a thrilling, potent surge of hatred and focus. I was trapped, promoted, and armed with the key to his organisation's weaknesses.
I opened the financial logs and began scrolling. I might be a hostage, but I wouldn't be a passive one. I would use his own system, his own rules, and his own resources to ensure that when I finally ran, I would take the whole empire down with me.