Elena's POV
I didn't sleep last night.
Marcus's text message burned in my mind like a brand: We need to talk. Tonight. Don't tell Damien.
But tonight never came. He never showed up at the address he sent. Never called. Just left me waiting in a dark parking lot for two hours like an idiot, jumping at every shadow.
Now I'm standing outside the sixth floor of Vertex Enterprises, exhausted and terrified, about to walk into my first official day of hell.
The elevator doors open.
There she is!
A woman's voice—sharp and sweet like poisoned honey—cuts through the morning chatter. She's tall, beautiful in a cold way, with perfect hair and a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
Elena Ashford. She extends a hand. I'm Victoria Chen, VP of Operations. Damien's told us so much about you.
The way she says Damien's name—familiar, possessive—makes my stomach turn.
I shake her hand. Her grip is firm enough to hurt.
Welcome to the special projects team, Victoria continues, gesturing to the open workspace behind her. Six desks arranged in a cluster, five of them occupied by people who've all stopped working to stare at me. We handle Vertex's most sensitive developments. It's quite an honor to be assigned here on your first day.
An honor. Right. More like Damien wants me where he can watch my every move.
Thank you, I manage.
Victoria's smile sharpens. Everyone, this is Elena. She worked at Cross Technologies before it... well. She pauses delicately. I'm sure we all remember what happened there.
The other team members exchange glances. One woman actually shifts her chair away from me.
My face burns, but I keep my expression neutral. This is Victoria's game—establish dominance, make me the outsider, ensure everyone knows I'm not to be trusted.
Your desk is there. Victoria points to a cramped space in the corner, half the size of the others. Now, let's discuss your first assignment.
She hands me a tablet. I scroll through the project details, and my heart sinks.
Market penetration analysis for three competitor companies. Financial projections for the next quarter. Risk assessment reports. All requiring access to databases I don't have clearance for yet.
This is due... tomorrow? I look up, hoping I misread.
Tomorrow, 9 AM sharp. Victoria's smile is all teeth. Damien wants to see what you're capable of. I'm sure you'll manage—you were always so good at accessing information that didn't belong to you.
The jab hits its target. Around us, I hear someone snicker.
I'll need database access, I say evenly.
IT is working on it. Should be ready by noon. Victoria checks her watch. That gives you plenty of time. We're very efficient here at Vertex. No excuses, no extensions. Deliver or don't—Damien hates incompetence.
She walks away, heels clicking on the floor like a countdown timer.
I sit at my tiny desk and open my laptop. Twenty-four hours to complete a project that should take a week. With half a day lost waiting for access.
This is a setup. Victoria wants me to fail.
Fine. I won't give her the satisfaction.
By noon, I've mapped out my strategy. By one PM, I'm deep in data analysis, my fingers flying across the keyboard. I skip lunch—can't afford the time.
The office gradually empties as people go to eat. I barely notice.
Quite dedicated.
I jump so hard I nearly knock over my coffee.
Damien stands beside my desk, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost. He's rolled up his sleeves, and I catch myself noticing the familiar lines of his forearms before I snap my eyes back to my screen.
Just working, I say.
I can see that. He leans over my shoulder, scanning my analysis. He's close—too close. I can feel the heat of him, smell that damn cologne that makes my heart ache.
Progress report, he says. My office. Now.
It's not a request.
I save my work and follow him across the floor. Every eye tracks our movement. Victoria watches from her glass-walled office, her expression unreadable.
Damien's office is twice the size of the entire team workspace. One wall is pure window, overlooking the city. The other walls are lined with awards, photos of him shaking hands with tech giants, framed magazine covers proclaiming him The Phoenix CEO and Tech's Youngest Titan.
He built all this in three years. While I was waiting tables and hiding.
Show me what you have, he says, moving behind his massive desk.
I pull up my work on his computer. He studies the screen in silence, his face unreadable.
The quiet stretches. I shift my weight, nervous.
Finally, he speaks. This is exceptional work.
I blink. What?
Your analysis. The projection models. The risk assessments. He looks up at me, and something complicated flickers in his eyes. You've improved. You were always brilliant, but this is... He stops. This is beyond what I expected.
The compliment feels like a trap. I don't know how to respond.
Thank you, Mr. Cross.
Damien. His voice drops. When we're alone, you can call me Damien.
I don't think
Do you remember? he interrupts, standing. He moves around the desk toward me. The first time we worked late together? Cross Technologies, three and a half years ago. You were analyzing market trends for our big investor pitch.
I remember. Of course I remember. We ordered Chinese food at midnight. He made me laugh so hard I snorted Diet Coke out my nose. He kissed me for the first time at 2 AM, both of us exhausted and running on caffeine and adrenaline.
I remember you were dedicated, he continues, stopping in front of me. Passionate. You cared about the work, about making things better. You cared about— He stops himself. Or maybe I imagined all that.
You didn't imagine it, I whisper before I can stop myself.
His eyes lock on mine. For a moment, the ice cracks. I see the man I fell in love with—the one who believed in changing the world, who looked at me like I mattered.
Then his phone buzzes, shattering the moment.
He checks the screen, and his expression shutters. Go back to work. I want the full report on my desk by 9 AM tomorrow. Not 9:01. 9 AM.
Yes, Mr. Cross.
I turn to leave.
Elena.
I pause at the door.
You always did this thing, he says softly, where you bit your lip when you were concentrating. You still do it.
My hand tightens on the doorknob. He's been watching me. Closely.
Old habits, I manage.
Yes. His voice is rough. Some are harder to break than others.
I escape into the hallway, my heart racing.
Back at my desk, I throw myself into work. The office empties as evening comes. Six PM. Seven PM. Eight PM.
My phone buzzes at 8:47 PM.
Maya: Girl, are you alive? You haven't answered all day!
I text back: Surviving. Barely. Will call tomorrow.
I close the message and return to my analysis. Almost done. Just need to
My computer screen suddenly goes black.
What? I hit keys frantically. Nothing.
Then words appear on the screen, white letters on black:
STOP DIGGING OR YOU'LL REGRET IT
My blood turns to ice.
The message vanishes. My desktop returns to normal, my files intact. Like nothing happened.
But my hands shake as I stare at the screen.
Someone just hacked into my computer. In Vertex's supposedly secure network. To threaten me.
I spin around, scanning the empty office. The lights in the other cubicles are off. I'm alone.
Except I'm not alone. Someone's watching. Someone who doesn't want me here.
Victoria? Marcus? Or someone else entirely?
My phone buzzes again. Another unknown number.
Look behind you.
I freeze. Every horror movie I've ever seen flashes through my mind.
Slowly, I turn around.
Standing in the shadows near the emergency exit is a figure. Too dark to see clearly. Just a silhouette, watching me.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
The figure raises one hand—a wave? A threat?—then disappears through the exit door.
I sit paralyzed at my desk, the emergency exit alarm blaring in my ears.
Within seconds, security floods the floor. Damien appears from his office, his face dark with fury.
What happened? He reaches me in three strides, his hands gripping my shoulders. Elena, what happened?
I open my mouth to tell him everything—the message, the figure, the threat.
But then I see it.
On my desk, where it definitely wasn't before, sits a single photograph.
It's old, faded. But I recognize it instantly.
It's a picture of me and Marcus from three years ago. At the company Christmas party. His arm around my shoulders. Both of us smiling.
On the back, written in red ink: KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT OR DAMIEN LEARNS EVERYTHING