Anya walked down the hallway, her legs feeling like they were made of lead. Mr. Davies was a few steps ahead of her, his face a mix of pride and worry. She couldn't hear what he was saying. Her mind was focused on one thing: the man in the office. The man who had taken her, forgotten her, and was now waiting for her to explain herself.
She was no longer the brave intern who had put a report on a desk. She was the scared girl from the club, the girl whose life had been turned upside down by a single, terrible night.
Mr. Davies stopped at the glass door of his office. He gave her a small, encouraging smile. "Go on, Anya. Don't be nervous. He just wants to know about the report."
Anya took a deep breath and walked into the office. Lex Volkov was sitting in a big leather chair behind the desk. He wasn't wearing a suit. He had his sleeves rolled up, and his dark shirt was open at the collar. He looked less like a CEO and more like a powerful, dangerous man. The storm in his eyes was back, but this time, it was focused on her.
He held up her report. "You wrote this?" His voice was deep and low, the same voice that had spoken to her in the hallway.
Anya's voice was a small whisper. "Yes."
He looked at the report, then at her. "You found things that my team of experts missed. How?"
"I just... saw a pattern," she said, her heart pounding. "The numbers didn't make sense. The payments were always the same, to the same company, on the same date. It felt wrong."
He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. He looked at her, truly looked at her, for the first time. His eyes went over her face, and for a fleeting second, she saw that flicker of recognition again. This time, it lasted a little longer. It was a cold, calculating look, as if he was trying to place her.
"What's your name again?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"Anya Petrova," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "I'm the new intern."
He said her name to himself, a low whisper. "Anya Petrova." The words sounded strange on his lips. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. "You're a student at the city university. You're on a scholarship. You're from a bad part of the city. You live with a friend. You had a hard childhood."
Anya's blood ran cold. He knew. He didn't just remember her; he had looked into her life. He had found out everything about her.
"How... how do you know that?" she stammered, her voice shaking with fear.
He smiled, a cold, humorless twist of his lips. "I know everything about everyone who works for me. Especially the ones who find things in my files. You're an interesting girl, Anya. Very smart. Very brave. Or very stupid."
Anya's fear turned to a slow, burning anger. He had done his research. He had known who she was from the beginning. She was not a ghost to him; she was a target.
"I'm here because of you," she said, her voice now firm and clear. "You sent me money. You tried to make me forget. But I'm not something you can buy."
The smile left his face. His eyes went hard and cold. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't send money to interns. And I don't need to buy anyone. People do what I tell them to do because they're afraid."
"I was at the club," she said, her voice full of emotion. "You were drugged. Your bodyguard took me. You remember, don't you? The scar above your eyebrow?"
His face went white, a sudden, terrible shock in his eyes. The mask of cold control fell away, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of real human emotion. It was anger, yes, but also a kind of pain.
"Get out," he said, his voice a low growl. "Get out now."
Anya was frozen. She had expected him to deny it, to lie, to threaten her. She had not expected this raw, powerful reaction.
"I need to know why," she said, her voice pleading. "Why me?"
He stood up, his body a silent, powerful threat. He walked around the desk, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire. "You want to know why? Because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because you were a pawn in a game you don't understand. Now leave, before I make you wish you had never walked into my company."
Anya didn't move. "I won't leave. Not until you tell me."
He grabbed her arm, his fingers like steel clamps. "You don't get to demand things from me. You are nothing to me. A memory. A mistake. And now you're a problem."
His voice was a cold whisper, and the fear was back, a fresh wave of terror. He was not the drugged man from the club, but a powerful, dangerous killer. He was the mafia boss the rumors spoke of.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door. One of the bodyguards entered. "Sir, there's a problem. A shipment of our product has been taken. We think it was Kravtsov."
Lex Volkov let go of Anya's arm, his face a mask of cold fury. The mention of Kravtsov, the very man whose secrets she had uncovered, had pulled him back to the world of his business, the world of his darkness.
He looked at her, his eyes cold and distant again. "You've been a distraction. A costly one. You have ten minutes to get your things and leave this building. If I ever see you again, I won't just fire you. I'll make you disappear."
He walked out of the office, the bodyguard following close behind. The door closed with a soft click, and Anya was alone in the room, her arm aching from his grip, her heart pounding. She had faced the lion. She had made him remember. But it had not gone as she had hoped. She had found a terrible truth. Her discovery of the secrets of Kravtsov Holdings was linked to the man who had taken her. It was all a single, twisted knot of danger.
She picked up her bag and walked out of the office, out of the building, and into the cold night air. The city lights blurred through her tears. She had been warned. She had been threatened. But she also had a feeling, a deep and powerful sense, that this was not the end. The story of Anya Petrova and Alexander Volkov was just beginning. And she was not going to run anymore.