It was supposed to be just another boring morning.
Eric adjusted his tie with practiced indifference, blending in with the wave of gray suits moving through the corridor of Silverlight Corporation. On the surface, he was still the unremarkable bottom-tier analyst—the guy who nodded to everyone, smiled at no one, and left no traces behind. But today, he wasn't just blending in. He was hunting.
Lena strolled past him in her usual icy aura—pencil skirt, crisp blouse, stiletto heels. Her eyes were unreadable, her steps silent yet commanding. Everyone else shrank back at her presence, but Eric merely glanced at her reflection in the glass wall.
They both knew what was about to unfold.
The elevator opened. They stepped inside, alone.
Lena didn't speak until the doors closed. Her voice was calm, razor-sharp.
"You said there was something I needed to see."
Eric slid a USB drive into her palm. "Not here. Follow my lead."
Ten minutes later, they stood in an abandoned archive room on the 13th floor—officially condemned, unofficially useful.
Eric powered on an old laptop and opened a file he had intercepted using the temporary IT clearance Lena reluctantly approved two days ago.
Her brows furrowed. "These… these are internal audits."
"No. These are falsified budget transfers from Department 4B—over 40 million yuan in unauthorized offshore remittance, signed off by… guess who?"
Lena's face paled slightly. "Director Miles."
Eric nodded slowly. "And it doesn't stop there."
He pulled up more documents—meeting memos, timestamped logins from locked servers, falsified project evaluations.
"What you're seeing, Lena," he said, his voice low, "is the backbone of Silverlight's dirty money trail. Our company's high-rise is built on sand and corruption."
Lena inhaled sharply, then turned away, her arms crossed. Her composure cracked for a second.
"You're telling me this now because…?"
Eric leaned in slightly. "Because you're not just a pawn. You're on their list too. They've been setting you up as the fall girl. When this collapses, your name is the only clean one high enough to be sacrificed."
The words hung in the air.
For the first time, Lena didn't respond immediately. Her eyes darted across the screen, jaw clenched.
"You're bluffing," she finally muttered, but her voice lacked conviction.
Eric stepped closer. "Then why did your signature appear on Project Falcon's closure document—when you were on medical leave in January?"
She stiffened.
"You've been framed, Lena. The question is: will you go down alone, or play a different game?"
Elsewhere, a pair of eyes watched from a half-closed door.
Daisy Flores—twenty-four, marketing intern, loose curls, tight dress, a pair of sunglasses she never took off even indoors—wasn't supposed to be on this floor.
But curiosity was a beast.
She had followed Eric after catching a weird exchange between him and Lena in the cafeteria two days ago. Something about their body language didn't sit right.
And now, jackpot.
She pulled out her phone and silently recorded a few seconds of their conversation—just enough to recognize "Project Falcon" and "unauthorized remittance." Then she slipped away, biting her lip.
"Now what the hell are you two hiding…" she whispered.
Daisy wasn't the type to report people. She was the type who used information.
Back in the archive room, the atmosphere turned electric.
Lena stood with her arms folded, eyes distant. Then she turned to Eric.
"I'm not helping you expose them. I've worked ten years to be where I am."
Eric smirked faintly. "I didn't ask you to expose them. I'm asking you to survive."
A pause.
"You're offering… an alliance?"
"Call it what you want," he said. "But when this ship starts sinking, I plan to be steering the lifeboat. You can either sit beside me—or swim in open waters with sharks."
Lena stared at him. For the first time, she noticed the quiet steel behind his ordinary face. The old Eric was gone. This one… was dangerous.
And oddly, that made him irresistible.
Back in the archive room, the atmosphere turned electric.
Lena stood with her arms folded, eyes distant. Then she turned to Eric.
"I'm not helping you expose them. I've worked ten years to be where I am."
Eric smirked faintly. "I didn't ask you to expose them. I'm asking you to survive."
A pause.
"You're offering… an alliance?"
"Call it what you want," he said. "But when this ship starts sinking, I plan to be steering the lifeboat. You can either sit beside me—or swim in open waters with sharks."
Lena stared at him. For the first time, she noticed the quiet steel behind his ordinary face. The old Eric was gone. This one… was dangerous.
And oddly, that made him irresistible.
Lena didn't flinch when Eric brushed past her and walked straight toward the central filing cabinet at the far end of the archive room. She watched, arms folded, as he stopped, crouched down, and slipped a gloved hand behind the lowest drawer.
A click.
Then silence.
Eric turned his head slightly. "You hear that?"
Lena arched an eyebrow. "You bypassed a hidden mechanism?"
He nodded. "Not just bypassed. I knew it was there." With a quiet creak, he slid the drawer open—and behind it, a false back shifted. Eric reached in and pulled out a slim folder wrapped in red thread.
Lena stepped forward, involuntarily. "Is that…?"
"Quarterly disbursements from the discretionary fund. But this isn't reported anywhere." Eric's tone was grave. "The top-level team's been siphoning money through dummy consulting fees. Dozens of fake vendor accounts. All signed off with one name…"
Lena snatched the document, flipped through it—and her pupils contracted.
Her own superior. The same man who'd praised her for her loyalty. His signature was stamped in multiple locations.
"I… didn't know this," she murmured.
Eric gave her a long look. "Didn't you?"
Lena snapped the folder shut and glared at him. "You think I'm complicit?"
"I think you're smart enough to have guessed. But not brave enough to dig deeper. Until now."
The tension hung thick, a silence sharp enough to draw blood. For a long moment, it seemed Lena might slap him—or walk away.
But she didn't.
She handed the folder back. "We need leverage. More than this."
Eric's lips curled slightly. Checkmate, not just a warning. He nodded.
"Then we keep digging. But I need to know I can trust you."
"I don't trust anyone," Lena said coldly. "But if we go down for this, I'll make sure you're right beside me."
Eric smirked. "That's the spirit."
Elsewhere, in the Marketing Office on 12th floor…
Sasha Monroe was filing her freshly done nails when she spotted something odd on the surveillance monitor—something the IT guy accidentally left streaming onto the public dashboard.
Two figures. Archive room. Late hours. Hushed gestures. Suspicious closeness.
Her eyes sparkled like a cat spotting a cornered mouse.
"Oh my…" she whispered, leaning in closer.
That was Lena—the Ice Queen of upper management. And that guy… wasn't her boss. He wasn't even someone important. Just the quiet, boring Eric who always seemed to be scribbling things alone during lunch breaks.
But here they were. Sneaking into restricted files. Whispering. Exchanging folders.
Delicious.
Sasha leaned back in her chair and grinned. It wasn't time to gossip. Not yet.
This was bigger. This was intrigue. This was leverage.
And she loved nothing more than playing games she wasn't invited to.
Back in the corridor…
Eric and Lena exited the archive room quietly. The lights buzzed overhead. Every sound echoed.
"What now?" Lena asked, her voice more subdued now.
Eric glanced sideways. "Now, we pretend nothing happened. You go back to being the ice-cold superior. I go back to being the background noise."
"But we both know something they don't," she murmured.
Eric's eyes glinted. "That's our edge. And with time, it becomes a blade."
Lena turned away, but not before Eric caught a trace of conflict in her eyes. A crack in the armor.
She wasn't used to being the one caught off guard.
Later that night, Sasha Monroe sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, replaying the muted security footage.
"Oh, you two little sinners," she murmured, voice silky with amusement. "What are you up to?"
She typed a message to her father—a regional powerbroker with strong connections inside the company. Then paused.
No.
This was hers.
She closed the laptop slowly, a devilish smile spreading across her lips.
"This… is going to be fun."