The car rolled quietly down the dimly lit road leading away from the Volkov Estate. Erin sat in the backseat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression calm enough to pass for someone who really did just need "time to think." But her mind was anything but calm.
When they reached a stretch where the street was empty and the only sound was the hum of the engine, she leaned forward.
"Pull over," she told the driver.
The man glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Ma'am?"
"I need some time to myself. Alone. I'll drive from here. You can walk back — it's not far."
He hesitated — drivers didn't usually hand over the car to passengers, especially not at night — but Erin's tone was firm, not open for debate. After a moment, he stepped out, giving a short nod. She slid behind the wheel, waited until he had started walking back toward the estate, then turned the car toward the city.
Her destination: the Volkov business headquarters.
Getting inside wouldn't be simple since she didn't want anyone spotting her. So she went around the building and used the service entrance instead. She had her work ID with her so it was easy.
The real challenge came when she had to avoid the security guards patrolling when she entered the restricted areas, the ones housing the senior offices. She kept to the shadows, avoiding the steady sweep of security cameras. Twice, she flattened herself against the wall to let a patrolling guard pass, heart pounding in her ears.
Finally she got to the vice president's office.
The hallway outside the Vice President's office was silent, the kind of heavy silence that made every breath feel too loud. And for some reason, the door to the office wasn't locked. She guessed Cassian thought no one would dare enter the office without his permission. Erin eased the door open, the faint click of the lock sounding far more dangerous in the stillness of the night. The room beyond was cloaked in a muted darkness, shadows pooling in the corners, the faint silver light from the street filtering through half-drawn blinds.
She slipped inside, closing the door behind her with slow precision. The familiar scent of leather, old paper, and faint cologne lingered—Cassian's domain. Everything about the place screamed order: the perfectly aligned books on the shelves, the polished surface of the mahogany desk, the angled placement of pens.
Erin moved quickly but with care. The file wasn't going to be sitting on top of the desk like a gift-wrapped confession. She started with the drawers, sliding the first one open to find neatly stacked reports, quarterly summaries, and sealed envelopes. She rifled through them in silence, the sound of paper brushing paper loud in her ears.
Nothing.
The second drawer was worse—just stationery and spare keycards. The third offered a glimmer of hope: more personal files, but still nothing that matched what she was looking for. Her irritation was beginning to build up, an impatient heat curling low in her chest. She didn't have the luxury of searching forever.
She checked the cabinet in the corner next—rows of binders labeled in Cassian's precise handwriting. She skimmed through them one by one: Employee Records (Archived), Vendor Contracts, Security Updates. She crouched down, sliding her fingers along the spines in search of something out of place, something less uniform.
But it was all maddeningly organized.
"Of course it is," she muttered under her breath. Cassian Wolfe didn't strike her as the type to leave sensitive documents anywhere obvious.
Her watch ticked away precious seconds. If anyone happened to wander in— cleaning staff or worse security—she'd be cornered. She straightened, eyes scanning the room for any place she hadn't checked. The desk again. People often underestimated the hiding places built into them.
Erin moved to the side panel, her fingers tracing along the edges. That's when she felt it—an almost imperceptible groove. Her pulse quickened. She pressed against it, and a slim compartment slid open with a faint mechanical click.
Inside were several manila folders, thinner than she'd expected. She pulled the first one out, the weight of it almost negligible, and flipped it open.
Her stomach turned.
The first file was a detailed report on a woman's career trajectory—dates, companies, and in between, the ugly truth. The woman was Xander's mother. And the content included evidence of her exploitation of company funds, falsified contracts, stolen projects, illegal acquiring of promising companies through blackmail and all sort of corporate rot people pretended didn't happen. And Cassian hadn't just documented it—he'd orchestrated it.
And it seems that Xander had led this investigation. Most of the emails and recordings are insider's information only he can get access to. Cassian can never get access to these. Plus most of the sender's IP address was Xander's.
She moved to the second file, fingers trembling despite her effort to keep steady. Another story, just as damning. Another person stripped of stability, manipulated into compliance. The third was worse—layered with evidence of coercion and ruin.
Her irritation had shifted into something colder now, a quiet dread pooling at the base of her spine. Of course, shenew who did these even though the second and third didn't have names. This wasn't just the work of a competent corporate manipulator—this was the work of someone who didn't flinch at destroying lives. Isolde Volkov.
And then she reached the last folder.
It was thinner than the others, the manila cover unmarked except for a small printed label. Erin's eyes locked onto the words, her breath catching before she could stop it:
Celeste Raven — Dossier: Level Ω Clearance
The blood drained from her face. She looked as her real name stared back at her on the file.
Her fingers froze on the edge of the folder, as if touching it any more would set off some unseen alarm. She glanced at the office door—still shut—and then, with a sharp inhale, flipped it open.
Inside were neatly typed pages, photographs, and documents she hadn't seen in years. Some she didn't even know existed. Her own image from 10 years ago stared back at her in grainy black-and-white surveillance stills. Beneath them, lines of cold, detached text summarized her life like she was a puzzle piece cataloged for study.
Birth records. School transcripts. Financial history. Known associates. A small section at the bottom marked Capabilities Assessment—a clinical, sterile breakdown of things she had never publicly displayed. But they only had records. They had not even a single image of her or anything relevant that could be used to trace her.
Her mouth went dry.
She forced herself to keep flipping, though her pulse was pounding loud enough to drown out rational thought. Every page was another cut—information no one should have, things no one should know.
Then, from somewhere in the distance, she heard it.
A faint sound.
It wasn't the hum of the building or the distant murmur of traffic—it was closer, heavier, and too loud to be ignored. Her head snapped up, ears straining. Someone was moving in the hallway.
Urgency slammed into her. She pulled her phone from her pocket, thumb flying across the screen as she snapped rapid photos of each page, barely glancing at the shots before moving to the next. Her hands were unsteady, but she couldn't stop.
Footsteps.
Closer.
She shoved the last file back into the compartment, sliding it shut until it clicked into place. Her phone was still in her hand, the screen faintly glowing in the darkness, the evidence she'd just stolen still open.
Another sound—the unmistakable creak of the floor just outside the door.
Her chest tightened. There was no time to straighten the desk, no time to erase the faint signs she'd been here. She moved toward the side door leading to the smaller adjoining conference room, her steps feather-light, praying the hinges wouldn't betray her.
The footsteps stopped.
The handle of the main office door rattled.
Erin slipped into the adjoining room, easing the door shut just as the lock on Cassian's office clicked open.
She held her breath, every muscle wound tight, her phone pressed against her side.
Whoever it was stepped inside. The air in the office shifted with the sound of their entry, the faint rustle of movement in the dark. She didn't dare peek.
The only thing louder than the silence was the thunder in her chest.
The after 10 long seconds, the person left. She immediately fled right after and managed take it to the care without being seen. She hastily drove off bubbling with questions and uncertainties.