The walk back to his desk felt like navigating a minefield blindfolded. Every flicker of the fluorescent lights overhead seemed unnaturally slow, every hum of the dormant computers a potential predator's breath. The cold from Lena Rostova's office had seeped into Johan's marrow, clinging to him long after the elevator doors had hissed shut, sealing him away from that frozen hellscape above. His wrist still throbbed with a phantom ache, a deep, icy imprint where her fingers had clamped down – not bruising, but branding.
Midnight is a boundary you do not cross.
The words echoed in the cavernous silence of the deserted 45th floor, louder than the dwindling rain against the windows. They weren't just a warning; they were a tectonic shift in his understanding of the world. Kronos Holdings, the pinnacle of corporate ambition, harboured something… other. And its CEO wasn't just formidable; she was monstrously beautiful, impossibly strong, and apparently, averse to reflections.
Where Lena Rostova should have been reflected… there was only darkness.
He reached his desk, the familiar clutter suddenly alien. His hands trembled as he fumbled to shut down his computer, the cursor blinking accusingly. He needed to get out. Now. The air in the office felt thick, suffocating, charged with the residue of his terror. He shoved his few belongings – keys, wallet, a half-eaten protein bar – into his worn messenger bag, his movements jerky, uncoordinated. The image of those elongated canines, gleaming wetly in the lightning's glare, was seared onto his retinas. The impossible pull of his blood towards her… a dark gravity he couldn't explain, only feel.
He practically ran to the elevators, jabbing the call button repeatedly, his breath fogging slightly in the still-chilly corridor air. The descent felt interminable, the mirrored walls of the elevator car offering no comfort. He kept his gaze fixed on his own shoes, avoiding any glimpse of his reflection, half-expecting to see only emptiness where his face should be. The unnerving silence of the Kronos Tower elevators, usually a point of corporate pride, now felt like the quiet before a predator's strike.
The lobby was deserted save for the night security guard, Ben, a portly man in his late fifties engrossed in a tattered paperback thriller. He barely glanced up as Johan's hurried footsteps echoed on the polished marble floor.
"Late one, eh, Ellis?" Ben mumbled, turning a page without looking.
"Yeah," Johan managed, his voice rough, scraping against his dry throat. "Veridian report." He forced a semblance of normalcy, flashing his ID badge at the turnstile sensor. It beeped, the sound jarringly loud. "See you tomorrow, Ben."
"Night. Watch out for the rain, looks nasty still." Ben finally looked up, his eyes crinkling in a friendly squint. The utter normalcy of the exchange was jarring. Ben saw a tired employee, not a man who'd just stared into the abyss and found it had fangs and an impeccable power suit.
Johan pushed through the heavy glass doors into the city night. The rain had lessened to a persistent, icy drizzle, but the wind whipped it sideways, stinging his face. He hunched his shoulders, burying his chin in his collar, the phantom cold from Lena's touch warring with the actual chill of the storm. Neon signs bled colours onto the wet asphalt, reflections distorted into grotesque shapes. Every shadow pooling in doorways seemed deeper, more watchful. Every passing car's headlights felt like searchlights hunting him.
He walked fast, not quite running, but with a desperate urgency, putting blocks between himself and the monolithic Kronos Tower. He needed distance. He needed light. Noise. People. Proof that the world he knew still existed outside that obsidian-lined office. He ducked into the first open establishment he saw – a brightly lit, slightly grimy 24-hour diner named 'Hector's', its windows fogged with condensation, smelling of stale grease and strong coffee. The warmth hit him like a physical blow, momentarily banishing the internal chill.
He slid into a cracked vinyl booth in the corner, furthest from the door. A weary-looking waitress with smudged eyeliner ambled over, pad in hand. "Coffee?" she drawled, not really asking.
"Please. Black. And… just coffee." His appetite had vanished, replaced by a churning nausea. He needed the caffeine, needed the anchor of something mundane and bitter.
As he waited, staring at the sticky Formica tabletop, the events replayed in horrifying slow motion. The paper cut. The impossible pull of the blood droplet. The blur of movement. The strength. Her grip hadn't just been strong; it had been absolute, unyielding as bedrock. And her eyes… those weren't human eyes. They were ancient things, windows into a darkness that had seen centuries pass. The lack of reflection… that was the final, irrefutable piece of nightmare logic. Vampires. Lena Rostova was a vampire. A CEO vampire who issued chillingly specific curfews.
Did they neglect to inform you…
His coffee arrived, steaming and pungent. He wrapped his hands around the thick ceramic mug, seeking its heat, grounding himself in its solidity. Who were 'they'? Human Resources? That seemed ludicrous. 'Welcome to Kronos, Ellis. Perks include dental, 401k matching, and avoiding the bloodsucking CEO after midnight.' No. It had to be something else. An inner circle? Other… creatures? The thought sent a fresh wave of ice through him. Was the entire company a front? Were there more like her? The efficient, unnervingly quiet assistant, Mr. Vance? The perpetually smiling head of Marketing, Sarah Chen, whose smile never quite reached her eyes? Paranoia, sharp and jagged, began to weave its threads.
He took a scalding sip of coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue. The pain was real, human. He focused on it. What now? Quit? Pack his meagre belongings and flee the city? The thought was tempting, a primal urge to run screaming into the night. But practicality, the stubborn residue of his ambition, and sheer disbelief warred with the terror. He had bills. Rent. Student loans looming like vultures. Kronos paid exceptionally well, a lifeline he couldn't easily discard. And… could he really just walk away from this? From the confirmation that monsters walked among us, draped in Armani and ruling corporate empires?
The image of her face, inches from his bleeding thumb, flashed again. Not just the fangs, but the raw, predatory hunger that had momentarily stripped away the polished CEO facade. It hadn't been anger at his intrusion; it had been the desperate, centuries-honed battle for control against a primal urge. He'd seen the struggle in the depths of those obsidian eyes. She hadn't wanted to hurt him… not then. The warning had been genuine, terrifyingly so. 'Do not come near me after it strikes. Ever.'
His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump violently, sloshing coffee onto the table. He fumbled for it, heart hammering against his ribs. A notification. Not Lena Rostova. Just a generic weather alert: Storm warning extended until 3 AM. He let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding, wiping the spilled coffee with a flimsy napkin.
He stayed in the diner for over an hour, nursing the coffee until it was cold and bitter, watching the sparse late-night traffic splash past outside. The initial, blinding terror slowly subsided, replaced by a cold, leaden dread that settled deep in his gut, alongside a buzzing, insistent curiosity he couldn't quite quash. He thought of the Veridian file, lying discarded on the obsidian floor. Of the high-stakes pitch tomorrow. Would she be there? Could he sit in a boardroom, presenting figures, while knowing the woman at the head of the table craved his blood?
He paid his bill, leaving a generous tip for the indifferent waitress. Stepping back out into the drizzle felt like stepping onto a battlefield. The Kronos Tower, a dark spire piercing the storm-lit sky, dominated the distant skyline. It wasn't just a workplace anymore. It was a gilded cage, a labyrinth presided over by a creature of the night. And he was trapped within it, bound by necessity and a terrifying new knowledge.
He started walking home, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead. The echo of her final word, delivered with the weight of immutable law, resonated with every step he took on the slick pavement, a chilling counterpoint to the drumming rain and the distant wail of a siren: Ever.