Wolfe Tower – Executive Suite, 8:01 a.m.
The hallway was hushed. Not silent — just... alert.
When Adrian Wolfe walked in that morning, staff parted like tidewater around a predator. Not a single soul dared make eye contact.
Except one. She was already there.
Talia Brooks, uniform crisp, hair tied back, gloves in hand, eyes down but spine straight.
She didn't stammer. Didn't fumble. Didn't fold.
He hated that he noticed.
She's earlier than expected. Good. Too good.
"Follow!" (He barked — sharper than necessary. She obeyed, walking precisely three steps behind him as he pushed through the glass doors into his suite. He tossed a folder onto the desk).
"I don't want your scent lingering when I return. No perfume, no lotion, no damn detergent that smells like flowers."
(Talia paused, then responded calmly) "Understood, sir."
Her voice was smooth. Controlled. But not afraid. That pauses?
It prickled under his skin. He turned slowly, studying her.
The lines under her eyes said she hadn't slept.
The faint pink at her knuckles said she'd scrubbed until raw.
But the way she stood there — unshaken — annoyed him more than if she'd cried.
He stepped closer, just slightly.
"You think you've earned something because you showed up on time?"
(Her eyes met his. Soft, but unwavering) "No, sir"
A beat of silence.
"Then why do you look like you belong here?"
(He turned abruptly toward his desk and picked up a silver pen he didn't need.)
"You'll clean the glass panels again. Then the leather. Then the kitchen. Not a streak. Not a sound. If I hear you breathe too loudly, you're gone."
Talia: "Yes, sir." (Again — no wobble in her voice. No shrinking. Just…endurance. Wolfe's jaw tightened.)
"Dismissed." He said sharply.
She nodded, turned, and moved gracefully to begin her tasks. And as he watched her walk away, not once glancing back…
He realized with an uncomfortable knot in his chest:
She was still here.
And for some damn reason, that made her more dangerous than ever.
Wolfe Tower – Executive Suite, 11:16 a.m.
Adrian didn't look up from his file as Talia entered the suite, gloves already on, apron tied neat.
"Start with the desk,"
he said flatly. "It's smudged. Again"
(She didn't argue. Didn't ask how it had gotten smudged when no one touched it.
She just stepped forward, cloth in hand, and began wiping.)
His eyes flicked up. For a split second, he watched the way her waist bent slightly.
The curve of her hips beneath the uniform.
The line of her neck when she reached for the edge of the marble.
He cleared his throat and snapped the folder shut.
"You cook too, don't you?"
(She paused. Glanced over her shoulder). "Yes, sir"
"Good. You'll prepare my lunch today. Same as yesterday. But don't flatter yourself — it wasn't hard to beat the last girl."
(She nodded once, gaze unreadable) "Understood."
He stood from his chair — suddenly too restless to sit.
"You have thirty minutes. If it's late, cold, or even slightly unbalanced."
"I'll be dismissed." (She finished softly.)
(He raised a brow) "At least you're learning."
And with that, he turned away — but not before stealing another glance at her as she moved toward the private kitchen.
Thirty Minutes Later…
The tray was laid precisely.
Grilled salmon — crisp at the edges, juicy inside. Garlic butter potatoes, tender.
Steamed greens with a light herb drizzle. And of course — the tea. Darjeeling. Hot. Smooth.
She didn't speak. Just placed it down, adjusted the silverware, and turned to leave.
But he stopped her.
"Wait." (She froze. He looked at the tray. Then at her) "Sit it again."
(She blinked) "Sir?"
"The tray. It's off-center."
(She adjusted it exactly half an inch to the right — though it hadn't been crooked at all.
He didn't thank her. Just said, coolly) "You may go."
She left. And as the door closed behind her… He picked up the fork. Bit into the salmon.
And chewed in complete silence — annoyed by how good it was, and even more annoyed by how much she had gotten under his skin… again.
Wolfe Tower – Executive Suite, 2:00 p.m.
Adrian's private office door is slightly ajar. The hallway is polished and still. Alexander stands just out of sight, holding a file — and a rising storm in his chest.
Alexander had only meant to drop off a report — nothing more. But as he approached Adrian's office, he paused.
Through the partially open door, he saw them.
Adrian and Talia.
Talia stood at Adrian's desk, explaining something on a printed document. Adrian wasn't looking at the paper. He was looking at her.
Not coldly.
Not with that usual flat, disinterested stare.
He was focused — invested. His gaze lingered too long, trailing over her face with an intensity that made Alexander's chest tighten.
Talia didn't notice. She kept talking — neat, professional, and unaware.
But Adrian did.
He leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing at his lips. Not flirtatious, not obvious — just amused. Like he was watching something rare and hadn't yet decided whether to keep it or crush it.
Alexander stepped back from the door before they could see him. He closed his eyes, gripping the file in his hands like it could keep him grounded.
Why now?
Why her?
She wasn't trying to be charming. She wasn't fighting for attention. She wasn't like the others — the ones who threw themselves at Adrian hoping to climb the glass walls of Wolfe & Co.
And maybe that's what made her dangerous.
That's what made Adrian interested.
Alexander made it back to his office, chest tight. He slammed the file down on his desk harder than necessary, jaw clenching as he sat.
He knew what Adrian was.
He'd cleaned up the aftermath more times than he could count. He'd watched women become shadows of themselves after falling into that cold orbit.
But this wasn't just anyone.
This was Talia.
And suddenly, every small moment between them replayed in his mind — the late-night elevator rides, the hallway glances, the gentle way she thanked him after he warned her. The way she listened.
She was becoming his quiet reason.
And Adrian Wolfe… was beginning to notice her too.
Alexander hated it.
Not because he feared what Adrian would do.
But because, for the first time, he realized he wanted her for himself.
And Adrian always won.
Wolfe Tower – Alexander Blackwood's Office, 4:15 p.m.
The message had been brief:
"Report to the Deputy Executive's Office — 4:15 sharp. – A. Blackwood"
Talia Brooks arrived exactly on time, hair tucked neatly behind her ears, hands folded in front of her apron. Her face was unreadable, but her pulse was frantic.
She knocked once.
"Enter," (came his voice — smooth, clipped. She stepped inside. Alexander sat behind his black-glass desk, sleek and organized, eyes on a file he wasn't reading.)
"Miss Brooks."
"Yes, sir?"
"Sit."
She sat, quietly, carefully. The room felt colder than usual.
He glanced at her briefly — just enough to take her in. The curve of her lips.
The way her uniform hugged her softly. The faint scent of rosemary and lemon from the lunch she made hours ago.
He looked away. Fast. Too fast.
"This won't take long. I simply wanted to go over protocol for sanitation checks. Specifically regarding the executive floors."
Her brows knit, confused.
She had followed every rule. Passed every inspection.
"Did I… miss something, sir?"
"No," he replied curtly. "But moving forward, I expect fewer personal choices in your service."
Her heart sank a little. "You mean lunch?"
He looked up sharply. "You're here to clean. Not to impress."
The words hit harder than she expected. He wasn't yelling.
But he may as well have slapped her. Talia swallowed her voice barely audible.
"Understood."
He stood suddenly, the movement sharp. "That's all, Miss Brooks."
She stood too, nodding stiffly. "Thank you, sir."
She turned to leave — hand trembling slightly as she reached for the door. And behind her, Alexander closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenched.
You called her in just to see her face.
And now you've made her feel small.
At 4:27 p.m. Talia Brooks walked straight to the last stall, locked it, and sat down slowly on the closed toilet lid — gloves still on, apron still tied, throat burning.
The silence echoed.
And then — the first tear dropped.
Quiet. Sharp.
She pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle the sound. She hated this.
Hated that after all the hard work, all the perfect meals, all the effort to stay invisible but good… it still wasn't enough.
Adrian barely saw her.
Alexander called her in just to remind her of her place — after pretending to care.
The tears came faster now. Not loud. Just steady.
What am I doing here?
Her mind screamed it — but her voice stayed silent.
She pulled off one glove slowly, letting her fingers curl into her lap.
Then she wiped her face with the sleeve of her uniform, took a deep breath, and whispered to herself:
"No more feelings."
She looked down at her palms.
"From now on… I do the job."
No smiles. No softness. Not wanting to be seen. Just work.
She stood, flushed the toilet to mask the moment, washed her face in the sink, and walked out with her back straighter than before.
She was still hurting.
But no one — not even them — would see it again.