The clatter of keyboards and the soft murmur of voices carried through the open office, but Luna's sharp gaze was moving from desk to desk like a hawk scanning for prey. She had seen the flicker of movement at Mark's door earlier, the quick shadow of someone who didn't belong there, and she wasn't about to let the moment slide.
She strode across the floor, the sharp rhythm of her heels announcing her irritation before she even spoke. At Maria's station, she leaned in, her tone deceptively light, "Someone went into Mark's office earlier, didn't they?"
Maria looked up, startled, her fingers hovering above her keyboard, "I sent Lilly with the financial report. Is there any problem?"
"Lilly," Luna repeated slowly, as if testing the taste of it on her tongue. With that single word, her expression shifted. The corners of her mouth curled upward in a smile too sharp to be sweet, and her eyes narrowed with purpose.
It didn't take long to spot her. The unfamiliar girl, sitting stiffly at her desk, was trying too hard to blend into the background.
Lilly felt the weight of it before she even looked up. Luna's stare was heavy and unrelenting, pressing down like a physical force. She kept her eyes on the glowing spreadsheet before her, though her fingers trembled slightly against the keys.
"Mister Bergen is asking for you," Luna said, her voice thick with saccharine sweetness that didn't reach her eyes, "Don't make him wait."
A wave of curious glances rippled through the office. Lilly's chair scraped softly against the floor as she rose, heat burning across her cheeks. She smoothed her blouse with nervous hands and tried to ignore the way her coworkers' attention clung to her as she walked.
The corridor to Mark's office stretched endlessly, each step heavier than the last. She hesitated in front of the glass door, her heart beating against her ribs like it wanted out. She forced her knuckles against the wood with a timid knock.
"Enter," came his calm, commanding, impossible-to-disobey voice.
Inside the office, the air felt different. Quieter and denser. Mark Bergen sat behind his desk, his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled high, as though business had stripped him down to something sharper, leaner. His eyes lifted, fastening on her immediately.
"You were at my door earlier."
The words dropped like stones in water. Lilly's throat tightened, "I… Maria sent me with the report. I didn't mean to, sir."
"Your name?" he said, eyes never leaving hers.
"Lilly. Lilly Levine."
He repeated it, almost tasting it, "Lilly."
"You didn't mean to interrupt?" His tone carried a shadow of amusement, though his gaze was anything but soft, "Or you didn't mean to stay?"
Her pulse stumbled, "I didn't… I didn't mean to see anything."
Mark rose from his chair in one slow motion, as though he had all the time in the world. He moved toward her unhurriedly, each step coiled with control, until he stood close enough that she could smell his cologne, dark and clean and consuming.
"That's the problem with words," he said, voice dropping lower, "You say you didn't see, but how do I know you won't talk?"
Her hands twisted together, "I wouldn't… I promise…"
His brow lifted, as though her answer wasn't nearly enough, "Wouldn't? That doesn't reassure me, Miss Levine." He spoke her name with precision, as though he had already claimed it.
Her chest rose sharply, the sound of her breath filling the silence.
Mark lifted his hand, brushing the back of his knuckles along the delicate line of her jaw. The contact was gentle, almost feather-light, but it cut straight through her, setting her nerves alight. He tilted her chin upward until their eyes met fully, locking her in place with nothing but his touch.
"What guarantee do I have," he asked softly, his gaze drilling into hers, "that your lips will stay sealed?"
Lilly's breath shuddered out of her, her pulse hammering so violently she thought he must hear it. Mark's hand still cradled her chin, holding her in place, his gaze locked on hers with an intensity that stripped her bare.
Then, without warning, his thumb shifted, brushing across her lower lip, dragging slowly as though testing the softness. Her lips parted in reflex, a small gasp escaping before she could stop it.
Mark's eyes darkened.
"You think you can promise me silence?" he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous thing.
Before she could process the words, his mouth was on hers.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was searing, demanding, a deliberate violation of the space she had tried to protect. His lips claimed hers with the kind of hunger that left her frozen in shock, her hands fisted tightly against the desk at her sides.
Heat rushed through her veins, flooding every inch of her as he deepened the kiss, tilting her chin higher to control her mouth. His tongue swept against the seam of her lips, and when she gasped, startled, he took the opportunity to slip past her defenses, tasting her with an audacity that made her knees threaten to give way.
She should have pushed him back. She should have protested. But all that came was a weak sound in her throat, lost against him, as if he had stolen even her voice.
Mark angled closer, his body not quite pressed to hers but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. His hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck, holding her firmly, ensuring she couldn't turn away, couldn't escape the force of what he was taking.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn't mercy. It was control. His lips hovered above hers, his breath mingling with her ragged gasps, his thumb stroking once more along her trembling lower lip.
"That," he said softly, his words cutting through the charged silence, "is how I know you'll keep my secret."
Her eyes widened, stunned, her chest heaving as if she'd run a marathon, though she hadn't moved an inch.
Mark's mouth curved into a faint, satisfied smile as he stepped back, returning to his desk as if nothing had just happened, "You're dismissed, Miss Levine."