Viola's POV
First stop: a high-end design showroom. I bypassed the plush leather chairs and the artistic installations.
"I need a desk made of reinforced black glass," I told the designer, pointing to a severe, monolithic slab. "It must be large enough to host a meeting but too cold to invite comfort."
For the walls, I chose sections of electrochromic smart glass that could switch from transparent to opaque instantly, on command. Privacy when needed.
"We need seating that discourages loitering," I added, selecting four angular, uncomfortable-looking guest chairs in dark chrome and woven steel mesh. No one sits in this office longer than necessary.
The most crucial purchase was the conference console—a single, sleek terminal for all my security and network monitoring displays. It would be my digital command center, positioned to face the main glass wall, giving me a clear view of the hallway and, most importantly, Lodge's door.
I had the new furniture rushed to the office, demanding installation be completed before the close of business.
By 4:45 PM, I returned to the 30th floor. My office was transformed. The old, pathetic intern desk was gone, replaced by the imposing black glass slab. The walls shimmered faintly with the potential energy of the smart glass. The entire space radiated cold, elegant power. It was a fortress of logic.
Gail, beaming with exhausted pride, handed me a final invoice. "It's done, Viola. It's the most expensive and most aggressively professional office on the floor."
"Good," I said, approving the last payment. "Now, back to the agenda."
I sat in my new chair, which was ergonomic and supportive, but not remotely luxurious. I pulled up the agenda for tomorrow's meeting with Vance. I had spent Lodge's money exactly as he'd instructed…on a beautiful, functional weapon.
The final item on the agenda: Mole Identification and Extraction. Now, I was ready to play.
Kyle's POV
The corporate card reports were even more revealing than I had hoped. Marshall brought me the updates every hour, his eyes wide at the escalating amounts.
"She spent three hundred thousand dollars, Kyle. On chairs and glass. She bought a custom-built, voice-activated privacy wall. She turned that office into a Bond villain's panic room," Marshall reported, gesturing emphatically.
"She built a fortress," I corrected, setting down my scotch. "She built an environment that is a direct, tangible reflection of her mind: precise, guarded, and utterly ruthless. She sees herself as a commander, Marshall, not a secretary."
I looked at the clock. 5:00 PM. The installation would be complete. The moment of truth.
I stood and walked out of my office, signaling Marshall to follow. The hallway was quiet, but I could feel the energy radiating from the southeast corner. The staff were trying, and failing, to pretend they weren't watching.
I walked straight to her glass door. I paused and looked inside.
The space was breathtaking. The black glass desk was severe, the minimalist chrome and steel seating stark, but the effect was pure, focused power. The entire design screamed Control. She hadn't left a single comfort…no plants, no personal photos, nothing to soften the lethal intent of the room. The aesthetic was a pure extension of her contempt for me.
I noticed the positioning of her desk. It was angled precisely so that the moment she looked up from her work, she had an unobstructed view of my door. She wasn't hiding…she was watching.
I pushed the glass door open without knocking.
Viola was sitting at the massive desk, reviewing a document. She looked up, her expression perfectly composed, the elegant waves of her hair a striking contrast to the harsh geometry of the room.
"Report, Vi," I commanded, walking past the angular seating to stand right in front of her desk—a confrontation point.
"The office is complete, Mr. Lodge. It is secured against eavesdropping and aesthetically aligned with the company's integrity goals," she said, her voice dry. "I believe the budget was wisely allocated."
I placed my hands flat on the cold glass surface of the desk, leaning in close. "You missed a piece of decor."
Her blue eyes narrowed. "What, sir?"
"Me." I didn't break eye contact. "The centerpiece of this entire floor, the source of all your frustration and most of your ambition. You built a perfect, logical fortress, Vi. But you forgot one thing: I am your context."
I straightened up, a genuine, delighted laugh rumbling in my chest. "The office is approved. It's spectacular. Now, leave immediately. I want the building empty. I need the silence to prepare for tomorrow's meeting."
I watched as she gathered her things, her movements precise and quick. I knew she understood: I wasn't just dismissing her; I was clearing the stage.
"Have a good evening, Vi," I said as she reached the door. "And be ready for war at 8:00 AM."
She paused, turning back,
"I am always ready for war, Mr. Lodge."
And then she was gone, leaving behind the cold scent of her perfume and the powerful silence of the fortress she had built with my money. My head of Editorial Integrity. My beautiful, infuriating mistake. All because she eavesdropped on a conversation she should not have heard.
The office was finally silent, smelling faintly of new paint and expensive, cold ambition. I poured myself a scotch, walked to my desk, and pulled up the real final report of the day: the GPS log from Viola's car service.
She hadn't taken a cab. Marshall had arranged for her to be driven straight home. Punctual, predictable.
I dismissed the driver log, but then I pulled up the secondary surveillance feed. The driver who dropped her off was also the one assigned to discreet, overnight monitoring…a necessary precaution when your Head of Editorial Integrity knows where your assets are buried.
I opened the real-time location log tied to the driver's signal. Her dot was stationary for exactly one hour and fifteen minutes. Long enough to change out of her formal wear, call Angela, and launch a furious mental assault on my existence.
Then, the dot moved.
"Ah, Vi," I murmured, swirling the scotch. "Where are you going now?"
The dot traveled to a bar district favored by young professionals—a place with loud music, cheap drinks, and anonymity. I had Marshall cross-reference the driver's ambient audio feed.
I heard the familiar, cheerful voice of Angela, followed by Viola's sharper tones. And then, two new male voices.
"Marshall," I called into the intercom. "Identify the two new voices on the Viola feed. She's at 'The Copper Mug' with Angela and two unnamed gentlemen."
The report came back quickly. The voices belonged to Trevor and Marcus, both paralegals at a mid-level corporate firm down the street from our offices.
The audio feed became clearer:
ANGELA: "Okay, Marcus, you have to tell us what kind of crazy contracts you deal with. We need juicy gossip."
MARCUS: "Oh, nothing as juicy as whatever Viola's boss does. I mean, 'Head of Editorial Integrity'—that sounds like she catches people using the wrong tense when committing felonies."
Viola's laugh—a dry, quick, genuine burst of amusement—cut through the din. It was a sound I'd only heard in fleeting moments when she wasn't talking to me. It annoyed me intensely. She was laughing freely with paralegals, yet with me, every word was a calculated weapon.
"It's about ensuring Mr. Lodge remains on-brand," Viola said, her voice dropping into a tight, professional tone that felt like a mockery. "He writes about devotion, so I ensure his integrity is... intact."
TREVOR: "Right. So, you're the one who keeps the gentleman from turning into a sociopath."
VIOLA: "I'm the one who makes sure the sociopath sounds like a gentleman."
I leaned back, a genuine, mirthless smile on my face. She was sharp, witty, and completely giving away my secrets to strangers. She was leveraging her contempt for public entertainment. And those two idiots were eating it up.
The image of her sitting there…the beautiful, dangerous woman I'd just entrusted with my deepest secrets—flirting and laughing with corporate drones made the scotch taste like ash. She was supposed to be at home, plotting the downfall of Larsen Acquisitions, or at least, plotting my destruction. Not drinking cheap drinks with men named Marcus and Trevor.
I cut the audio feed abruptly. I didn't need to hear the rest of their pathetic small talk. The sight of her dot, moving freely and carelessly across the city, made the walls of my beautiful, silent penthouse feel suffocating.
I picked up my phone and opened a file, quickly cross-referencing Trevor and Marcus with my own corporate networks. They were nothing. Disposable. But their proximity to Viola was unacceptable.
The Head of Editorial Integrity did not socialise with unknown variables.
I typed a message to Marshall, scheduling an emergency meeting for 7:00 AM. I needed a reason to pull Viola away from her social life. I needed to remind her, subtly but firmly, that the leash wasn't decorative.
I closed the phone. The evening was ruined. The truth was, I wasn't obsessed with her hatred…I was obsessed with her attention. And tonight, her attention was scattered everywhere but where it belonged…on me