Cynthia's fingers trembled as she locked the door behind her. The sharp click of the key echoed through her small apartment, sounding far too loud in the silence—like a secret she wasn't ready to keep.
She leaned her forehead against the door for a moment, breathing slowly, forcing herself to calm down. The evening city lights bled through the thin curtains, slicing her reflection in the window into fragments: her pale face, the dark circles beneath her eyes, the worry etched into every line of her expression.
And then there was the bruise.
Faint, but unmistakable.
Her wrist throbbed where Alexander had grabbed her earlier that day. Not hard enough to leave fingerprints—just enough to remind her who had the power. Cynthia rubbed the spot absently, her stomach tightening.
It didn't matter, she told herself. He was her boss. It wasn't personal. People like Alexander Voss didn't do personal.
But her heart refused to believe that lie.
She dropped her bag on the chair and crossed the room, collapsing onto her bed without bothering to turn on the lights. The ceiling stared back at her, blank and uncaring. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his expression—controlled, unreadable, dangerous in its calm.
Her phone buzzed.
Cynthia jerked upright, her breath catching painfully in her throat.
Unknown Number:
You shouldn't have been there, Cynthia.
Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone. Her pulse roared in her ears as she stared at the screen, reading the words again and again, hoping they would change.
"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Before she could type a response, the message vanished.
Deleted.
The chat thread emptied itself, leaving behind nothing but a blank screen.
Cynthia's chest tightened as she sank back onto the bed, clutching the phone like it was the only solid thing in the room. Was this Alexander? Or someone else—someone who had been watching her long before she ever stepped into his office?
Sleep never truly came that night. When it did, it was restless and shallow, filled with half-formed nightmares and shadows she couldn't name.
By morning, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.
She arrived at Voss Art and Media earlier than usual, the sky still gray with dawn. Her reflection in the elevator mirror looked older somehow—eyes shadowed, shoulders tense.
Alexander was already in his office.
He stood leaning casually against his desk, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, as though he'd been awake for hours. His gaze lifted slowly when he saw her, sharp and assessing.
"You're early," he said coolly.
"I… couldn't sleep," Cynthia admitted, her voice softer than she intended.
His lips curved into a faint smirk. "Good," he said. "It means you're taking your job seriously."
Something about his tone made her uneasy. It didn't sound like praise. It sounded like a warning—or worse, a test.
She nodded, murmured something polite, and turned to leave.
As she reached the hallway, his voice stopped her.
He was on the phone.
His posture shifted subtly, his tone dropping to a low whisper that didn't belong in a corporate office.
"Make sure she doesn't find out anything else."
Cynthia froze.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
She?
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she stood there, afraid to breathe, afraid to move. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, the air too thin.
Alexander continued speaking, his voice calm, controlled—dangerously so.
"We can't afford mistakes."
The call ended.
Cynthia backed away silently, her pulse racing. Her blood felt like ice in her veins as one terrifying thought took shape in her mind.
Whatever Alexander was hiding…
He thought she was already too close.
And the question that haunted her most wasn't what he was hiding—
It was how far he was willing
Just tetell