The next morning, the glass-and-steel monolith of the Volkov Building felt like a gilded cage. Anna arrived an hour early, her hair pulled back so tightly it was a physical constant, a reminder to keep her face as rigid as her schedule. She had scrubbed the "Elena" persona away with cold cream and sheer willpower, but the ghost of Julian's gaze still felt like a brand on her skin.
By 10:00 AM, the elevator doors chimed open. A courier stepped out, carrying a long, rectangular box wrapped in charcoal-grey paper. No ribbon. No flashy branding.
He walked straight to Anna's mahogany desk. "Package for Anna Ray. Private and Confidential."
Her heart suddenly pounded harder in her chest. She signed with a steady hand, waiting until the courier was gone before slipping a letter opener under the thick paper.
Inside the box, nestled in layers of pristine white tissue, was a single vintage leather-bound book: The Double by Fyodor Dostoevsky.
Her breath hitched. She flipped it open. Tucked inside the first page was a small, cream-colored business card. No company name—only a handwritten mobile number in bold, aggressive ink.
Below the number, three words were scrawled:
For the "head cold."
The message was a calculated strike. It wasn't just a "get well" wish; it was a stark acknowledgment that he knew she had lied. It was a silent, sophisticated message: I see through you.
"What is that, Anna?"
The voice was like a low-frequency vibration. Adrian Volkov stood in his office doorway, filling the frame. He held a stack of acquisition files, his ice-blue eyes narrowing as they landed on the mysterious volume.
"A gift, Mr. Volkov," Anna replied, her voice carefully controlled. "From Mr. Julian. An apology for the 'awkwardness' at dinner last night, I assume."
Adrian stepped forward, commanding the room with a silent authority. He plucked the book from her desk, fingers tracing the gold-leafed spine.
"Dostoevsky? That's quite heavy for a thank-you. The man's an eccentric. He spent the rest of dinner interrogating me about your 'hiring process.' He seemed more interested in my HR department than profits."
"I'm sure he was just being thorough, sir," Anna responded, reaching to take the book back. Her fingers trembled slightly, unnoticed by him.
"You're shaking, Anna. Still feeling that 'cold'?" Adrian asked. The trust that once anchored their relationship was fracturing. Adrian didn't just employ people; he owned their loyalty and their time. Any sign of deviation was a threat.
"I'm fine, sir. Just overwhelmed by the gesture. It's... unexpected."
"Interesting," he muttered. "Very interesting."
He moved closer to his desk, eyes flicking back to the small box then to Anna.
"I want you to call Marissa Delacroix for me," Adrian said after a pause.
Anna blinked. "Excuse me, sir?"
Adrian's sharp, unreadable gaze locked onto hers. "Marissa Delacroix. She owes me a favor. I need her here this afternoon. Tell her it's urgent."
Anna hesitated for a heartbeat, understanding the implications without needing it spelled out. Adrian had a reputation for handling things with subtlety. Whatever feelings he had about the gift—and its sender—he would deal with it in his own way.
"Yes, Mr. Volkov," Anna replied smoothly, typing the number into her tablet.
As Adrian turned to retreat into his office, Anna's personal cell phone—hidden in a velvet-lined compartment of her desk, used only for "Elena" appointments—vibrated.
The sound was muffled, but in the silence of the executive suite, it sounded like a jackhammer.
Adrian paused and turned back slowly, eyes locking onto her drawer.
"That's a distinctive ringtone. I thought you kept your phone on silent during office hours?"
"It's... my mother," Anna lied, her mind racing. "She has a specific alert for emergencies."
"Answer it then," Adrian commanded, crossing his arms. He was no longer just an employer; he was a predator sensing blood. "If it's an emergency, I should know if I'm losing my assistant for the day."
Anna reached into the drawer, pulling out a sleek, burner-style phone. The screen flashed with an unsaved number—the same one written on the card inside the book.
She felt the walls closing in. If she answered, Julian would hear her "Secretary" voice and know for certain. If she didn't, Adrian's suspicion would turn into a full-scale investigation.