Ding.
The elevator opened slowly. Caleb stepped out—worn hat, black mask, an easy gait… but his eyes were sharp and cold in the shadow.
Then he saw her.
A middle‑aged woman was walking gracefully down the same corridor. A tight red blouse hugged her like a bulletproof sheath, her high heels clicked steadily on the marble floor. Her hair was pinned into a neat bun, her makeup subtle, her smile professional. Strong. Authoritative.
Maya.
Caleb paused.
His breath tightened.
Blood burned under his skin.
Maya passed by him without looking back, without reacting. But her perfume hit him—expensive, sharp, like poison wrapped in luxury.
Why was she here…?
They passed one another.
Caleb understood.
…Oh. I see. Everyone in this office is trash‑talking me… because of her.
His eyes narrowed.
Of course. Maya controls everything.
