Luke:
Monday morning felt like walking back into a crime scene. The air in the office was different, thinner and colder. It was in the way the chatter at the coffee machine stopped as I approached, the way eyes flicked toward me and then just as quickly darted away. I was a ghost again, but this time, everyone could see me, and they were all pretending they couldn't.
I made it to my desk without a direct confrontation, It was like a small, pathetic victory. I tried to bury myself in my screen, but the silence around me was a loud, and It didn't last long.
The sharp sound of heels approaching was the only warning. Anna stopped at the edge of my cubicle, a stack of dusty, ancient-looking binders in her arms. She didn't look at me, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over my head.
"Luke," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. It was flatter than the surface of my monitor. "The archival records from the 2018-2020 fiscal years are a disaster. I need them cross-referenced, digitized, and a full reconciliation report on my desk by Friday."
She dropped the stack onto the corner of my desk with a soft thud. A small cloud of dust puffed into the air. This wasn't work; this was exile. This was a task you gave an intern you were trying to force to quit.
I stared at the binders, my stomach sinking. "Anna, this is going to take the whole week. What about the quarterly..."
She finally looked at me, and her eyes looked like chips of gray ice. "The quarterly reports will be handled by someone with a clearer focus. You seem… distracted. Consider this an opportunity to re-familiarize yourself with the fundamentals. Unless you have a prior engagement you need to attend to?"
The barb was perfectly aimed, a direct hit from Saturday night. My face grew warm. There was nothing to say. "No. I'll get started."
"Good." She turned and walked away, her posture rigid.
The moment she was out of earshot, Mark rolled his chair over with a wide grin on his face. "Whoa. Looks like the golden boy's lost his shine. What happened, man? Forget how to smile at the boss?" He chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. "Or did you finally try your cheap lines on the wrong woman and get shot down?"
I kept my eyes on the dusty binder in front of me, my jaw clenched so tight to the point it ached. "It's just a project, Mark."
"Sure, sure. A 'project'," he said, making air quotes. "We all get those 'projects' when we're on the shit list. Don't worry, buddy. I'm sure you can dig your way out of this one. You're full of surprises, right?"
He gave my shoulder a mock-sympathetic pat before rolling back to his desk, laughing to himself.
I spent the next few hours in the dim, windowless storage room they called the 'archive,' the air thick with the smell of old paper. Each page I scanned felt like a layer of my own pride being sanded away. This was the price. This was the public and professional consequence of my private drama.
When I finally dragged myself back to my desk, exhausted and covered in a fine layer of grime, I tried to catch Hazel's eye. She was at her computer, her body was tight with tension. She felt my gaze and looked up. For a second, the professional wall she'd built crumbled, and I saw something, which was not anger or pity, but a deep, genuine concern.
It was worse than any glare from Anna or any taunt from Mark. It was a look that said, I see you falling, and it hurts me to watch. Then she looked down, the wall slamming back into place, and the connection was severed.
I slumped into my chair, the weight of it all pressing down on me. The power, the money, the new apartment, it had all been a house of cards. The power didn't make me stronger; it just gave me a cheat code that allowed me to bypass the need to build real strength, real respect. Now that the code had been exposed, I was left with nothing. I was just Luke Mason, covered in dust and humiliated.
My phone buzzed, vibrating on board of the desk, I received text.
Anna: My office. Now.
A fresh wave of cold dread washed over me. What now? More humiliation? Was I being fired? I stole another glance at Hazel. She was watching me, her brow furrowed with that same worried look. It was the only thing that felt real in the entire room.
I stood, my legs feeling like wood, and walked the long walk to Anna's corner office. The door was slightly open. I knocked softly.
"Come in, Luke."
Her voice was different. It was softer, that threw me off balance. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her office was as pristine and imposing as ever, the city skyline a backdrop to her power. "Close the door," she said, not looking up from her laptop.
I did, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. The sound felt unusually loud. She finished typing something, then slowly closed her laptop. She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers, and finally looked at me. The professional expression was gone, replaced by something more complex, yet more dangerous.
"You've had a rough morning," she stated. "I've had better," I replied, my voice cautious.
"I bet you have." A small, knowing smile played on her lips. "Saturday night was… eventful." Here it comes, I thought. The final dismissal.
"Anna, about that..."
She held up a hand, silencing me. "Don't. We don't need to rehash it." She stood up and walked around her desk, leaning back against the front of it, so she was just an arm's length away from me. She was blocking the path to the door. The space in the office suddenly felt much, much smaller.
"The thing is, Luke," she said, her voice dropping to a low, intimate mutter. "I don't like being played. I don't like being a pawn in someone else's little revenge drama."
"I never meant—"
"I know what you meant," she interrupted, her eyes locking with mine. They were intense, searching. "You were trying to prove something. To her. To yourself. I get it." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "But you also proved something to me."
She uncrossed her arms and took a single step forward, closing the small distance between us. The air crackled. I could smell her perfume, the same one from the gala, and it sent a jolt of memory through me.
"You have nerve," she whispered, her gaze dropping to my lips for a heartbeat before returning to my eyes. "A lot of it. That stupid, reckless confidence… it's infuriating. But it's also… intriguing."
My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. This wasn't the script. This was… something else entirely. "Anna, I…" I had no words. The world had tilted on its axis.
She reached out, and I flinched, expecting a slap. But her fingers didn't strike my face. They went to the top button of my shirt, her knuckles brushing against the skin of my throat. Her touch was electric.
"This doesn't change your project," she said softly, her fingers deftly undoing the button. "You're still on thin ice. But maybe…" She leaned in, I could feel her warm breath against my ear, her voice a silken threat and a promise. "Maybe we can discuss how you're going to… thaw it out."