ELARA...
The first thing Elara heard was her phone vibrating. The second was Jamie's voice from the kitchen, thick with disbelief.
"Uh, Elara," he called, "why are you on the news?"
She sat up too fast. Light stabbed through the curtains. On the television across the small living room, a headline scrolled under a frozen photo of her and Damon Voss mid-waltz, his hand at her waist, her eyes on him.
MYSTERY EDITOR STEALS THE SHOW AT VOSS GALA
Jamie's grin was pure mischief. "You didn't tell me you were secretly famous."
"I'm not," she groaned, dragging a pillow over her face.
"You danced with the boss in front of the entire city." He paused. "The same boss who looked like he could tear a person apart if they ever crossed him. You two are seriously trending."
"Stop reading those headlines."
"Too late. I already screenshotted them."
Elara threw the pillow. "Traitor."
He dodged, laughing, and set a mug of coffee beside her. "I'm just saying—if you're going to be the main character, at least act like one."
She took the cup, inhaling the scent. "I'm acting like someone who wishes last night never happened."
Jamie leaned against the doorframe, still smiling but gentler now. "You looked happy, though. In the clip. Like… you forgot to be careful for a second."
She stared into her coffee. "That was the mistake."
By the time Stella burst in an hour later, Jamie had already left to meet friends, and Elara had convinced herself the scandal would die quietly.
"Wrong," Stella announced, waving her phone. "It's everywhere. Finance blogs. Fashion pages. Even a meme account called Corporate Crushes."
"Fantastic."
"They're calling you the mystery editor. Do you know how iconic that is?"
"Do you know how unemployed that could make me?"
Stella flopped onto the couch. "You worry too much. The internet ships you two harder than Netflix."
Elara pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ships sink."
At the office, the air felt thicker. Conversations cut off when she entered; half-smiles followed her down the corridor. She kept her head high, her steps measured.
Mrs Irene summoned her before she'd even logged in. The supervisor's voice was flat. "You drew attention to this department, Miss Quin. That could be either excellent publicity or a PR nightmare. For now, stay invisible."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And don't give anyone reason to think you're part of Mr. Voss's personal image problem."
Elara nodded, throat tight. When she left the office, Stella mouthed, What happened?
Elara just shook her head.
All day, screens flickered with articles, coworkers whispered, printers hummed like gossip itself. She buried herself in edits, ignoring the tremor in her hands.
By late afternoon, the floor emptied. She looked around the quiet space—her reflection in the dark computer screen, headlines still echoing in her mind.
Jamie's words replayed softly: You looked happy.
She exhaled and muttered to no one, "Never again."
The next morning, the glass façade of Voss Tower shimmered under a crush of reporters. Flashbulbs snapped against the tinted car that rolled to a stop. Damon Voss stepped out, immaculate as always, expression unreadable.
"Mr. Voss, care to comment on the mystery editor?" someone shouted.
He didn't pause. His guards closed ranks and the revolving doors swallowed him whole.
Inside, the lobby quieted to a low hum of fear and fascination. Assistants glanced up from screens, whispers following him to the private elevator. Luke, his right-hand man, fell into step beside him.
"Sir, statements are piling up. Do you want PR to issue—"
"No."
"About Miss Quin?"
"Especially about her."
The elevator doors slid shut. Damon's reflection stared back—tailored, calm, but the green in his eyes looked sharper than usual.
By the time he reached his floor, another message waited on his phone.
Jenna Dobrick.
-You humiliated me in front of people who know my name—and my bloodline.
Was it worth it?
He read it twice, thumb hovering over "Reply." He didn't. Jenna wasn't just a public face; she was Alex Vance's cousin, someone who'd known him long enough to see the man behind the brand. That made the sting harder to ignore.
He pocketed the phone and turned to the skyline instead. The city looked the same—ruthless, bright, oblivious. He almost envied it.
"Family reunion," a voice drawled from the doorway. Alex strolled in without knocking, a smirk already in place.
"You saw the headlines."
"I landed on one. Jenna called me at dawn, said you traded her spotlight for a scandal." He dropped into a chair, stretching. "Congratulations. You're officially gossip."
"She'll recover."
Alex whistled softly. "Maybe. But you just gave the media an early Christmas. Tell me, was that dance strategy or instinct because she's still my cousin since I have to remind you every now and then."
Damon's jaw flexed. "I'll handle it, Leave it, Alex."
"Oh, I'm leaving it." Alex rose, smoothing his cuff. "I'm staying in L.A. awhile. Corporate meetings. Damage control. Maybe I'll check in on your fiery editor."
"Don't."
Alex grinned. "Who said I was asking?" He winked and walked out, humming under his breath.
Alex didn't head straight out of the building. He had time to kill before his next meeting, and curiosity led him to wander the publishing floor Damon had mentioned once—the one full of "creative chaos."
It lived up to the reputation.
The place smelled of ink, coffee, and deadlines. Desks overflowed with papers, the air humming with nervous energy. He was scanning the wall of framed magazine covers when someone rounded the corner too quickly and slammed into him.
A burst of files flew everywhere.
"Oh, for crying out loud," the woman muttered, crouching to collect them.
Alex stooped, gathering a few sheets. "No harm done," he said easily.
She looked up—and froze. "You're—"
"—Alex Walter," he supplied, amused. "We've met before yeah? And you are?"
"Stella Monroe. Yes we did, yesterday at the gala," she said, straightening with the stack. "Publishing department. I was just dropping these off at the design division before the deadline kills me."
"Good thing you didn't drop them in front of a camera. They'd call it a merger gone wrong."
She blinked, then laughed. "Please. I barely survive my inbox. You think I have time for mergers?"
He smiled, intrigued. "You talk like someone who doesn't scare easy."
"Maybe I just haven't realized who I'm talking to yet."
"That's refreshing. Most people introduce themselves after complimenting my net worth."
"Then maybe they should try leading with 'hello. Shouldn't you be somewhere being famous. "
He chuckled," I try to pace myself. "
" Guess even billionaires need breaks"
Someone down the hall shouted her name. Stella sighed and balanced the files against her chest.
"Well, skyscraper king," she said lightly, "try not to buy my department while I'm gone."
He smirked. "No promises."
As she hurried off, he caught himself watching her longer than he should have. She was sunshine wrapped in chaos—nothing like the polished women he usually met.
Alex slid his hands into his pockets, still smiling as he headed toward the elevator. "Interesting," he murmured to himself.
Evening bled across the skyline. Elara sat alone on the nearly empty office floor, the hum of the city leaking through the windows. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. Her computer screen glowed with an open directory—new folders she hadn't seen before.
Her cursor hovered over one: Project Serpent – Modified (Recent).
She hesitated, then clicked.
Half the files were missing, half redacted. But the timestamp read only days old. Someone had touched it. Recently. Someone inside the company.
A chill crawled up her spine. She closed the window quickly, heart hammering.
Across the city, in his penthouse, Damon watched a single notification appear on his secure monitor:
Employee E.Quin accessed restricted archive.
He didn't stop her. He poured a drink instead, the amber catching the city's reflection.
Maybe he wanted to see how far she'd go. Maybe he just wanted to understand why he couldn't look away.
He set the glass down and stared out over the lights. The world below moved in patterns—predictable, obedient. Except for one variable wearing a midnight dress.
He told himself it was control. It felt like something else entirely.
Some dances end when the music stops, theirs had only just begun.