By the time I left Adrian's office, my head felt like someone had shaken it in a jar and handed it back with a cheerful good luck. I spent the elevator ride down repeating the same useless thought: Act normal, act normal. Hard to do when the CEO had just told me to report "unusual events" directly to him like I'd been drafted into a covert operation.
When the elevator doors opened, Ms. Dunley was waiting. Of course she was. She stood there like she'd been guarding the floor from intruders, and unfortunately, I guess I counted.
"There you are," she said. Zero warmth. All disapproval. "Orientation began eight minutes ago."
"I was sent to—"
She turned and walked off. "Follow me."
Okay then. Talking was clearly optional.
I hurried after her, my not-great shoes squeaking every few steps. Very professional. Perfect for creating confidence in upper management.
She led me into a small training room where three other new hires sat at a long table. One girl with cool glasses gave me a sympathetic smile. I wanted to hug her solely for proving this company had at least one friendly human.
"You're late," Ms. Dunley announced, as if the room needed that information narrated.
I opened my mouth to explain, but she lifted her hand—the international symbol for don't even think about it.
I sat.
Orientation began. A guy named Leo clicked through slides about PTO, benefits, security badges, media policy, and the fifty-seven ways HR could destroy you if you misused your company email. His jokes didn't land. At all. The silence after each one felt like a performance piece.
We did introductions. Accounting assistant. Logistics coordinator. Jade (the girl with the cool glasses) joined the social media team. Then me.
"I'm Lena. Marketing assistant."
I did not add: Accidentally hired. Accidentally involved in corporate mystery. Accidentally terrified.
Halfway through the session, my brain drifted back to Adrian's warning. If anything unusual happens, tell me. Only me.Yeah. Super casual. Definitely the kind of thing bosses tell on day one.
When orientation ended, Jade caught up to me in the hallway.
"Rough start?" she asked.
"You could say that."
She laughed. "Don't worry. Everyone cries by week three."
"Promising."
We were about to raid the break room when someone said my name:
"Ms. Hart?"
We turned. A tall, serious-looking man in a gray suit stood there like someone had carved him out of responsibility.
"I'm Ethan Price," he said. "CFO."
Oh. Adrian's right-hand organizational wizard. Great.
"Hi," I said. "Nice to meet you."
"Mr. Cole would like you to stop by his office after your department onboarding." His tone was polite. And final.
"Again?" slipped out before I could stop it.
"He didn't specify the reason."
Jade looked at me with wide eyes. You're either getting promoted or deported, her expression said.
"Okay," I managed. "I'll let my team know."
Ethan nodded. "I'll wait."
He stood by the elevator like a very expensive guardrail while I told the marketing coordinator I'd been summoned upstairs again. She barely reacted. Maybe this kind of thing happened often, or maybe she'd decided it was safer not to ask.
Ethan and I rode up in silence. My left shoe squeaked. He glanced down, then back up, and nodded politely, like he was acknowledging a tragic but understandable situation.
When we reached the top floor, everything felt quieter and extremely… polished. The kind of place where even the walls seemed to have job titles.
Ethan knocked on the CEO's office door once, opened it, and gestured me inside.
Adrian was standing by the window again, hands in his pockets, the city behind him like an unbothered backdrop. He turned when he heard me.
"Lena," he said.
Just my name. Calm. Neutral. Yet something in the way he said it made my stomach tighten.
"You wanted to see me?" I stepped inside.
"Sit."
I sat. He stayed standing a moment longer before finally taking his seat across from me. Classic power move, but he didn't do it aggressively—more like he needed a second to pick the right words.
"I received a call from Internal Affairs," he said.
My internal organs collectively winced. That phrase never led anywhere fun.
"They flagged an irregularity in your file."
I blinked. "Another one?"
"Yes." He exhaled lightly. "Your employment documents were manually entered into the restricted system."
I stared at him. "Is that… normal?"
"No. Only executives have that access."
"Right. Well. I didn't do it."
"I know."
That immediate, steady answer caught me off guard. Warmth wasn't the right word, but trust? Maybe a small, surprising fraction of it.
He continued, "This is why I told you to come directly to me. If someone interferes with your employment again, I need to know."
"Why would anyone mess with my file?" I asked.
A pause. Not long. But long enough to confirm he had a theory and wasn't sharing.
"There are internal dynamics," he said. "And the personal agreement created complications."
"The secret partner contract?" I lowered my voice even though the door was closed. "The one you took back?"
"Yes."
"So someone else saw it," I said quietly.
"Possibly."
Great. Love that.
"So what kind of complications?" I asked. "The political kind? The stressful kind? Or the 'Lena accidentally detonated something she didn't understand' kind?"
"Political," he said. "Not dangerous."
"That didn't sound convincing."
"It was meant to be."
I almost smiled despite myself.
He folded his hands. "You're not in trouble. Your position is secure."
"Feels like someone didn't get that memo," I muttered.
His jaw tightened slightly—not at me, but at the situation. "It won't happen again."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I'll handle it."
He said it with the calm certainty of a man who handled everything, all the time, until the rest of the world fell in line.
"I didn't ask to be part of this," I said before I could swallow the words.
His expression softened—not much, but enough to notice. "I know. None of this is because of anything you did."
For a second, it felt like the room steadied around his voice. Not safer, exactly, but less chaotic.
He slid a folder across the desk. "Your corrected onboarding packet. Reviewed personally."
I stared at it. "You reviewed my paperwork?"
"Yes."
"That's not typical CEO behavior."
"No."
"So why do it?"
His eyes met mine, steady and unreadable. "Because this situation was brought to you. It wasn't something you initiated."
Something in my chest tightened. Not dramatically—just a small, uncomfortable squeeze.
He stood, walked to the door, cracked it open to check the hallway, then closed it again. When he returned, his voice was quieter.
"If anyone asks questions about me, or documents, or your hiring process, you redirect them. Do not answer. Not even if they imply it's required."
"That sounds like a warning," I said.
"It's a precaution."
Sure. And my first paycheck would arrive on a unicorn.
He stepped back to give me space. "Go. Join your team. Get settled."
I stood. "Right."
I reached the door when he said, "Lena."
I turned.
"If anything else happens," he said, "tell me immediately."
His voice wasn't cold. Still controlled, but with something under it—something protective he probably hated admitting existed.
"I will," I said.
I stepped into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind me, and all the thoughts I'd been holding back crashed in at once.
Less than four hours into the job, and I was already involved in corporate politics I didn't understand.
I pulled out my phone to text Jade, but before I typed anything, a message appeared from an unknown number:
We need to talk. Privately. It's about Cole.
I froze mid-step.
Fantastic.
Another mystery.