JUNE 22
Chapter 18
The glass door to the sales room slid open with a smooth hiss, a sound so ordinary it shouldn't have drawn attention—yet it did. The shift in the atmosphere was instant, like a subtle change in air pressure. Heads lifted from laptops and notepads. Conversations faltered. The room, alive with routine seconds earlier, now leaned unconsciously toward the figure who had just entered.
She walked in with deliberate ease. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor, each measured step announcing a rhythm that commanded quiet acknowledgment. She didn't rush, didn't shrink—she moved like she belonged, or at least like she intended to carve a place for herself here. Confidence radiated from her in steady waves, not loud or brash, but undeniable.
Daniel froze mid-keystroke. The cursor blinked accusingly at him, demanding completion, but his fingers hovered stiffly above the keys. His eyes widened before he forced them shut again, dragging in a breath sharp enough to sting his chest. No… it can't be. He dropped his gaze to the spreadsheet on his screen, pretending absorption in numbers, yet his pulse betrayed him with its frantic rhythm. He knew that face. He knew the cadence of her walk. His sister. His blood. The woman he had spent years hiding from was here, in this very room.
He clenched his jaw and kept his face neutral, a mask he'd perfected. Not now. Not here.
Annabel straightened in her chair, her curiosity piqued though she masked it under professional poise. "HR doesn't mess around," she muttered dryly, mostly to herself but loud enough for Crystal to catch.
Crystal leaned back in his seat, a faint frown creasing his forehead. His eyes studied the newcomer's features, searching his memory. Something familiar tugged at him—a fleeting encounter at Aurora's car, the kind of moment too muddled with chaos to have fully registered then. But now, in the bright clarity of the office, the details surfaced. Recognition stirred in him, cautious and curious, as though some thread of fate was tugging them together.
Her eyes swept the room and landed on him. Brownie's expression softened instantly, her brows lifting and eyes lighting with recognition.
"Hey, Crystal!" she called out warmly, her voice cutting through the charged silence. She raised a hand in an easy wave.
Crystal blinked, startled but quick to recover. "Hey, Brownie," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips as he rose to greet her. Their palms met in a firm handshake that melted into something gentler. Her hand, unlike the first time they'd touched, was warm—soft even, like sinking fingers into a pillow. The warmth lingered, grounding him.
"You're finally here," Crystal said, still smiling as if the sight of her eased some quiet tension he hadn't known he carried.
"Yes, I am," she answered with a grin, her presence radiant in its simplicity.
Crystal tilted his head, teasing lightly, "But I never expected to see you in sales."
Brownie let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Nor did I expect to find you here either." Her tone was playful, but her eyes flickered, holding more layers than her words revealed.
Across the table, Annabel cleared her throat, the sound sharp in the thickened air. She couldn't quite place the history between them, but the familiarity was impossible to miss.
Crystal chuckled, catching her meaning. "Oh—my bad," he said, rising fully to his feet. "Let me introduce you to your new family here."
Brownie nodded, her smile bright but touched with a certain innocence—the kind a child wears when waiting for their father to unwrap a gift. She clutched her bag lightly in front of her, composure wrapped around an undercurrent of nerves.
"This is the head of our unit, Akeem Henry," Crystal announced with a small flourish. "He's African."
"Interesting," Brownie replied, watching as Akeem stood and extended his hand.
"I'm Akeem Henry," he said, voice deep and smooth.
"I'm Brownie," she returned, her handshake firm yet graceful. His hand was the opposite of Crystal's broad, soft grip—calloused, work-worn, carrying the weight of years of effort.
"And this," Crystal continued with a grin, "is the beautiful Annabel." He ruffled her hair playfully, only to earn a sharp shrug and glare.
"Stop it—you'll ruin my hair," Annabel muttered, swatting at his hand.
Brownie smiled politely. "Nice to meet you, Anna."
"Same," Annabel replied curtly, her tone cool enough to suggest she wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.
Crystal turned toward Daniel's desk. "And this is—" He stopped, confusion flickering across his face. Daniel's chair was empty. The laptop screen glowed, the cursor still blinking at unfinished work.
"Where's Daniel?" Crystal asked, scanning the room.
No one answered. Shrugs, glances. Daniel was simply gone.
Crystal frowned, unsettled by his sudden disappearance, but quickly masked it. His attention returned to Brownie, unwilling to let the moment falter.
"Here, have a seat," he offered, gesturing toward the empty chair across from him.
Brownie nodded, clutching her bag tighter as though it anchored her. Her eyes flitted across the room—the poised Annabel with her frosty veneer, Akeem's warm grin, and Crystal's reassuring familiarity. The environment was new and sharp, yet that one familiar anchor made it bearable.
"Thank you," she said softly, sliding into the chair.
Akeem leaned back, grinning easily. "Well, looks like HR didn't send us someone quiet." His tone was teasing, but not unkind, his eyes twinkling with humor.
Brownie smiled, small and polite, her expression friendly but carefully measured. The atmosphere shifted around her presence. This wasn't just another hire—it was a tremor that promised to reshape the dynamics of the entire unit.
Annabel's fingers drummed lightly against her keyboard, her lips pressed thin.
Across the building, in a quiet hallway, Daniel pressed his back to the wall, his breathing ragged. His hands trembled as he raked them through his hair. How is this possible? How is she here? His chest tightened as panic warred with disbelief.
His mind betrayed him with memories he'd tried to bury—his father's face, stern and unyielding; the night of reckoning when the blade could have ended him but mercy prevailed. The vow he had sworn burned through him, searing with every remembered syllable:
"I will never reveal myself to Brownie."
The words struck like a bell in his skull, reverberating until his knees buckled. He crouched low, a muffled sob escaping before he could stop it. His secret—the fragile mask he had worn for so long—was now hanging by threads.
And in the room he had fled from, Brownie sat smiling politely at her new colleagues, unaware that the collision of past and present had already begun.
Daniel crouched lower in the empty hallway, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles blanched. The office buzz faded behind him, muted by the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He had spent years perfecting the art of invisibility, building a life that seemed ordinary, detached, safe. And yet, with one sliding of a glass door, everything was undone.
Why now? he thought bitterly. Why here?
Memories unspooled like film reels behind his eyes.
He was seventeen again, standing in the shadow of their father's study. The room smelled of leather and cigar smoke, lined with books he had never dared touch. His father's voice was a low thunder.
"You've made mistakes, Daniel. Mistakes that would cost you everything."
The blade had glinted in the dim light, pressed against his throat. His heart had hammered then, just as it hammered now. But mercy had intervened—mercy and a vow that shackled him still.
"I'll let you live," his father had said coldly, lowering the knife. "But you will never reveal yourself to Brownie. She must never know you exist in this way. Do you understand?"
Daniel had nodded, choking on shame and gratitude. He had whispered the words that had now come back to haunt him: I will never reveal myself to Brownie.
And now here she was, in the same office, breathing the same air.
He pressed his forehead against the cool plaster wall, his body trembling. Tears stung his eyes before spilling hot and unwanted down his cheeks. He smothered a sob with his sleeve, the sound escaping anyway, echoing faintly in the deserted corridor. He hated himself for it—hated the weakness—but the truth pressed too heavy to bear.
If Crystal had noticed his reaction, if Brownie had even the faintest suspicion… the fragile balance he had maintained would collapse.
Back in the sales room, Brownie adjusted the strap of her bag against her shoulder and let her gaze sweep the space with quiet observation.
The office was bright but clinical, its walls lined with posters of sales targets and motivational quotes. Yet beneath the fluorescent lights, she sensed more than productivity. There was a pulse here, a rhythm she couldn't yet place.
Akeem's warm grin met her eyes again. He leaned casually in his chair, a man at ease in his role and with himself. His presence radiated steadiness, the kind of anchor that kept storms from toppling ships. She appreciated that.
Annabel, on the other hand, was a different storm altogether. The brunette's eyes flicked toward Brownie every so often, quick, sharp, measuring. Her fingers moved across the keyboard with mechanical precision, but her shoulders were stiff, her lips set in a line too thin to be neutral. Brownie didn't need to be a detective here—though she was one, by reputation and blood. Annabel's dislike was plain, dressed up in silence but heavy enough to feel.
Crystal leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only Brownie could hear. "Don't mind Anna. She warms up… eventually."
Brownie smirked faintly. "I'll take your word for it."
"Good," Crystal replied, the corners of his mouth lifting. There was a warmth in his tone that eased the edges of her nerves.
For a moment, the room hummed with small talk, the surface chatter of introductions and half-smiles. Yet beneath it, the tension coiled tighter.
Annabel snapped her laptop shut, the sound loud in the quiet. "Excuse me," she said curtly, standing with deliberate poise. Her heels clicked sharply as she walked away, leaving behind a faint trace of perfume and the undeniable weight of dismissal.
Brownie blinked after her, then turned to Crystal. "Friendly, isn't she?"
Akeem chuckled, low and easy. "That's Annabel for you. She doesn't like competition."
"I didn't know I was competing," Brownie said lightly, though her eyes lingered on the door Annabel had exited through.
"You're not," Crystal reassured quickly. "She just… doesn't like change."
Brownie nodded, tucking the information away in the quiet compartments of her mind where observations became clues.
She let herself relax into the chair at last, though her bag still rested against her legs, a shield she wasn't ready to put aside. For all the warmth in Crystal's smile and the steady calm in Akeem's demeanor, something about the room prickled her instincts. Something—someone—was missing.
Her gaze flicked toward the empty chair at the corner, Daniel's chair, though she didn't yet know it belonged to him. The absence tugged faintly at her curiosity, as though the room itself was holding its breath.
In the hallway, Daniel wiped at his face, forcing himself to stand. He inhaled shakily, straightened his shirt, and stared at his reflection in the darkened glass of an office door. His eyes were rimmed red, his composure fractured, but he pressed the pieces back together with practiced force.
He couldn't avoid this forever. Not without raising suspicion. Not without Crystal—sharp, intuitive Crystal—starting to ask questions.
He would have to play it carefully. He would have to keep his distance, to ensure Brownie never learned the truth.
But as he took a step back toward the sales room, his chest tightened again with a thought that slipped through his defenses, raw and aching.
She looked happy to see Crystal. She still smiles the way she used to…
He stopped, closed his eyes, and swallowed the ache. Then, mask in place once more, he turned the corner—toward the storm he had prayed would never come.
The sales room carried on, pretending to settle back into rhythm after Brownie's arrival. The hum of the TVs filled the silence, advertisements rolling across the screens as though nothing had changed. But everyone knew it had.
Brownie sat quietly, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her gaze flicking between the three staff around her. Annabel, ever poised, had gone back to her keyboard, her nails clattering softly against the keys, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her. She stole glances every so often, her eyes narrowing whenever Brownie smiled too warmly at Crystal.
Akeem, in contrast, looked at ease, leaning back with his trademark grin, one arm stretched casually over the back of his chair. "Don't mind Annabel," he said lightly, his voice carrying across the room. "She's just jealous HR didn't bring her in as the new face of sales."
Annabel shot him a glare sharp enough to cut, but Akeem only laughed, his deep voice rumbling. "Relax, Anna. I dey play."
Brownie chuckled softly, her nerves loosening bit by bit. Crystal watched her, noting how quickly she adapted, how she could balance that detective poise with disarming charm. It was as though she had trained her entire life to walk into strange rooms and make them feel like hers.
But Crystal's thoughts kept circling back—why sales? Why now? Something about her presence didn't sit like a coincidence. He tucked the thought away for later, for when her smile wasn't softening the edges of his suspicion.
Then, the door clicked open again.
Daniel stepped back inside. His return wasn't loud or announced, but the shift in the air was immediate. He had splashed water on his face, trying to wash away the storm, but the redness around his eyes betrayed him. His jaw was clenched too tightly, his movements too precise—the careful mask of a man stitched together by sheer will.
"Where did you disappear to?" Akeem asked, arching a brow, his voice tinged with casual teasing. "You missed HR's grand entrance."
Daniel forced a shrug, his tone low but steady. "Bathroom."
Crystal leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as his sharp eyes studied him. "You vanished without saying a word. Thought maybe you ran off with Anna's coffee stash."
Annabel rolled her eyes. "Please. As if he'd dare." She gave Daniel a pointed look, half challenge, half dismissal.
Daniel managed a thin smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess I'll survive without it."
Crystal's suspicion lingered, but he moved on, gesturing toward Brownie. "Anyway—you missed introductions. This is Brownie, our new staff."
Daniel's throat felt dry. He nodded stiffly, the words rough on his tongue. "Welcome."
Brownie's polite smile brightened. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you all." Her gaze lingered on him a fraction longer than necessary, tilting her head as though trying to place him. "You've been here long?"
Daniel's pulse jumped. He kept his voice clipped. "A while."
Crystal cut in smoothly, sensing Daniel's discomfort. "Don't let his one-word answers fool you. He's one of the sharpest brains in this place—when he isn't hiding in the bathroom."
Akeem chuckled. "Crystal's right. Daniel here is the numbers guy. Quiet, but he gets the job done."
"Numbers guy," Brownie repeated softly, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. "Good to know who to go to when I mess up my first report."
Daniel's lips twitched, an involuntary reaction he quickly masked. "You'll be fine."
"Confidence already," Crystal teased. "Maybe Brownie will knock you out of your shell."
Brownie grinned. "I'll try not to make it my mission… unless it works."
The table rippled with faint laughter—everyone but Annabel, who tapped her pen against her notepad in deliberate disinterest.
"You'll forgive me if I don't jump on the cheerleading squad," Annabel said flatly, eyes fixed on her notes.
"Annabel," Crystal warned lightly, but Brownie raised a hand.
"It's fine," she said smoothly. "I prefer honesty upfront. Saves time."
That earned her a sideways glance from Annabel—sharp, assessing—but no reply.
Daniel exhaled quietly, almost imperceptibly, though inside the vow pulsed in his skull like a brand: She must never know.