The silence in the elevator was deafening.
Aria stood stiffly at Darian Wayne's side, eyes fixed on the silver panel ahead, counting the floors like her life depended on it. His presence was magnetic but not in a comforting way. He radiated cold power, the kind that wrapped around her like chains rather than warmth. After the humiliating scolding she'd received earlier that day, the last place she wanted to be was trapped alone in a box with him.
Yet here they were.
"You really shouldn't take mistakes so personally," he said suddenly, his voice low but sharp. "If you want to survive in my company, grow thicker skin."
Aria blinked. Of course he thought she was soft. Because showing respect was weakness? Because she didn't spit venom or slam doors?
She glanced sideways, defiant for the first time since entering the building. "With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, it wasn't my mistake. And I'm not made of glass."
Darian turned his head slowly. Something flickered in his eyes interest, maybe. Surprise, definitely. "You've got fire after all," he murmured.
The elevator dinged. Floor 39.
He stepped out, but instead of turning left toward his office, he looked back. "Come with me."
Aria hesitated. "Where to?"
"You'll find out.
That wasn't comforting.
Still, her legs moved before her brain could protest.
The office on the 39th floor wasn't familiar to her. Unlike the glass-and-marble aesthetic of the executive wing, this space felt… older. Richer. Dark woods lined the walls, and a massive oil painting of a woman in a red dress hung behind the leather chair at the far end. The air smelled faintly of cedar and aged whiskey.
Darian walked in like he belonged because he did. He moved behind the desk and picked up a thick black folder.
He opened it, then handed it to her.
"These are the Bluegate numbers. The ones you claimed weren't your responsibility," he said.
She took the folder hesitantly and glanced through the pages. Her brows furrowed. This wasn't the file she worked on.
"This… isn't mine," she said quietly, flipping the pages again just to be sure.
"I know. I wanted to see if you'd admit it or throw your team under the bus."
Anger flared in her chest. "So I was a test?"
"Everything is a test, Miss Lane."
She closed the folder and looked him straight in the eye. "And did I pass?"
His lips twitched almost a smile, but not quite. "Barely."
She had the sudden urge to throw the folder at his perfectly sculpted face. Instead, she placed it on the desk with deliberate calm.
"I didn't sign up to be your punching bag," she said. "Or your test subject. If I make a mistake, I'll own it. But if you want someone to take your frustrations out on, you can find another intern."
A tense beat of silence passed.
Then, Darian sat down in the leather chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."
She turned to leave.
"Aria."
Her name on his lips stopped her. She hated that it made her breath hitch.
He didn't apologize. But his next words were quieter. "Don't quit. You've got potential. I don't waste time on people who don't."
It wasn't kindness. But it wasn't cruelty either.
She nodded once, then walked out, letting the heavy wooden door shut softly behind her.
Back at her cubicle, her heart still pounded. Not just from anger but confusion.
Why did he single her out?
Why was she the one being tested?
And why did it matter that he saw potential in her?
That night, Aria walked home instead of taking the bus.
The air was crisp and humid with city smells. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she made her way through the streets of Manhattan's upper west side, headphones in but no music playing.
Her mind replayed every word, every glare, every charged silence between her and Darian.
She wasn't supposed to be thinking about him this much. He was just a boss. An intimidating, infuriating boss. Nothing more.
But there was something about the way he looked at her as if he saw past her curated mask and reached straight into the thoughts she didn't voice.
She didn't want to admit it, but his presence affected her in ways she couldn't explain.
When she got to her apartment, a package sat by her door.
No label. No sender.
Frowning, she picked it up and went inside. The moment she peeled back the flap, her stomach dropped.
Inside was a black velvet box. Inside that a flash drive.
And a note.
"You don't know who you're working for. But you will soon. Be careful who you trust."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the flash drive over.
What was this?
A threat?
A warning?
And how did they know where she lived?
Her instincts screamed to throw the whole thing away but curiosity was louder.
Aria booted up her laptop, plugged in the drive, and opened the lone folder inside.
Inside were dozens of files.
Invoices.
Bank records.
Internal memos.
Every single one stamped with the logo of Wayne Industries.
Her breath caught in her throat as she clicked through them.
The documents pointed to something illegal. No something criminal. Shell companies. Off-the-book transfers. Names she didn't recognize. One memo even hinted at a partnership with a company blacklisted by federal trade officials.
Was this real?
Was Darian Wayne involved?
Or was someone trying to frame him?
The last file in the folder was a photo.
It showed Darian standing beside a man Aria had never seen before shaking hands in what looked like a foreign city. The timestamp was just two months ago.
The man beside Darian was marked in red: "Alexander Rome – Confirmed arms dealer (Interpol watchlist)"
Her stomach turned.
The cool, intimidating man she worked for… was involved with a weapons trafficker?
She pulled the flash drive out of the laptop and clutched it in her hand.
Suddenly, the room felt too small. The walls too close. The air too thin.
What had she gotten herself into?
She sat down, palms sweaty, heart racing.
There was no going back now.
Whether she liked it or not… Aria Lane was in the middle of something far bigger than interoffice drama or office politics.
And she wasn't sure who she could trust anymore.
Not even Darian Wayne.
Especially not Darian Wayne.