Elara
The tension in Voss Publishing had a pulse. It threaded through every cubicle, every hushed conversation, every sideways glance when Elara walked past. The air had changed since that night in the archives. Damon Voss — the name people only said when they wanted to sound either terrified or impressed — hadn't left for Switzerland as planned. Instead, he'd told the board he'd "be around for a while."
A while.
In corporate terms, that meant trouble.
No one knew why. But the office did what offices do best — it speculated.
Elara sat at her desk, her eyes on the half-filled coffee mug that had gone cold hours ago. Her phone buzzed with another message from Stella:
"Girl, rumor says your boss is staying because of a woman I'm placing bets."
Elara didn't respond. She just smirked faintly. If Piper only knew how close that rumor was to setting itself on fire.
She'd barely slept since that night — the night she'd seen her father's name on a confidential Voss Technologies file, the one stamped 2010. It had taken everything in her to slip it back into place before those steady footsteps filled the room. Damon's footsteps.
He hadn't said much then — just a warning, veiled in that razor-edge voice of his.
"You better be ready for what they reveal ."
He'd said it like he was testing the weight of her fear.
She'd stared right back, refusing to blink.
And since that night, it was as though they'd silently agreed to play a game.
The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime, and the hush that followed was palpable. Damon stepped out in a black suit that looked like it had been designed around him, not for him. He moved with that unnerving calm — no wasted motion, no sound. His assistant trailed behind, phone in hand, murmuring updates.
Elara didn't need to look up to know the entire floor was pretending to work harder. She could feel it — that collective tightening of air when he passed.
He didn't so much as glance at her, but she could feel him look. The weight of that awareness was its own kind of violence.
By lunch, the gossip had fully bloomed.
Two editors whispered near the glass corridor.
"He's supposed to be in Switzerland."
"Apparently he's staying for a new project."
"Or someone."
Elara ignored them, pushing the door open to the staff lounge where Jamie sat, already halfway through a sandwich.
He grinned when he saw her. "You look like you're running on fumes."
"Maybe because I am." She dropped her bag beside him. "How's your day?"
"Fine. Just there really, didn't do much"
"that's ok, it's a holiday for a reason "
He took another bite, speaking around it. "You're overworking again."
Elara raised a brow. "You sound like Mom."
"Good. Someone has to."
He said it easily — no tremor, no trace of bitterness. He'd long accepted their parents' deaths the way a child accepts bad weather. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it doesn't. But Elara couldn't. She remembered too much — the sound, the smell, the unanswered questions.
"Hey," he said, nudging her. "Don't drift. You're thinking too hard again."
She blinked. "Sorry. Just tired."
He smiled gently. "You know, you don't have to fix everything."
"Maybe I want to."
He sighed. "Then promise me one thing — whatever it is you're chasing, don't lose yourself in it."
Elara gave him a tight smile. "You sound like someone twice your age."
"I blame you."
They laughed softly, the moment briefly cutting through the heaviness that had been building in her chest for days.
When she returned to her cubicle, Damon was by her seat and Stella was staring, too stunned to speak. Well, that's a first, Gosh! After this I was going to answer so many questions from her.
No heads up. No warning.Nothing
He sat by her desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, his other hand idly tracing the edge of one of her files.
Elara froze. "Mr. Voss."
He looked up, eyes that impossible shade of green, cool, unreadable, lethal. "Miss Quin."
"What are you doing here in my space?"
He tilted his head. "Your space?" His tone was quiet, amused. "That's generous."
She swallowed, forcing herself to stand straighter. "You have your own office upstairs."
"I do."
He paused. "But I prefer this one today."
Elara's pulse jumped, but she held his gaze. "Any particular reason?"
"Yes." He took a slow step forward. "You've been distracted. I don't tolerate distractions."
"I'm not distracted."
"You are," he said softly. "You've been slipping. You missed a comma in the quarterly report."
Her jaw tightened. "You read that?"
"I read everything."
At this point the whole office was quiet, everyone pretending they were awfully busy but in reality they were watching the drama unfold.
He leaned towards me, voice dropping a note lower, almost whispering . "Tell me, Miss Quin. Do you always snoop through things that don't belong to you?"
Elara Froze.
The words hit like a thrown blade.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air throbbed with tension.
She met his gaze, her voice steady. "If I did, I'd be more careful next time."
His lips curved — not a smile, but close. "You learn fast."
"I adapt."
He straightened, circling her slowly like a man who'd found a puzzle worth keeping. "You're bold when you shouldn't be. That's either admirable or suicidal."
"Maybe both."
Damon studied her in silence. The light caught the faint gold flecks in her eyes, and for one brief second, something in him — something buried deep — shifted. "Curiosity can be a dangerous thing," he murmured.
Elara took a slow breath. "So can power."
That made him pause. He looked at her then, really looked — as if trying to decide whether to ruin her or protect her.
"I don't like being challenged," he said.
"Then you hired the wrong woman."
The faintest flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Perhaps."
They stood there in silence — sharp, electric, the air between them carved thin.
Finally, he turned toward the door. "I'll be traveling to Zurich tonight."
Her heart stuttered not because she would miss him but because she knew that he was planning something and any move he makes can either hinder or expose her plan. "I thought you said you were staying—"
"I did." He looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. "But staying doesn't mean you'll always see me."
The words hung heavy, like a promise wrapped in warning.
And then...
That shadow in the silence.
That impossible stillness he carried.
"Try not to let your curiosity kill you, Miss Quin," he said quietly, the faintest smirk ghosting his mouth.
"I'd hate to have to resurrect you."
And just like that, he was gone.
He left the floor and Elara let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Her hands were trembling. Not from fear — from something else.
Because somewhere beneath the unease, beneath the irritation, there was something she couldn't name. Something magnetic.
Ignoring the whispers and stares of her coworkers, she sank slowly into her chair, she told herself it was just adrenaline.
Nothing more.
He stood in the elevator, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets. The city glimmered through the glass walls as the floor numbers climbed.
He'd seen many people lie before. But Elara Quin wasn't like the others. She didn't lie to survive. She lied to provoke.
And damn her for making it look so innocent.
A part of him knew she was searching for something — the same something he'd buried over a decade ago. And he should've cared. Should've stopped her.
But instead, he found himself thinking about the fire in her eyes when she'd said, "Then you hired the wrong woman."
He smiled faintly — rare, brief, dangerous.
"Maybe I did," he murmured to himself.
"Or maybe I hired the only one who'll destroy me."
The elevator doors slid open.
His shadow lingered long after he was gone.