Morning came too bright, too loud. The sunlight slicing through Nexora Tower's glass walls felt almost cruel—like the city itself didn't care what I'd seen. My hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee I hadn't touched. My reflection on the monitor looked calm enough, but inside, my heartbeat wouldn't slow.
No one here knew. They all laughed and typed and strutted through the polished halls like the world was fine. I wanted to shake them, to scream that everything was broken, that I'd seen something that couldn't be unseen.
But instead, I smiled when people passed. That's what Nexora taught you: composure, perfection, silence.
I tried to focus on work. Press reports. Marketing drafts. I reread the same sentence five times before realizing I hadn't understood a word. When I blinked, I saw his face again—Damian Cross, the calm, empty expression when he looked down at the body. Then those gray eyes lifting, meeting mine through the door.
I swallowed hard, forcing my hands to steady. You're fine, Lily. You're safe.
But even lies lost their comfort here.
Across the room, a man watched me over the edge of his screen—quiet, unreadable, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. Jacob Reed. I'd seen him in meetings, the kind of employee who spoke only when necessary but always seemed to know more than he said. When our eyes met briefly, he looked away, but something about him made my stomach twist. Not fear—something else. Something that said he understood.
"Miss Hart."
Mr. Jung's clipped voice startled me.
"The investor packet—by noon," he said, without looking up from his tablet.
"Yes, sir," I stammered.
I reached for my files too fast, papers scattering like a deck of cards. A quiet laugh—soft, not mocking—came from the next desk. I looked up to see Jacob standing there.
"Here," he said, crouching to help. His voice was low, even. "Need a hand?"
"Oh—uh, thanks."
He stacked the papers neatly before handing them back. "You're new here," he said, more an observation than a question.
"First week," I admitted.
"Rough start?"
I forced a smile. "Just… getting used to the pace."
"Yeah," he murmured. "It takes some time."
Our eyes met again. His were dark, sharp—but tired, as if carrying something heavy. When he walked back to his desk, I felt strangely unsteady, like he'd seen straight through the mask I'd been struggling to hold in place.
Jacob typed mindlessly, his thoughts a storm. Every click of the keys echoed too loud in his ears. From the corner of his eye, he could see her—the intern, Lily—her pink dress, the slight tremor in her fingers. She looked like she hadn't slept, like she was haunted by the same image that kept him awake every night.
He knew that look because he'd worn it.
The shock that never left, the realization that your world had shifted and you couldn't tell anyone.
He'd seen it all too—the boardroom, the pleading voice, the clean efficiency of Damian Cross's violence. He hadn't moved. He'd watched from the shadows, breath silent, because he knew better than to interfere. But when he saw her reflection running in the glass wall, terror on her face, he understood they were bound by the same secret.
He'd spent the last few nights digging through files, cross-checking Nexora's internal records. Harold Mason's name had vanished from every system—deleted, as if he'd never existed. That's how Nexora erased problems.
And witnesses.
When he saw Lily that morning, pale and shaken, something inside him hardened.
She'd seen it too. And if Damian knew there'd been a witness, she was in danger.
The day dragged. Conversations felt too loud, laughter too false. The hum of printers and keyboards blurred into static. At lunch, Lily barely ate. Her coffee was her anchor, something to hold, to hide behind.
She kept thinking she should quit. But the moment she imagined walking out, reality hit—rent, student loans, her mother's medication. Dreams didn't come cheap, and survival cost more.
So she stayed.
By late afternoon, whispers spread through the floor like smoke. Something about a board shake-up, a "resignation." No one said the name, but everyone knew who they meant. Lily caught a fragment of conversation near the break room.
"Mr. Mason's statement was removed from the record."
"Cross said to leave it alone."
And then silence when they saw her standing there. Smiles too quick, eyes too careful.
Her pulse pounded as she returned to her desk. She didn't notice Jacob watching, concern flickering behind his calm expression.
When she left early that evening, rain dripping down the office windows, Jacob caught her reflection in the elevator. Her eyes looked hollow. He wanted to stop her, to say something that would anchor them both, but the doors closed before he could move.
That night, the rain followed her home.
Lily locked her apartment door twice, then sank onto the couch, shaking. The city outside buzzed and glowed, but she felt detached, like she was watching it all from behind glass.
She pulled out her phone, hovered over the anonymous tip line she'd searched earlier. Her thumb trembled. If I tell them, what if they don't believe me? What if he finds out?
Instead, she opened a new note and typed quietly:
If something happens to me, it was Damian Cross. Nexora Tower. Top floor. I saw what he did.
She stared at the words until her vision blurred. Then she saved it and shut the phone off.
Outside her window, a black car idled on the curb. Its lights were off. The engine hummed softly, like a warning. She froze, heart thundering, watching it through the curtains. When it finally pulled away, she sank back onto the floor, breath shaking.
Sleep never came.
Jacob couldn't sleep either. His apartment was dim, the only light coming from his monitor as he scrolled through encrypted company files. Every document he uncovered confirmed what he already knew—Harold Mason hadn't resigned. He'd been erased.
The deeper he dug, the more dangerous it became. But walking away wasn't an option anymore. He couldn't unknow what he'd seen—or the sight of her running terrified through the hall.
He typed a new note into his private log:
Find her. Protect her. Before he does.
The next morning, Nexora gleamed again, indifferent and perfect.
Lily arrived early, her mind still fogged from another sleepless night. She tried to focus on her screen, her notes, her to-do list—but all she could feel was the unease crawling beneath her skin. When she looked up, Jacob was already there, staring blankly at his monitor, lost in thought.
Their eyes met for a heartbeat. A silent understanding passed between them—fear, recognition, something fragile but real.
Then the elevator chimed.
Damian Cross stepped out, flanked by two assistants, immaculate as ever. Conversations died instantly. He smiled, smooth and cold.
"Good morning, everyone," he said. His voice carried effortlessly through the room. "Let's make today productive."
His gaze drifted across the office—and lingered, just a fraction of a second, on Lily.
Her breath caught.
Jacob felt the shift too—the sudden chill that came whenever Damian entered a room, amplified now into something sharper.
Damian's eyes moved on, his smile returning.
But the damage was done.
The silence that followed felt heavier than words.
Lily's hands shook slightly over her keyboard.
Jacob's jaw tightened, heart hammering.
They both knew.
He'd seen her.
And the real story—the one they couldn't yet tell—was only beginning.