Maya POV
I stare at my phone screen until the words blur.
Meet me and find out. Unless you want to keep being his victim forever.
My finger hovers over the delete button. This is crazy. Whoever sent this could be anyone—a scammer, a crazy person, someone trying to get me fired. I should delete it and forget this ever happened.
But I don't.
Because that word—victim—burns in my chest like fire.
Is that what I am? Dominic Kane's victim?
"Miss Chen!" His sound cuts through the office like a knife. "I don't pay you to stare at your phone!"
I jump, nearly dropping it. Through the glass wall of his office, I see him staring at me. Even from here, his eyes look strange. Too strong. Too focused.
I shove my phone in my drawer and grab my notepad. "Coming, Mr. Kane!"
When I enter his office, he's standing at his desk, arms crossed. There's a coffee cup in front of him—the expensive one I picked up this morning before the Morrison file disaster.
"This is cold," he says simply.
I got it twenty minutes ago. It can't be cold. "I can get you another—"
"That's the third time this week you've brought me cold coffee. Are you trying to be incompetent?"
My nails dig into my skin. The coffee isn't cold. I know it isn't. But he'll never say he's wrong.
"I apologize, Mr. Kane. I'll be more careful."
He picks up a stack of files—it must be six inches thick—and drops them on the edge of his desk with a loud thud. "These need to be sorted and cross-referenced by noon. Alphabetically, then by date, then by importance level."
I look at the mountain of paper. That's at least four hours of work, and it's already 9 AM. "Sir, I also have the Morrison contract—"
"Are you telling me you can't handle your job?"
The question is a trick. If I say yes, I'm saying I'm not good enough. If I say no, he'll pile more work on.
"No, sir. I can handle it."
"Good." He sits down, already looking at his computer. Dismissed.
I take the files back to my desk, my arms shaking. Not from the weight—from rage. Pure, burning rage that I have to swallow down and smile through because I need this stupid job.
"Maya?" A whisper from the desk next to mine. Jenny, the marketing helper, leans over. "How are you still alive?"
I make a laugh. "Spite and coffee."
"Seriously, though." Jenny's eyes are worried. "You look tired. Kane's been riding you hard this week."
Every week, I think. But I just shrug. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. He's a nightmare." Jenny looks at Dominic's office, then back at me. "You know Sarah quit last month because of him? She cried in the bathroom for an hour before she turned in her resignation. "
I didn't know Sarah. She was before my time. But I'm not shocked.
"I should get to work," I say, opening the first file.
Jenny squeezes my arm. "Just... hang in there, okay?"
The morning drags by like pain. I arrange files until my eyes cross. Every time I look up, Dominic is watching me through his office window. Not obviously—just quick stares that make the back of my neck prickle.
Why does he keep looking at me?
At 11:30, I'm halfway through the stack when my phone buzzes in my drawer.
I shouldn't look. I have thirty minutes to finish and I'm nowhere near done.
But I can't help it.
Unknown number: Tick tock, Maya. Lunch is in 30 minutes. Joe's Coffee on 5th. Table in the back. Don't tell anyone.
My mouth goes dry.
How do they know my lunch is in thirty minutes? How do they know my schedule?
Are they watching me right now?
I look around the room. Everyone's working at their desks. No one's paying attention to me. But someone, somewhere, is tracking my moves. Knows where I work. Knows when I eat.
This is crazy. I should tell someone. Security. The cops. Someone.
But tell them what? That I got strange texts about my boss's secret? They'll think I'm crazy.
Or worse—Dominic will find out I'm talking about him behind his back, and he'll fire me on the spot.
I look at the files on my desk. Then at Dominic's office.
He's on the phone, waving angrily at whoever's on the other end. His jaw is tight. His eyes flash with something that almost looks like... gold?
No. That's just the lights. I'm seeing things because I'm tired.
But that text keeps burning in my mind: You have something he wants.
What could I possibly have that Dominic Kane wants? I'm nobody. I'm just his helper. I don't have money, connections, or anything important.
Unless... Unless whoever sent this knows something I don't.
My phone buzzes again.
Last chance, Maya. After today, the offer ends. Come alone or don't come at all.
The offer ends.
This is it. This is my one chance to find out what's going on. To maybe—just maybe—get some kind of power in this terrible situation.
Or it's a trap that will destroy my life totally.
At 11:58, Dominic's door opens. He walks out, going toward the elevators without looking at anyone. His shoulders are stiff. His hands are clenched into fists.
Where is he going?
"Lunch meeting," Jenny says, like she read my mind. "He does this every Tuesday. Gone for exactly one hour."
One hour.
That's how long I have to meet this mystery person, find out what they know, and get back before Dominic sees I'm gone.
I stand up, grab my purse, and head for the lift.
My hands are shaking as I press the button for the entrance.
This is stupid. Reckless. Dangerous.
But I'm so tired of being helpless.
The elevator doors close, and I watch the floor numbers drop. Forty-seven. Forty-two. Thirty-six.
My phone buzzes one more time.
Unknown number: Smart girl. See you in five minutes.
The elevator jerks to a stop on floor thirty-four.
The doors open.
Dominic Kane is standing right there.
His eyes lock on mine—and they're definitely glowing gold now, bright and inhuman and totally impossible.
"Going somewhere, Miss Chen?" he asks quietly.
His voice sounds different. Deeper. Almost like a growl.
And I swear to God, I see fangs when he smiles.