Rain drummed against the office windows that night, soft and relentless — like a heartbeat Cynthia Brooks couldn't silence. It wrapped the building in a hushed rhythm, the kind that made secrets feel louder. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, laughter and footsteps fading until only the hum of the air conditioner and the distant thunder remained.
Cynthia was still there, seated at her desk beneath the pale glow of fluorescent lights, pretending to organize files that were already perfectly aligned. Her computer screen showed a spreadsheet she hadn't read in over an hour. Every few seconds, her gaze flicked toward the far corner of the office.
The silver cabinet.
A. Voss – Private.
Her pulse quickened.
She shouldn't be doing this. She knew that. Alexander Voss was a man built on boundaries — sharp ones. But the words she'd overheard that morning refused to leave her mind. His low voice, tense and clipped, speaking to someone on the phone: "It's not buried as deep as they think."
Buried what?
Cynthia stood slowly, as if the office itself might protest. Each step toward the cabinet felt heavier than the last. When she reached it, her hand hovered over the handle, fingers trembling.
Just a look, she told herself. Just enough to understand.
The lock clicked open far too easily.
That unsettled her more than if it had resisted.
Inside were neatly arranged folders — projects, partnerships, financial records. Everything precise. Controlled. Exactly like him. Then she noticed one thing that didn't fit.
An unmarked envelope.
Her breath caught as she pulled it free. The paper felt thicker than it should, the weight of it ominous in her hands. She opened it carefully.
A photograph slid out.
Alexander stood in the foreground, younger but unmistakable — the same sharp eyes, the same unreadable expression. Beside him was a man she didn't recognize. But it was the background that made Cynthia's blood run cold.
A logo.
SableCorp.
Her stomach twisted. Everyone knew about SableCorp. A powerful company that had collapsed overnight after a massive fraud scandal. Executives arrested. Assets seized. And rumors — endless rumors — that someone had escaped before the fall.
Cynthia's heart pounded so loudly she was sure it could be heard over the rain.
What did Alexander Voss have to do with this?
A soft sound behind her made her freeze.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate.
"Couldn't sleep again, Miss Brooks?"
His voice.
Smooth. Dark. Far too calm.
Cynthia spun around, clutching the folder to her chest like a shield. Alexander stood a few feet away, his suit jacket still immaculate, his gaze sharp and assessing. It was impossible to tell how long he'd been watching.
"I—I was just looking for last quarter's—" Her voice cracked.
He stepped closer. His shoes made no sound against the marble floor, yet the space between them shrank suffocatingly fast.
"Lying doesn't suit you," he said quietly.
He reached out and took the file from her trembling hands. His fingers brushed hers — cold, controlled, electric. The contact sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with fear alone.
For a moment, their eyes locked.
Cynthia saw it then — not just danger, but something darker beneath it. A warning. A history he never spoke of.
"You're playing a game you don't understand, Cynthia," Alexander said, his voice dropping low. "And in this game…"
He leaned closer, his breath grazing her ear, his presence overwhelming.
"…people disappear."
Her chest tightened. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Alexander straightened, turning away as if she were already dismissed. He slid the folder back into the cabinet and locked it with a sharp click.
The lights flickered once.
When they steadied again, he was walking toward his office, the sound of the rain swallowing his footsteps.
Cynthia remained frozen where she stood — shaken, breathless, her heart racing painfully in her chest.
The cabinet was locked.
And somehow, she knew…
So was she.