The elevator doors opened to the Vale Strategic Holdings executive wing, but this time Elena didn't feel the usual hum of order. She felt… anticipation.
Not excitement. Not fear. Just a taut sense of something shifting beneath the surface.
Claire greeted her with a nod. "Mr. Vale is expecting you in his private office. No interruptions."
"Of course," Elena said. She followed without comment.
The office smelled faintly of polished wood and cold coffee—an odd combination, she noted, given the otherwise clinical minimalism. A file lay neatly on the corner of the desk, open but untouched. A glass of water steamed slightly in the sunlight.
And Adrian was… different.
He wasn't standing at the window, calculating or surveying the city. He was sitting. Alone. Hands clasped lightly over his lap. Eyes on the floor.
Not invisible. Not unreadable.
Human.
She hesitated in the doorway.
"Ms. Marlowe," he said, voice soft. Still precise, still controlled, but softer.
She stepped forward. "Mr. Vale."
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
She did.
There was a pause—neither of them filling it, both aware of it.
Finally, he spoke. "I read your notes from yesterday. Your observations."
"I assume you mean the press conference?" she asked. Calm, but carefully neutral.
"Yes," he said. "I want to know what you actually saw. Not what you would have written in a report."
Elena tilted her head slightly. "You're asking for honesty?"
"Observation," he corrected. "Without spin."
She studied him. The way his gaze lingered, but didn't pry. The way his jaw flexed subtly when he considered words. The silence was almost audible.
"You were hesitant," she said finally.
He looked up sharply. Not startled. Not defensive. Sharp. Calculating.
"I was," he admitted after a beat.
"That's… unusual," she said, soft enough for just him to hear.
He didn't respond immediately. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest. Then:
"I don't like it," he said quietly.
Elena's curiosity sharpened. "What?"
"Hesitation. Losing control. Being exposed—even for a second. People depend on me to act, not to falter."
She leaned forward, her voice calm, deliberate. "And yet you hesitated. In front of hundreds of people. And cameras. And your enemies."
He regarded her silently, measuring. Then he let out a breath. A real one, almost human.
"Yes."
She didn't comment further. She had said enough.
He stood suddenly, moving toward the window, hands in pockets, shoulders straight. From the outside, he looked the same as always. Unflinching. Unyielding.
From the inside, Elena could see the faint tremor in his jaw. A trace of something unguarded.
"I want you to have access to the internal files," he said abruptly. "Full access. No restrictions."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Even sensitive acquisitions?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Vale…"
"You will see everything. I want your perspective." His tone was even, but there was a tension beneath it. A challenge.
She nodded. "I understand."
Another silence. Longer this time.
Then, almost too quietly for her to catch:
"I don't know how to… handle this," he said.
She froze.
The words weren't loud. They weren't dramatic. But they weren't strategic, either. Not exactly.
He looked away, toward the skyline. "Not how to handle… anything. People. Expectations. Responsibility. Responsibility is… heavier than it looks from the outside."
She didn't interrupt. She let him speak, letting the stillness carry meaning.
Finally, he turned back to her, the mask sliding just enough to reveal something raw: not emotion in the theatrical sense, but weight. Fatigue. Burden.
"I've been doing this too long," he said. "I'm… very good at appearing unstoppable. But it doesn't mean I feel it. Or that I can."
She nodded slowly, carefully. "No one expects you to be perfect, Mr. Vale. But I do expect honesty. That, at least, you can provide."
He considered that. "I can provide honesty," he said. "In limited doses."
Elena smiled faintly. Not triumphantly. Not mockingly. Just… acknowledgment.
"You're human," she said softly.
He looked at her like she had just thrown a grenade. Not angry. Not defensive. Shocked in a quiet, private way.
"Do not mistake this for weakness," he said finally.
"I won't," she said.
He exhaled, leaning back, a small shadow of relief crossing his face. Then, almost immediately, the wall went back up. The mask was back. The controlled calm. The strategic calm.
"You'll start with the Norcrest files tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. sharp."
"Understood," she said.
As she left the office, she realized she hadn't felt any fear. Not exactly.
But she had felt… the pull of something beneath the surface.
Something dangerous. Something captivating.
And for the first time, she wondered: how much of the man everyone called a villain was real… and how much was carefully constructed armor?
Outside, the city hummed. Bright, busy, alive.
Inside the glass tower, Adrian Vale stood alone.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt… seen.
Not by his employees. Not by his rivals.
By someone who didn't flinch.
Someone who might actually look closer.
And that unsettled him more than the press ever could.