BEHIND HER MASK

"BE AT THE CLUBHOUSE BY 8. NO EXCUSES, NO DELAYS. YOU KNOW WHAT'S AT STAKE. DON'T MAKE ME COME LOOKING."

The message glared at her from the phone screen, every word heavy and sharp. Mackenzie’s breath caught. Her hands trembled, and the phone felt slick in her grip.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before she scrolled up, praying, begging, it wasn’t from the person she feared. But the sender ID confirmed it.

Her stomach turned to ice.

She gripped the phone so tight her knuckles ached, her palms damp with sweat. The device nearly slipped from her fingers. She blinked once. Twice. Maybe the message would vanish. Maybe she’d imagined it. But it stayed, dark letters burning into her mind.

She had spent years hoping this day would never come. Years trying to outrun the shadows trailing her. But shadows have a way of catching up.

Her vision blurred as she stared at the screen, heart thudding like a drum inside her chest.

“Mackenzie? You okay?”

The voice cut through her trance.

Her head snapped up. Sarah stood in front of her, brows drawn together in concern.

Mackenzie quickly shoved the phone into her back pocket and forced a small smile. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she said with a nod. But her voice had a tremor she couldn’t hide.

Something had shifted. She could feel it in her bones. There was no going back now.

Sarah’s eyes held hers a little too long, searching, as though she could see right through her. “You haven’t eaten lunch yet, have you? Come on, let’s go.” She smiled gently.

Before Mackenzie could think of an excuse, Sarah had hooked her arm through hers and steered her toward the cafeteria.

The lunchroom was alive with noise. Forks clinked against trays, chairs scraped the floor, voices rose and overlapped in a chaotic hum. Mackenzie winced at the noise. She wasn’t in the mood for company. The text still clung to her thoughts like a dark cloud she couldn’t shake.

Her appetite was gone, but she kept her face calm, neutral. No one needed to know what was going on inside her.

They wove through the maze of tables until they reached their usual spot. Mackenzie slid into the seat beside Amy and gave her a quick nod.

The scent of grilled chicken, warm bread, and tangy tomato stew drifted up from the trays. Her stomach growled in betrayal. She’d only eaten two slices of bread that morning, no wonder her body was protesting.

She took a piece of bread and some chicken, tearing them into small bites. Her hands moved, but her mind replayed the message again and again like a broken record.

“So,” Amy leaned in, her voice low but eager, “they say the new CEO’s coming in tomorrow. Wonder what kind of man he is?”

Mackenzie’s chewing slowed. The fork in her hand hovered midair. That thought had crossed her mind too, but she hadn’t had the time—or the headspace—to dwell on it. Just yesterday she’d been told she would be working directly under him. Since then, it had been a blur.

“I just hope he’s not another Mr. Winter,” Sophie muttered, shuddering. “That would be a disaster.”

The table went silent for a beat. Everyone knew that name. Marcus Winter—cold, ruthless, infamous. Secretaries still whispered about him years later.

“Maybe Mackenzie knows,” Amy said suddenly, her eyes locking on her. “She’s his new secretary, after all.”

Mackenzie’s breath hitched.

The question lodged in her mind. The chicken in her mouth turned dry as ash. She forced herself to swallow, but it felt stuck halfway down. Grabbing her glass, she gulped water, coughing into her hand.

“I… I haven’t looked at his profile yet,” she managed, her throat still tight. Her voice cracked slightly.

“What?” The sharp outburst made heads turn.

“Girl, are you serious?”

A familiar voice cut in—sharp, dripping with mockery. “This how you plan to do your job? No prep? No background check? Honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

Tonia.

Mackenzie didn’t have to look. She’d know that tone anywhere. The woman never missed an opportunity to stir trouble.

Murmurs rippled through the table. Slowly, Mackenzie turned her head toward the interruption.

“Tonia,” she said flatly, her eyes narrowing. “How I do my job isn’t your business.”

She picked up another piece of chicken and bit into it slowly, deliberately, her gaze locked on Tonia the whole time.

Tonia faltered, her hands curling into fists. The stare must have unsettled her, because she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and turned sharply away with a flick of her hair.

“Whatever,” she muttered, stomping off.

“Ugh.” Sophie threw her hands down. “I can’t stand her. Wish she’d just vanish.”

Mackenzie didn’t answer. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her fork clutched tight. One battle down, but the war had only just begun. Tonia wasn’t the type to walk away. Ever since Mackenzie’s appointment was announced, she’d seen the woman’s eyes burn with resentment. Everyone knew how badly she’d wanted the position, how long she’d chased it. But in the end, fate had chosen Mackenzie.

She speared the last piece of meat a little too forcefully and chewed harder than necessary.

Without another word, she stood, gathering her tray and cutlery. Her chair scraped against the floor. “I’ll head out first,” she said, forcing a polite smile. “Got a pile of work waiting for me.”

“Alright,” Sarah nodded. “See you back at the office.”

The sliding glass doors at the airport’s arrivals wing whispered open, letting in a brief gust of warm, stuffy air.

The terminal was a hum of suitcase wheels, boarding calls, and scattered conversations. A few heads turned when Alexander Gracias stepped through. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been made for him, he moved like a man who expected the world to make way—and usually, it did. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, but the firm set of his jaw spoke for him.

Up ahead, Josiah Duggar spotted him. Early-to-mid thirties, trim build, hair neatly combed, Josiah looked every inch the professional. He threaded through the crowd and raised a small sign that read GRACIAS.

“Mr. Gracias,” he greeted, offering a firm handshake. “Josiah Duggar. The company sent me to meet you. How was the flight?”

Alexander gave a short nod and slid off his sunglasses, eyes sweeping over Josiah in a quick assessment. “Tolerable,” he said coolly. “Let’s move.”

They crossed the parking garage without slowing. Josiah kept just behind him, understanding the unspoken hierarchy. He opened the rear passenger door of a sleek black Mercedes-Benz.

Inside, the door shut with a soft click, sealing out the noise. Alexander loosened his tie and reached into his leather satchel, pulling out a thick manila folder stamped with the company logo.

By the time Josiah slid into the driver’s seat, Alexander was already flipping through charts and reports with the focus of a man dissecting a problem.

The car pulled away from the curb. Josiah glanced in the mirror.

“Drive,” Alexander said without looking up. “I want a full update before we reach headquarters. No delays.”

Josiah hesitated. “Sir… you’re not going to the office today.”

Alexander’s eyes stayed on the folder. “Then where am I going? Off-site meeting?”

“You’ve just come off a long flight,” Josiah explained. “The company thought it best for you to rest. I’m taking you straight to your hotel.”

The words seemed to land heavier than Josiah expected. Alexander’s jaw clenched. He tugged the tie from his collar and let it drop. The folder followed with a thud onto the seat beside him.

From the mirror, Josiah saw him lean back, eyes closed, fingertips pressing into his temples. The air between them grew thick.

Even Alexander Gracias, it seemed, couldn’t control everything.