Chapter 6: The Boss's Suspicion

Arga did not release his grip on Anji. His hand remained a steady, cold pressure against Anji’s jaw, effectively pinning him in place as the stranger in the gray suit approached. Anji felt his heart hammer against his ribs. The man’s arrival was like a splash of ice water on his overheated skin. He tried to pull his gaze away from Arga to study the newcomer, but the contact with his boss held his senses in a vice.

"I do not recall scheduling any meetings for today," Arga said. His voice was flat and devoid of any warmth. He did not move his hand, nor did he allow Anji to adjust his stance. He remained a wall of professional ice, staring down the man who had dared to walk into the lobby unannounced.

The newcomer smiled. It was a practiced, hollow expression that did not reach his cold eyes. He stopped five paces away, his hands folded neatly in front of him. "My name is He Sanaa. I represent interests that find your recent business expansion particularly... interesting. Specifically, the methods by which Mr. Anji here managed to secure a contract with a man as stubborn as Mr. Broto."

Anji felt a surge of cold dread. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. "I do not know what you are talking about," he managed to say, his voice shaking slightly.

He Sanaa chuckled, a dry sound that echoed in the quiet lobby. "Oh, I think you do. You smell like an amateur mistake. It is quite pungent, honestly. It is a shame that someone of your potential would waste such a rare, unstable catalyst on a simple corporate boardroom."

Arga shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing. "You are trespassing on private property, He Sanaa. If you do not have an appointment, you are escorted out by security in exactly ten seconds."

"Security?" He Sanaa laughed again, louder this time. He took a deliberate step forward. "Do you really think your guards are immune to the byproduct of this drug? I can see them from here. They are leaning against the wall, eyes glazed, waiting for a command that never comes. They are already under his influence."

Anji looked toward the reception desk. He Sanaa was right. The two guards stood perfectly still, their posture limp, their eyes staring vacantly into the distance. They were completely under the spell of the Essence he was leaking. The realization hit Anji like a physical blow. He was not just influencing the targets he chose. He was bleeding into the environment, turning everyone in his vicinity into a puppet.

"What do you want?" Arga asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"I want the prototype," He Sanaa said, his gaze shifting from Arga to Anji. "And I want the person who is foolish enough to keep using it without a stabilizer. You are dying, Anji. Can you feel it? The cold in your marrow? The way your skin feels like it is peeling away from your muscles every time the high fades? That is not just withdrawal. That is the chemical components of the Essence reclaiming your autonomy."

Anji felt Arga’s hand tighten on his jaw, a sharp, stinging pressure. "You have thirty seconds to leave," Arga warned.

He Sanaa shook his head, looking unimpressed. "I am not here to argue with a suit. I am here to inform you that the product you have found is not yours to use. It is a proprietary asset of the Architect. And the Architect does not take kindly to theft."

"Then tell your Architect to come here himself," Arga said, his composure unwavering.

"Oh, he is much closer than you think," He Sanaa replied. He turned, his movements fluid and efficient, and walked toward the glass doors. He stopped at the entrance, glancing back over his shoulder. "Enjoy your little victory with Mr. Broto while it lasts. The withdrawal will be the least of your concerns by tomorrow morning."

The man vanished into the city light, leaving the lobby in a suffocating, heavy silence. Anji slumped against the wall, the adrenaline leaving his body all at once. He felt weak, his limbs trembling uncontrollably.

Arga finally let go of his jaw. He wiped his hand on a clean white handkerchief, his expression unreadable. "He Sanaa. A name I have never heard in these halls."

"He knows," Anji whispered, clutching his chest. "He knows what I took. He knows about the drug."

Arga stood over him, his shadow falling across Anji’s face. "Clearly. But he is a fool if he thinks he can walk into my office and issue threats. Stand up, Anji."

Anji struggled to his feet, his balance failing him for a moment. Arga reached out, grabbing his arm and steadying him with a grip that was far too firm to be casual. "We are going to my office. Now."

They moved through the lobby, the guards still frozen in their trance, not even acknowledging their passage. Anji felt like a criminal being marched to his cell. He could feel the eyes of the staff peeking from behind the cubicle walls, sensing the tension, feeling the pull of the pheromones.

They reached the private elevator, and Arga punched in a code that bypassed the main floors. As the doors closed, sealing them in the small, mirrored space, Arga turned to him. The cold, analytical mask finally dropped. His eyes were wide, burning with a mix of fury and intense, possessive curiosity.

"You have been hiding this from me since the start," Arga said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "You lied about the source. You made me believe you were just a talented employee with a sudden stroke of luck."

"I was desperate," Anji gasped, leaning his head against the cold elevator wall. "I was going to be fired. I needed an edge. I found the vial in the basement when we were clearing the assets. I thought it was just a nootropic."

Arga stepped into his personal space, his chest pressed against Anji’s arm. "And now you are a walking biohazard. Everyone who touches you loses their mind, and the man who created this poison is tracking you like a predator."

"What do I do?" Anji asked, looking up at his boss. He felt small, exposed, and entirely dependent on the man who was currently trapping him in the corner of the elevator.

Arga leaned in, his face inches from Anji’s. He inhaled, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he processed the scent of the Essence. Anji felt the familiar, jarring electric spark jump between them, a current so intense it made his vision swim. Arga’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time, Anji saw a raw, unvarnished hunger reflected in his gaze.

"You do exactly what I tell you," Arga whispered. "You are an asset, Anji. A dangerous, volatile, and highly addictive asset. And I do not share my assets with anyone."

"You are just like them," Anji realized, his breath hitching as he felt Arga’s fingers trace the line of his throat. "You want to control me, too."

"I am not like them," Arga said, his hand sliding behind Anji’s neck, his grip tightening until it hurt. "They are weak, and they lose control the moment they get a whiff of your skin. I am the only one who can keep you steady. I am the only one who can keep you from falling apart."

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to the sterile, quiet sanctuary of the executive floor. Arga pulled him forward, his hand never leaving Anji’s neck. He marched him down the long, carpeted hall toward his office. The air was cold, smelling of ozone and expensive paper.

Arga kicked his office door shut, the sound booming like a gunshot in the quiet room. He shoved Anji back until he hit the mahogany desk, the edge digging into his lower back.

"Tell me the truth," Arga demanded, his voice a low, commanding growl. "How much of this substance do you have left? And what exactly did this Architect promise you?"

Anji’s head was spinning. The withdrawal was coming back with a vengeance. He felt the cold turning into burning heat, his skin crying out for the friction of Arga’s touch. "I have nothing left," he admitted, his voice failing. "The vial is empty. I just need... I need something to stop the pain."

Arga leaned in, his face inches from Anji’s lips. He could see the desire in the man’s eyes, a cold, calculated hunger that was rapidly becoming something much darker.

"You want me to stop the pain?" Arga whispered, his breath hot against Anji’s skin. "Then give me a reason to protect you. Tell me what happened in that basement. Tell me everything."

Anji looked at him, his mind fraying. He was trapped, cornered, and entirely at the mercy of the man who held his career and his survival in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp, rhythmic tapping on the glass door made them both freeze.

Arga turned his head, his expression shifting to pure, cold fury.

"Mr. Arga," a secretary said through the glass, her voice trembling. "There is another visitor here to see Mr. Anji. He says he is the one who left the case in the basement. He says he is the Architect."

Arga froze. His hand moved from Anji’s neck to his own pocket, his fingers closing around a hidden object. He looked at Anji, his eyes dark with a sudden, sharp realization.

"Tell him to wait," Arga said, his voice deadly calm.

"He says he is not waiting," the secretary replied, her voice breaking. "He says he is already in the hallway."

The office door slowly creaked open, the heavy wood groaning as it swung inward, revealing a figure standing in the shadows of the corridor. Anji felt his blood run cold. It was him. The man he had seen only in his nightmares. And he was holding a second, glowing vial of M-ESSENCE in his hand.

inish its work.