Rumors in the Glass Tower

The glass walls reflected every flicker of light, but inside Cassian Wolfe's office, the air felt heavy, thick enough to choke on.

Elena stood just beyond the threshold, her fingers tight around the strap of her bag as if letting go would make her unravel. Her chest tightened, an unsteady rhythm pressing against her ribs. She wasn't sure which part he meant by the word "mistake".

Cassian didn't look up at first. His gaze stayed locked on the tablet in front of him, the faint hum of the city far below drowned beneath the quiet tension stretching between them.

Finally, his voice cuts through the air which is deep and controlled… dangerous in its restraint.

"Your file's been updated."

The way he said it wasn't administrative. It was personal. Like the words carried something more than HR notes and digital forms where something she wasn't sure she wanted to read between the lines.

He tapped the tablet once, deliberate and unhurried, before finally lifting his eyes to meet hers.

"You are entitled to reduced hours, also modified duties."

His voice was even businesslike, but with a hint of something unspoken beneath the surface.

"If you choose to stay."

The weight behind those last words wasn't lost on her. It was less an offer, and more a challenge. Her pulse faltered just for a beat... before resuming, faster now, pounding in her ears... Stay?

As if that was still a real choice. As if yesterday hadn't happened.

"And if I don't?" Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled against her knee beneath the table.

"That's also your right." His tone was neutral, but the way he watched her made it feel like the wrong answer.

She hesitated. The question had been clawing at her since morning, digging its nails into her ribs until she couldn't breathe around it anymore.

"What do you want me to do, Mr. Wolfe?"

The air between them tightened. She hated herself for asking. She hated him for making her want to know.

His eyes darkened, not with anger, but with something heavier, something that pressed against her like a weight she couldn't name.

"That's not a question I can answer for you," he said, his voice low and almost reluctant.

"But you're the boss." The words came out sharper than she'd intended, slicing through the quiet.

"Not of your choices."

The silence that followed wasn't empty, it was alive, humming, curling between them like smoke. She could feel it on her skin, in her throat, in the restless beat of her pulse. And in that stillness, she wasn't sure which unsettled her more...his restraint, or the part of her that wanted to push past it.

"I came to pack my things," she admitted at last, each word tasting like defeat on her tongue.

Cassian's gaze didn't waver. "Then why did you take the elevator to HR?"

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag until the leather bit into her skin. She could have lied, she could have said it was on the way or it didn't matter. But her voice betrayed her, low and steady despite the storm under her ribs.

"Because I needed to know if your words had weight…" Her breath caught, the rest spilling out softer. "Or if you were just… angry."

The room seemed to narrow, the air thickening between them. She told herself she didn't care about the answer, but her heart knew better. She was already waiting for it.

He studied her for a long, unblinking moment, as if weighing every word she'd just spoken against the truth he wasn't ready to share. Then, without breaking eye contact, he pushed the tablet aside—a small movement, but deliberate.

"I was angry," he said at last, voice low, almost reluctant. "But not at you. Not entirely."

The confession slid into the space between them, heavy and unsettling. Something in her chest gave a sharp, startled pull, like her heart had tripped over itself.

"Then who?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could bite it back.

For a fraction of a second, something raw flickered in his eyes and then it vanished. His jaw tightened. Silence stretched, taut and unyielding. He didn't answer her question.

And that silence told her more than any truth he could have spoken.

There was a shift in his expression, an old shadow crossing his gaze. She wanted to press, to drag the answer out of him, but some part of her knew she wasn't ready to hear it.

"I don't want to lose good people because of my personal shortcomings," he said finally, each word measured, as if admitting them cost him more than he cared to show. "That would make me the kind of man I've spent years refusing to be."

Her breath caught. The edge in her voice dulled, softening against her will. "And what kind of man is that?"

She wasn't sure why she asked. Maybe to understand him or maybe challenge him because some part of her needed to hear the answer from his own lips.

His eyes locked on hers, unblinking. There was something in that gaze—dangerous, unguarded—that made the air between them feel too close, too warm.

She thought he might finally answer. She wanted him to.

But the moment shattered with a sharp, deliberate knock against the glass wall. Cassian's jaw flexed. He didn't look away from her until the door slid open.

Nadia stepped inside, her posture crisp, expression carefully neutral. "Apologies, Mr. Wolfe, Miss Marlowe." She glanced between them, the pause just long enough to suggest she'd walked into something. "You both need to see this."

Cassian rose, the motion unhurried, measured like a predator who knew the prey wasn't going anywhere. Every shift of muscle felt intentional, precise, as though even gravity obeyed him.

"We'll finish this later," he said, each word low and threaded with finality where less a suggestion, and more a promise you didn't dare to test.

Elena stood as well, slower, careful to mask the sudden rush in her pulse. She made it to the door, fingers brushing the cool metal handle when his voice caught her mid-step.

"Miss Marlowe."

She turned, the name settling between them like a challenge.

His gaze was steady, unreadable. "Don't pack your things."

A pause which was just long enough for her heartbeat to climb.

"Not yet."

After hearing that she feels something sharp and uncertain twisted in her chest. She swallowed the question pressing to her tongue, gave the smallest nod, and walked out, her steps quieter than the storm building inside her.

~~~

Back at her desk, she sank into the chair as if it might steady the rush in her chest. Her pulse was a wild drumbeat, too loud in the quiet, scattering her thoughts like papers caught in a sudden wind.

The computer screen cast a cold glow across her face, bathing her in the sterile light of routine. But there, at the top of her inbox... One unread email pulsed like a heartbeat. A single line of bold text that suddenly felt heavier than the entire morning.

Subject: Media Inquiry – Pregnancy Rumors

Her frown deepened, a crease carving itself between her brows. Fingers cold, she clicked it open.

~ To whom it may concern...

We have received multiple anonymous tips regarding a Wolfe Corporation employee allegedly pregnant with a senior executive's child. Please confirm or deny the validity of these claims before publication.

The words sat on the screen like a lit fuse. Her pulse tripped, then stumbled, the blood in her veins turning to ice. Senior executive... Pregnant... Anonymous tips... Each phrase was a stone sinking into the pit of her stomach, heavy enough to steal her breath.

She blinked hard, as if she could force the sentence to rearrange itself into something harmless. But it didn't.

Her mind began to race fast, reckless. Who would send this? Who would twist the truth this way? The office suddenly felt smaller, the hum of the overhead lights too loud, the walls too close. Heat pricked at the back of her neck.

It wasn't just the words, it was the shadow they carried. Rumors had teeth. Because once it was released, they bit it deeply and didn't let go. And this one… this one had claws that could tear through everything she'd worked for.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, but there was nothing to type. No denial, no explanation. Just the sharp, rising certainty that someone wanted her destroyed.