Mag-log inI can. I do. The door hisses shut behind me, and the sound is a relief so complete it almost floors me. The corridor outside is low-lit, hushed, a world apart from the glass box I’ve just escaped. LEDs run the length of the baseboard, cold blue-white, washing the marble in the kind of glow that tu
But the victory is cut short when the light from the projector passes through my fingers. For a split second, I see it—my nails are too long, the tips gone sharp, the cuticles retreating. It’s not a trick of the light. It’s the thing inside me, crawling toward the surface. I press down harder, feel
He interrupts, smiling, “It’s not the resumes, it’s the retention.” I smile back, but it’s a trick. “We retain better than anyone in this zip code. Anyone on this floor, even.” Trent snorts. “That’s not what LinkedIn says.” The wolf in me bares its teeth, just behind the mask. “If you believe eve
The conference room is a crystal box with its own climate: cold and wet, like the inside of a shark’s mouth. Forty-two floors up, the city grid throws itself at the windows, desperate for a foothold, and fails. Every pane reflects my face, multiplied and refracted, the effect like being stalked by m
I offer a smile, all teeth, but none of them friendly. “If you’re worried, Arthur, I suggest you keep your seatbelt on. The next quarter’s going to be a hell of a ride.” He laughs, soft and practiced, and sits back. The contest has drawn blood, but neither animal is ready to yield. Above us, the l
He lets the word legend hang, and it lands with the weight of a threat. Hargrove’s jaw tightens, but he tries for neutral. “We were just reviewing the final deliverables. I assume you have something to add, Mr. Reynolds?” Arthur folds his hands, fingers interlaced, and leans forward just enough to
Lucas smiles, the expression almost teasing. “Sometimes it pays to take risks, Mara.” The use of my name is deliberate, intentional, and I feel my resistance falter, my defenses crumble. I don’t respond. I can’t respond. Not with words, not yet. I reach for a file, anything to keep the conversatio
Crystal shivers on the edges of the too-long silence between us. I search Derek’s face as we eat, my eyes skipping over his proud nose and chiseled jaw, noting every flicker of emotion that might tell me why this evening feels different. He smiles, but it’s an empty gesture that doesn’t reach his ey
I let them watch my lips on the crystal glass, as if that momentary union might yield some secret they can grasp at. The water is cool on my tongue, a contrast to the dry heat that thickens the room and everything in it. It carries the faint taste of minerals, the texture smooth and sliding, an in
It's the friction that keeps us warm in the growing heat of the room, friction between minds and egos, between all we project and all we desire. The temperature rises with the stakes, the glass walls reflecting back our ambition until it feels as if we're caught in a pressure cooker of our own maki







