The Glitch Crack

(Sebastian’s POV)

One sharp knock on the door and Vanessa walks in without waiting. 

She crosses the room in measured steps and places a slim black folder in front of me, open to the first page, and says in her smooth, oiled voice

“Mr. Kane. You’ll want to see this.”

I don’t look up from the screen right away. “If it’s the Singapore follow-up, it can wait.”

“It’s not.” She steps back half a pace, posture perfect. “Internal Audit. Dropped last night. Preliminary, but… significant.”

My eyes drop to the page.

The executive summary of five pages she printed for me, knowing I hate wading through twenty-three. Transaction logs, highlighted discrepancies, flagged vendor codes. The headline number hits first:

Total irregular transfers identified: $187,432.17

Pattern: Systematic over-invoicing and manual adjustments to reconciliation spreadsheets

Primary access: Finance Accounts Payable team

No bold accusation but the trail is a straight line pointing to one name.

I scan the rest in seconds. Late-night logins. Manual overrides. Funds siphoned in small, clean increments that would have gone unnoticed for months if not for the audit trigger.

“Mara Reed,” I read aloud, voice flat.

Vanessa nods once. “Multiple unauthorized adjustments. Funds diverted to external accounts. This isn’t amateur work.”

I lean back, fingers steepled. “Get her up here. Now.”

“I’ll have security escort her if necessary ”

“No.” My voice cuts clean. “Just tell her I want to see her. Immediately. No explanation.”

“Of course.” but I catch the faint curve at the corner of her mouth, the smallest tell of satisfaction. 

She turns to leave.

“Vanessa.”

She pauses at the door.

“You intercepted this last night?”

“I received it.” She meets my eyes without flinching. “I thought you should see it first.”

“Good,” I say. “Keep it that way.”

She leaves my office with the folder still on my desk and the taste of victory sharp on her tongue.

I stare at the closed folder for a long moment, then flip it open again.

Mara Reed.

$187,432.17.

Late-night logins.

Manual overrides.

I remember her in the elevator, back pressed to the wall, eyes fixed on the floor numbers, refusing to give me even a glance. That same quiet control. That same indifference.

Now I know why she couldn’t afford to look at me.

She was stealing from me.

The anger is there but beneath it something else stirs. Curiosity. The same dark spark from last night. She didn’t flirt or beg for attention like every other woman in this tower.

Instead she took from me.

The thought of it pissed me off even more. Of everyone to steal from me, why her?

I stand, walk to the windows, hands in my pockets.

 I've decided what to do to her something more personal than handcuffs and courtroom.

The door opens.

Mara Reed steps inside in her navy blazer, hair in that same low bun and chin lifted.

“Mr. Kane,” she says. Voice steady. Too steady.

I gesture to the chair opposite my desk. 

“Sit.”

“Read it.”

Her eyes drop to the page. I watch them widen and color drains from her cheeks.

I lean forward, elbows on the desk, voice low.

“Explain to me, Ms. Reed, why I shouldn’t call the authorities right now.”

Her gaze snaps up to mine.

For the first time since the elevator, she looks at me.

Not dramatically, no initial sobs, no collapsing to her knees. Her eyes are glassy, wide, trembling in fear and her fingers quiver clutching the folder like a lifeline.

I let the silence stretch another beat, let it press against her until her breathing turns shallow and ragged.

“Please,” she whispers. The word cracks on the way out. “Mr. Kane… I’m not, I’m not a thief. I swear. I'm just a mother who doesn't want to lose her son.”

She stops and swallows.

“My son. Liam. He’s five struggling with chronic leukemia. The treatments… the bills…” Her voice fractures. “I didn’t have a choice. I never meant to take from you. I could pay it back when he was better. I swear on his life.”

Tears spill over now, silent and fast, carving tracks down her cheeks. 

I feel the dark spark in my chest flare hotter.

She’s beautiful when she breaks.

Not fragile-beautiful but the kind most women in my world pay surgeons to fake. She has it for free.

I lean back in my chair, steeple my fingers, keep my voice low and even.

“You falsified invoices. You manipulated reconciliations. You diverted company funds, my funds into personal accounts. That’s not desperation, Ms. Reed. That’s felony embezzlement.”

Her shoulders jerk like I struck her.

“I know,” she breathes. “I know what it is. But he’s dying. Every day the window closes tighter. Please. I’ll do anything. Just… don’t call the police. Don’t take him away from me.”

Anything.

The word hangs between us like a key turning in a lock.

I rise slowly, circle the desk. She flinches when I stop behind her chair close enough to feel my heat without contact. I lean down, one hand on the chair back, the other on the armrest, caging her.

“You want mercy,” I murmur near her ear. My voice is velvet over steel. “I don’t do mercy.”

She drops to her knees immediately sobbing, pleading, hands clasped in front of her like prayer.

I allow a few seconds to pass, watching the way her shoulders shake, desperation carving her open.

“I do deals,” I say at last.

“Please,” she chokes out again. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just save him.”

Her head lifts just enough to meet my eyes, hope and terror warring there.

“I will bury every trace of this. The logs and everything gone. I will pay for every dollar of your son’s treatment. He’ll get the best care money can buy.”

I see the hope flicker in her eyes, fragile, terrified hope.

“In exchange,” I continue, softer now, almost tender, “you belong to me.”

She freezes.

“Not for a night or for a month but completely. You will do what I say. You will learn exactly what it costs to steal from me. Pain. Until I decide you’ve paid enough.”

A tear slides down her cheek and drips onto her collar.

“If you refuse,” I finish, “I call the authorities. Right now. You’ll be arrested in front of your coworkers. Your son will be taken into foster care while you rot in a cell waiting for trial. And trust me, Ms. Reed, you won’t win.”

She closes her eyes. A shudder runs through her.

“I accept,” she whispers.

I return to my chair and slide a simple nondisclosure and personal services agreement.

“Sign.”

Her hand shakes as she takes the pen. The signature is small, neat, almost childlike.

“You’re fired, effective immediately. Clear your desk. Leave the building. I’ll send the address of my penthouse. Be there at eight tonight. Wear something sexy and red. No underwear.” I added with a smirk 

She stares at me like she’s never seen me before.

Then she stands slowly, like her legs might give out and walks to the door without another word.

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

I exhale once.

Then I smile.

(Mara’s POV)

I cleared everything on my desk into a box and left the office. I can't cry here where I'd be seen and cameras everywhere because bad news spreads faster in this building. 

Liam is awake when I reach his room. He’s coloring.

“Mommy!” His voice is thin but bright.

I pull him into my arms, careful of the lines, and bury my face in his hair.

“Hey, baby,” I whisper. “Hey, my fighter.”

Nora appears in the doorway. She takes one look at my face and her expression crumples.

Do I look that terrible?

When Liam drifts back to sleep, crayons still in his fist, I follow her into the hallway.

“He knows,” I choke out. “Sebastian Kane. He knows everything. I’m fired. I’m… I’m his now. Whatever that means. He’s paying for Liam’s treatment. All of it. But I have to…ok”

Nora hugs me tight.

“You did what you had to,” she says fiercely. “You’re still doing it. Don’t you dare feel shame for keeping him alive.”

I pull back, wipe my face with shaking hands.

“I have to go to his penthouse tonight. Eight o’clock.”

Nora’s jaw tightens. “Do you want me to come with you? Wait outside? Anything?”

“No.” I force a watery smile. “I need you here. With him.”

She nods once.

I go back and give Liam a soft lingering kiss on his forehead then leave.

The address arrives via text as I’m walking out of the hospital.

I go home first, take a shower and change into a red dress, a short simple flare gown, nothing overly sexy with no bra or panties on. My stomach rolls at the thought.

This is for Liam.

I repeat it like a prayer the entire cab ride across town.

When the doors open directly into the penthouse, Sebastian is waiting.

Black shirt, black trousers and a glass of something dark in his hand.

“On time,” he says softly. 

He sets the glass down.

“Come here.”

I step forward.

The doors close behind me.

He pulls me to himself in one swift motion, his hand sliding under the flared hem of my red dress. Fingers brush the bare skin of my inner thigh, then higher confirming what I already knew.

No underwear.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against my ear, voice dark and satisfied.