Taboo: Ties and Sins - Fetishes

The first sound Lara registered as she crossed the smoky glass revolving door of the Mirage Corporate building was not the professional murmur of employees, nor the elegant click of heels on marble, but the thunderous sound of her own lungs fighting for air. She had run the three blocks separating the bus stop from the monumental entrance, her new, uncomfortable black heels, a small betrayal, hammering the sidewalk in a rhythm of panic. The gray dress, impeccable just twenty minutes earlier in her tiny apartment, now clung to her back with the cold sweat of anxiety. The first day. The big day. And she was late.

The lobby was a monument to cold good taste. A vast canyon of white marble veined with gray, where the air smelled of aggressive cleanliness and old money. Recessed lights in the double-height ceiling cast geometric patterns of brightness onto the floor, which reflected the hurried silhouettes of figures in impeccable suits. Lara felt like a sparrow that had invaded an aviary of birds of prey. Her bag, a cheap faux leather model, slapped against her leg with each hurried step, an irregular drumbeat marking her inadequacy. Her eyes fixed on the back of the lobby, where a row of eight elevators of brushed steel and dark wood seemed to wait, impassive. The digital numbers above one of the doors flashed in red: 18... 17... 16...

"Shit, shit, shit," she whispered to herself, a secular and desperate prayer.

She ignored the security guards at the central reception, whose eyes were probably following her, cataloging her as an intruder, an anomaly in the perfect ecosystem of that place. Her target was a single elevator, whose doors were beginning to close with a threatening smoothness. A final surge of adrenaline gushed through her veins. She lunged forward, arm outstretched, her fingertips finding the thin gap between the doors. An invisible sensor caught the motion, and the heavy steel doors retracted with a soft hiss, granting her entry.

The air inside the cabin was different, colder, carrying a discreet scent of something woody and clean. It was also empty. Almost empty. Lara staggered in, panting, leaning against the side wall to catch her breath. She closed her eyes for a split second, an attempt to recompose herself, to push away the flushed face and the sweat on her forehead. When she opened them, the world had rearranged itself, and she realized she was, in fact, not alone.

At the back of the cabin, with his back to her, a figure was observing the panel. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders that filled out the dark gray fabric of his suit with authority. He did not turn, but his presence was so physical and dense that it seemed to alter the air pressure in the small cabin. Lara felt a knot form in her stomach. Before she could articulate a thought, the man moved. It was a slow, deliberate turn, like a predator hearing the snap of a branch in the forest.

His eyes met hers.

They were the color of a stormy sky, a gray almost bluish, and possessed an intensity that was almost a physical impact. They did not scan her; they dissected her, moving from her still-flushed face, to her disheveled hair, to her wrinkled dress, down to her new and already cruel shoes. There was no curiosity in that gaze, only assessment. A cold, merciless assessment. The silence between them was so thick that the faint hum of the elevator sounded like a roar.

Lara felt heat rise from her neck to her ears. She forced herself to straighten her posture, to let go of the wall that was her support. Her trembling hands smoothed the hem of her dress in an automatic and futile gesture.

The man broke the silence. His voice was a deep bass, calm, but laden with an authority that did not need to be raised to be obeyed.

"Late?"

The words, simple and direct, hung in the air between them. Lara felt her tongue heavy, her brain frantically searching for a response that sounded intelligent, professional, that wasn't the screech of panic echoing in her mind.

"It's... it's my first day," she managed to say, her voice a little huskier than she would have liked. "I believe the nerves and the traffic..."

She did not finish the sentence. Her eyes were locked on his, unable to break away. He did not smile. He made no gesture of understanding. One of his eyebrows, slightly more arched than the other, rose a millimeter.

"Hm..." the sound was more a vibration than a word. "So you're the new one."

It was not a question. It was a statement, a conclusion he had reached based on the pathetic evidence she presented. He knew who she was. Or at least, he knew of the existence of a "new" employee. The information dropped like a stone into the pit of Lara's stomach. Who was this man? A manager? Someone from HR? The way he spoke, his posture, the aura of unquestionable command... it was something more.

He turned back to the panel, and Lara let out a held breath she didn't know she was holding. The relief was short-lived. His hand, with long, well-groomed fingers, hovered over the row of buttons. His ringless finger pointed toward number 7, the floor of the Marketing department, where she was supposed to report. Lara could already almost feel the embarrassment of arriving late, the looks of pity or disdain from her new colleagues.