Ten

Mark sat at his desk long after the office had emptied out. The silence was deep and uninterrupted, just the way he preferred it. Or, rather, the way he used to.

Now, there was only noise in his head. Constant, static-like noise that kept him awake and distracted all day. He was barely able to manage his work, and that was all because of one person.

It had started the moment she stood in the doorway earlier that day, Teresa, with her big, wounded eyes and trembling hands. She had looked like she was about to break in two. He’d seen that look before, in victims, in weakness.

But with her, it wasn’t weakness. It was restraint. And restraint… was far more dangerous. He couldn't help but be curious as to why she was restraining herself, why she seemingly lacked self-control in that area.

The pen in his hand tapped a slow, methodical rhythm against the mahogany desk, the sound hollow in the cavernous office. His gaze drifted to the locked drawer where her pink panties now lived like a secret, like vivid proof of what had happened.

He should have thrown them away. He knew he should have. Instead, he had folded them.

Neatly and deliberately, like they were a possession of his to be guarded. But they were.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair as if he could physically dislodge the thoughts crowding his skull. This was nothing. A passing curiosity. A chemical imbalance caused by too many hours and too little rest.

That’s all this is. Except it wasn’t, he couldn't keep on deceiving himself.

Because he had watched the footage again, and he wasn't able to unsee it or erase it from his memory.

Flash Back ---The Surveillance Footage

Mark stood abruptly, the chair rolling back with a muted scrape against the polished floor. He moved to the back console behind his desk, where a bank of monitors lined the wall like silent sentinels. They were usually reserved for reviewing floor reports, schedules, security breaches, cold, impersonal data.

Tonight, they had one purpose.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, entering his credentials with practiced efficiency. The system recognized him instantly, Administrator Access Granted, and he navigated to the internal surveillance logs.

The timestamp he needed was easy to find. 10:42 PM. Office camera, facing the desk.

A single thumbnail image filled the screen, paused on Teresa standing just inside the doorway, her fingers clutching the hem of her skirt like she was afraid it might slip away.

Mark’s thumb hovered over the play button. For the first time in years, he hesitated, then he pressed it.

And the screen flickered to life.

There she was. Teresa, all alone.

Her skirt already off, draped carelessly over the back of the visitor’s chair. The pink lace, his pink lace now, lay abandoned on the desk, as if she had been in too much of a hurry to even fold them.

His breath hitched.

She climbed into his chair, his chair, and lowered herself into it like it belonged to her. Like he belonged to her.

Mark’s jaw tightened. He could hear his own breathing, harsh and uneven in the quiet room.

On screen, Teresa’s body moved with a kind of desperate hunger, as if she had been starving for years and finally found food. Every gasp, every moan, every shudder recorded in perfect, damning clarity.

And then she said his name.

Out loud.

“Mark.”

A whisper. A plea. A confession.

She had fantasized about him.

His fingers curled into fists. He should stop this. He should close the footage, erase it, pretend he never saw it.

But he didn’t.

He watched.

He watched until she came apart, until her body arched and then slumped forward, breathless and small.

Then he paused the footage right on the moment her head lifted, her eyes locking onto the camera, onto him, even though she hadn’t known he was watching. It was like she was staring into his soul.

Even through the grainy surveillance feed, he could see the terror in her gaze.

And yet, she hadn’t run. Hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t even covered herself.

She had just… stared.

Just like he was staring now and that wa stage problem. He couldn't get that image out of his head and it was driving him mad.

Mark leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“What are you doing?” he muttered to himself. “What is this?”

He prided himself on control. Routine. He woke at 5 a.m. He worked out until 6. Coffee, files, meetings, profits, silence. Everything predictable. Contained.

But Teresa was not contained.

She was chaos, quiet chaos, disguised in modest skirts, lowered eyes and a soft gentle voice. She confused him, and stirred something inside him that wasn’t lust exactly but something heavier. More volatile and liable to combust into something.

He didn’t just want her, he wanted to know her, it was an indescribable need to pull her apart until he understood every crack in her.

Flashbacks

“Are you even human?” Lukas had asked him once at seventeen, after they both lost their virginity during a drunken party.

Mark had sat on the edge of the bed, expression flat, watching the girl dress without even a flicker of interest.

“No,” Mark had replied. “I’m efficient.”

That had always been enough.

Until now. Until Teresa and her cowardly confidence came and scattered his entire mind. He was unravelling in a way that he didn't understand.

His phone buzzed against the desk, he looked at the screen. It was Lukas again.

Lukas: You ghosted. Again if I may add. That girl got you messed up?

Mark didn’t respond.

What could he say?

That a secretary he barely spoke to had more space in his head than all his business deals combined?

That her shame turned him on? That her trembling had made him harder than any lap dance ever had?

His fingers flexed, itching for something to grip, to break. Instead, he opened the drawer again and stared down at the soft pink fabric.

Still warm from memory.

Still hers.

Mark ran a finger along the edge, the silk catching slightly on his calloused skin.

And whispered under his breath,

“You shouldn’t have let me see you like that, Teresa.”

Because now…

He couldn’t unsee it. And so he made a decision. Out of mind usually meant out of sight, but unfortunately for some reason he couldn't fathom the thought of transferring Teresa to a different department or branch.

He could easily do it and get her a position far better and pay her three times her current salary. But he couldn't. Could not bare the thought of not seeing her and of not being able to control where she went. Away from him meant she would be open to everyone and to any other man. And that was something he couldn't stomach. Teresa was his, and he was just going to have to control his urges somehow.

Mark closed the drawer with a quiet click.

Then he reopened the surveillance footage.

Selected DELETE.

The system prompted him:

Permanently erase this file? (Yes/No)

His finger hovered over the keyboard.

Then, slowly, he pressed No

Instead, he copied the file.

Encrypted it.

And saved it to a drive he kept locked in a separate safe.

Just in case.