Chapter 9

POV: Vivian | Timeline: Wednesday afternoon

I walked back to the office with Natasha's words echoing in my head.

"I'm not saying it's him. I'm just saying you should figure out who it IS before you drive yourself completely insane."

Figure out who Sir was. Like it was simple. Like I could just ask and he'd answer.

The lobby of Kane Industries gleamed around me. Glass and steel and power. I'd walked through these doors a thousand times over the past two years.

Today it felt different. Like I was seeing it for the first time. Like there were secrets hidden in every shadow.

If Sir worked here—if he walked these same halls, rode these same elevators, breathed the same recycled air—then every moment of the past two years took on a different meaning.

Every interaction. Every conversation. Every time someone looked at me a little too long.

Had Sir been watching the whole time? Taking notes? Building a profile of who I was and what I needed?

The elevator carried me to the top floor. Executive territory. I stepped out, walked past the reception desk, headed for my cubicle.

Alexander's office door was open.

I could see him at his desk, typing. His jacket was off. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Forearms taut with muscle, dusted with dark hair.

I'd never noticed his forearms before.

Now I couldn't stop staring.

Sir's videos always showed his hands and forearms. Strong hands. Capable hands. The same hands that typed commands telling me to touch myself, to spread my legs, to show him everything.

Alexander's hands looked exactly the same.

I shook myself. This was insane. I was projecting my fantasies onto my boss because I was sleep-deprived and sexually frustrated.

"Vivian."

His voice made me jump. I hadn't realized I'd stopped walking. Was just standing there in the hallway, staring at him through the glass partition.

"Come here."

I walked into his office on unsteady legs.

"Close the door."

I did. The click of the latch sounded unnaturally loud.

He leaned back in his chair. Studied me with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"You seem distracted today."

"I'm fine, Mr. Kane."

"That's the third time this week you've said that. And the third time I haven't believed you." He steepled his fingers. "You're usually sharper than this. More present. Lately you've been... elsewhere."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well."

"Why not?"

The question was too personal. Too probing. Alexander never asked about my personal life. Never showed the slightest interest in what happened to me outside these walls.

"Just stress," I managed. "Work stuff. Life stuff. You know how it is."

"I do." He rose from his chair. Walked around the desk. Stopped in front of me—close, but not touching. "I know exactly how it is. The pressure that builds. The thoughts that won't quiet. The need for... release."

My mouth went dry.

Was he—did he mean—

"I need you functioning at full capacity, Vivian." His voice dropped lower. "Whatever you need to do to achieve that, do it. Take the afternoon off if necessary. But when you come back tomorrow, I expect the assistant I hired. Not this ghost who can't meet my eyes."

I looked up. Met his gaze.

Something passed between us. Something I couldn't name. A current of awareness that made my skin prickle and my core clench.

"Yes, Mr. Kane."

Something flickered in his eyes at the word "sir." Surprise? Recognition?

No—I'd called him Mr. Kane. Hadn't I?

I was losing my mind.

"Make sure you do." He turned back to his desk. "I need the Hartley contract reviewed by end of day tomorrow. That gives you twenty-four hours to sort yourself out."

"Yes, Mr. Kane."

I was almost at the door when he spoke again.

"Vivian."

I turned.

He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were on his computer screen. But his voice was different. Softer. Almost gentle.

"Sometimes the answers we're looking for are right in front of us. We don't see them because we're not ready to. Because seeing would change everything."

I stared at his profile. His sharp jaw. The controlled set of his shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." He started typing. "Just something I was thinking about. Close the door on your way out."

I fled to my desk. Collapsed into my chair.

What the hell was that?

His words played on repeat. The answers we're looking for are right in front of us.

Was he talking about work? About the Hartley contract? About something else entirely?

Was he talking about himself?

I couldn't focus for the rest of the day. Every time Alexander walked past my desk, I flinched. Every time he spoke to anyone—on the phone, to another executive, to the maintenance guy who came to fix the air conditioning—I listened for Sir's cadence in his voice.

Was the tone the same? Was the rhythm? The way he emphasized certain words?

I couldn't tell anymore. I was too deep in my own paranoia.

At 5 PM, I gave up pretending to work. I needed answers. Tonight.

I pulled out my phone. Opened my conversation with Sir.

I need to know something. And I need you to answer honestly.

His response came within seconds. Ask me anything, Velvet. I've never lied to you.

Have we ever met in person?

Long pause. Longer than usual.

Why do you ask?

Because some of the things you know about me—you couldn't know them from just talking online. You couldn't know my meeting schedule and my café and when I clench my thighs unless you were watching. In person. Unless you're someone I already know.

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Five minutes passed. The longest five minutes of my life.

Then his response arrived.

Would it change anything if I was?

My blood ran cold.

Not denial. Not confirmation.

A question.

Would it change anything?

Yes, I typed back. It would change everything.

Would it change how you feel when I command you? Would it change the pleasure I give you? Would it change the connection we've built over six months?

I didn't know how to answer.

Because the truth was complicated. If Sir was someone I knew—if Sir was Alexander—then everything was a lie. Every professional interaction had a hidden meaning. Every cold criticism was a mask. Every moment I spent hating my boss was a moment I spent wanting him without knowing.

But also... every command would take on new meaning. Every denial would be foreplay. Every cold word in the office would be a prelude to hot words in my ear at night.

I don't know, I typed honestly. I need time to think.

Then take it. I'm not going anywhere. But Velvet—consider this. Whoever I am, whatever name is attached to this face you've never seen... I know you. The real you. The one you hide from the world. And I want her. All of her. Always.

My eyes burned with tears I refused to shed.

I need to know, I typed. Please. I'm going crazy.

Soon. I promise. But not like this. Not through a screen. When you're ready to see me—really see me—I'll be there.

How will I know when I'm ready?

You'll know. And so will I.

The conversation ended. I sat at my desk, staring at my phone, heart pounding.

He hadn't denied it. Hadn't said "I'm a stranger, you've never met me."

He'd said "would it change anything."

Like it might be true. Like he might be someone I knew.

Like he might be Alexander Kane.

I stayed at my desk until the building emptied. Until the floor was dark and quiet. Until I was alone with my thoughts and my fear and my desperate, aching want.

Tomorrow would bring answers.

I just wasn't sure I was ready to hear them.