2nd-glance Romane & Geschichten

Connor’s POV Seeing her this close is like a revelation. She is beautiful. Not even in an understated way. She is fucking stunning. I had a moment in the kitchen when I just wanted to slam her into a wall and kiss those plump, pouty lips of hers. Fuck, I wish I could but I can’t. I am now technically her boss. We need to have a healthy professional relationship. I make myself a promise to glance but not touch. Secret glances. Just to admire her. I need to control myself. A knock at the door drags me from thoughts of her and I move from behind my desk to answer it. As I suspected it’s Al.

The beast in him egged him to engage her further, to which he took a few short breaths to constrain himself from having more improper thoughts of her. Just before he could say his piece, a waiter with a cropped haircut and in a sparkling uniform approached them with a tray of glasses. “Margarita, Sir?” Jing Yue furrowed his thick brows disapprovingly and glanced towards her for a few seconds, before accepting the glasses. He shooed the man away instantaneously with a gesture from his smooth hands. She observed that he had hands that looked like they never sustained a day of hard work. Ah, everything about him was so seductive.

Her hand flew to the small pendant at her throat, clinging as if it could ward off code. The second name slot began to cycle. Hundreds of names flickered through—players I’d seen on other buses, faces I half‑recognized from other arenas. The scroll slowed, jittered, as if the system were… deciding. One name floated up and paused. SOMEONE ELSE – a guy in his twenties, buzz cut, hard eyes. Then, the whole line glitched. The font smeared, then snapped back. The name wavered. Flickered. SML – JAX MARTIN.

Otherwise, it would be quite embarrassing. After a few more minutes, the investigation yielded conclusive results, directly implicating two shareholders of Glen Corporation. Gwyneth thought, 'The internal affairs of Glen Corporation appear to be even more intricate than I anticipated.' She narrowed her eyes slightly, but her hands never ceased their swift movement. She promptly exited the intranet and seamlessly switched to the surveillance footage program, completing the transition in no more than five seconds.

By the time we make the second stop, my decision's already nagging me. And when I press my thumb into the soft seam and feel it… I know I'm going to open one. Even if it kills me. I crack the seam open. Inside is not a flash drive. It's tiny, bloody glass. And on it—so faint that I'm afraid I'll overlook it—is one date. It’s tomorrow.

Late one night, as she sat watching surveillance footage of the villa, her screen glitched for exactly 3 seconds. Just long enough to display a single message. “ECHO PROTOCOL STAGE TWO: INITIATED.”

The smoke-claws didn’t just touch the monitor; they rewrote the physics of the glass, turning the reinforced screen into a liquid portal of necrotic shadow. I felt the intrusion hit my stone ribs before the hand even cleared the frame—a jagged, high-frequency violation that tasted of the Second Prime’s lingering spite.

It was fleeting, but I could clearly tell it was a glance of sordid distaste. But would you believe if I say that even his glare was beautiful? Yeah, he was that Hot. Especially his eyes. A kind of shining passionate green that the ocean turns during a storm. They were the exact glossy color of kelp on the shore, flecked with splinters of driftwood. The sclerae that surrounded them were pristine, untouched by dark flakes. I wouldn't mind being glared at, if they were these pair of eyes.

Kieran watched me. “I thought it might.” I moved toward the console. My fingers hovered over it. Paused. Because something felt off. A flicker. A glitch. Barely noticeable. There. My breath slowed. Careful. Focused. “Wait " I said. Both of them froze. “What is it?" Ethan asked. I stared at the screen. The system. The code. Then I saw it. A trace. Small. Hidden. Deliberate. My blood ran cold. “It’s not clean, " I whispered.

A trace of panic rose within him. Hannah's cold and disdainful gaze fixed on him. He felt her gaze piercing through him as if she were scrutinizing someone else. It was as though someone had committed an even more unforgivable mistake, leading to her cold and rejecting demeanor, unwilling to grant him the slightest chance. Nigel wanted to shout and explain but found himself unable to speak as if he were the person who once caused her pain. Fortunately, Hannah didn't need his explanation or apology. Lifting her hand with a cold gaze, she delivered another resounding slap.