POV Damien
The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city through the glass walls behind me. I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight, eyes locked on the digital file glowing on my screen. Eva Sinclair.
Flawless records. Top marks. Nothing out of place.
Too perfect.
Too clean.
No debts. No red flags. Not even a parking ticket. Just a carefully built resume, honors from a second-rate university, and flawless references. All checked out. But none of it felt real.
And yet, everything about her screamed *wrong*.
I closed the file. "Too clean," I muttered under my breath. "No one's that perfect."
I am sure that there is definitely something different about her from others, but what exactly is she trying to hide so much?
"She's hiding something," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
She had walked into Wolfe Enterprises like she belonged—head high, lips sealed, eyes sharp as blades. And ever since, she'd moved through departments with a kind of grace that was calculated. Strategic. She wasn't here to climb a ladder. She was digging.
But for what?
I reached for my coffee and caught myself glancing toward the security feed on my second monitor. She was still in her cubicle, head bowed over spreadsheets, fingers flying over the keyboard. Focused. Obsessively so.
I watched her for a moment longer than necessary. There was something about her—the way she moved, the way she never flinched under pressure. She didn't flirt, didn't gossip. She studied people the way I studied mergers—always calculating risk.
I tapped my pen against the desk and leaned back, spinning the chair around.
I needed a move.
I needed her to make a mistake.
Then I had an idea.
I drummed my fingers once against the desk, then hit the intercom. "Have Eva come to my office."
Within minutes, the soft click of heels reached my ears. A quiet knock followed.
"Come in."She stepped inside, dark blouse tucked neatly into a pencil skirt, posture straight, chin slightly raised. Always composed. Always unreadable. Confidence. Controlled. But not cold.
"You asked for me, sir?"
I gestured to the seat across from me. "Yes. I have a special assignment. High stakes. Financial modeling for our Singapore deal."
She didn't blink. "I'm listening."
I slid a folder across the desk. Tucked beneath it was a sticky note. One word. One password. Placed exactly where she'd see it.
She reached for the folder, but not the note.
Didn't even glance at it.
I watched her closely. Her eyes scanned the contents quickly—methodically. "When's the deadline?"
"Tomorrow morning."
Her lips twitched slightly. Not in protest. In challenge.
Her brow lifted just slightly.
Her lips curved faintly—not a smile, more like a smirk she swallowed before it grew.
I slid a folder across the desk. And right beneath it, half-visible on a yellow sticky note, was a password. A company admin code.
She saw it. I saw her see it.
But she didn't touch it.
She lifted the folder and nodded. "I'll deliver."
"Good," I said, watching her closely. "That's all for now."
"I'll have it done."
She stood, turned, and paused. "Was there anything else?"
"No," I said slowly. "That'll be all."
She left without a word.
As the door closed behind her, I leaned forward and stared at the spot where she'd stood.
"She saw it. And didn't take the bait."
Now I will get to know what she is digging and what she wants exactly, for her to be doing all this.
I waited fifteen minutes, then checked her computer remotely. She hadn't used the password.
Interesting.
I waited a few minutes, then opened my admin panel and checked the logs.
No attempt with that password.
Interesting.
At 3:17 PM, she knocked again. A rare move.
"Come in," I called, trying not to sound too eager.
She entered with the folder in hand. "It's done."
I glanced up. She looked the same—neat, calm, a little flushed from the long day, but otherwise unreadable. She never let the cracks show.
I opened it. Complex modeling. Flawless logic. Executed perfectly. Clean. Smart.
You didn't use the access code," I said casually, eyes still on the paper.
"I didn't need it."
I looked at her now. Her eyes didn't waver.
"Do you trust your instincts that much?"
She held my gaze. "Because it wasn't part of the assignment. And because you left it where I could see it."
Silence thickened the air between us. I leaned back, folding my arms. She didn't move.
Too quiet.
There was heat in the room now, thick enough to taste. She knew it. So did I.
"You're not afraid of being alone in a room with me?" I asked.
Her head tilted slightly. "Should I be?"
I leaned forward. "Depends. Are you hiding something?"
"If I was," she said, walking toward the door, "would I tell you?"
She turned, hand on the knob, but didn't leave yet.
"What are you really doing here, Eva?"
She blinked once. "Working."
"And what else?"
Her pause was longer this time. "Maybe you'll figure it out, Mr. Wolfe."
"Why can't you tell me yourself, I need to trust you Eva."
Her lips parted slightly—like she was about to respond. Then she didn't.
"You're not invisible. Whatever you're hiding—I will find it."
Her voice came soft. "Then I'll have to stay sharp, won't I?"
Then she slipped out the door and closed it behind her.I sat there, staring at the wood grain of the door. My fingers tapped the desk, a rhythm of control I was quickly losing.
She was pulling me in, and she knew it.
Worse—I didn't want to pull back.
Not yet.
And she was gone.
I sat there for a long while, the scent of her perfume lingering. My fingers gripped the edge of the desk.
What the hell are you really doing here, Eva?
And why, despite everything, do I want to find out more than I want to breathe?