The rain hadn't stopped since morning. It clawed at the glass like fingers trying to get in—relentless, cold, and loud enough to fill the silence of the office.
Damien sat behind his desk, face half-lit by the sterile office lamps above. His frown had settled into a permanent fixture, carved into his forehead like a signature. One hand pressed flat on the table, the other cradling his forehead, fingers tugging slightly at his temple as if that might force clarity into his head.
Before him, papers were scattered—half-crumpled reports, printed clauses, project summaries, and red-marked drafts. None of it made sense. The damage from the botched deal was done, but he couldn't figure out how. The numbers didn't align. The dates were wrong. The version filed wasn't the final one.
And now everything was bleeding.
He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten. He just kept reading and rereading the mess, as if the answer would suddenly appear if he stared hard enough.
"Sir?" a voice asked quietly from the doorway.
Damien didn't look up.
A young man in a building maintenance uniform stepped in, holding two cups of coffee.
"It's almost midnight. I'm locking up soon—do you want me to set the alarm, or are you staying?"
"Leave it," Damien muttered. "I'm not done here."
The man nodded, set one of the coffees on the desk, and picked up his own bag. "Take care, sir. It's coming down hard out there."
Damien didn't respond.
The man left.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the lobby light flickered once.
Downstairs, the front door creaked open.
A figure stepped inside—tall, covered head to toe in a long, black raincoat. Hood drawn over their head, face swallowed in shadow. Water dripped in trails from the sleeves. They didn't speak. Didn't look at the security cameras. They walked with slow, measured steps to the elevator.
They pressed the button.
The '13' lit up.
Moments later, the door opened again.
This time, there was no eerie silence—just suffering carried in quietly on soaked shoes.
Mae stepped inside the building, drenched, her coat clinging to her like second skin. Her hair was plastered to her face, her eyes puffy, not from crying—but from not crying. From holding it all in for too long.
She clutched something tight under her coat, arms wrapped around it like she was holding herself together.
She stepped into the elevator, water dripping onto the tiles. She didn't speak. She simply pressed the button.
Floor 13.
As it moved upward, she finally pulled the folder from beneath her coat.
Slick from the rain. Worn. But intact.
Inside it, proof—the final version of the legal clause she had submitted, time-stamped, documented, attached in an email sent two nights before the meeting. A version that had somehow never been used. A version that someone had buried As if someone never wanted Damien to get that deal.
"I can't leave without clearing my name," she whispered now seemingly only her dignity left that she wanted to protect before she ended everything.
Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from exhaustion.
Damien had humiliated her, discarded her, crushed whatever dignity she had left—but he hadn't destroyed the truth.
She wasn't incompetent.
She wasn't a failure.
She had been sacrificed for a mistake that wasn't hers.
And she knew who had really made it—his brother. The one Damien trusted blindly. The one who always walked in with smug confidence and never faced consequences.
She didn't have illusions.
She knew Damien wouldn't believe her—not at first.
People like her didn't get heard. Not when they weren't born into the right class. Not when their shoes were worn and their resumes weren't framed in gold.
To Damien, she had been disposable.
But tonight, she would put the truth in front of him. And after that… if he still chose not to see her?
Then so be it.
Damien paced behind his desk, a specter in his own kingdom of cold glass and dead lights. His hand raked through his hair again and again, tension clawing through his spine.
The file hadn't changed.
And still…
No one left to blame.
He was muttering under his breath, trying to piece together threads that refused to tie, when—
Ding.
A soft sound. Almost harmless.
But it made his entire body still.
He glanced at the time—past midnight.
No one was supposed to be here.
Brows tightening, he strode to the blinds and pulled them aside.
The building across was empty. Shadows stretched over every inch of the opposite windows.
Another crack of thunder tore through the sky—
And with it, the lights cut out completely.
The office plunged into shadow.
"Dammit," Damien hissed.
He fumbled for his phone, flicking on the flashlight. The narrow cone of white light illuminated nothing but shadows and silence.
He turned sharply, walked over to the blinds, and peered into the office beyond. Empty. Dark. Not a single light flickering.
Another boom of thunder.
And suddenly—everything went black.
The lights in the office shut off with a snap. The building went silent, save for the rain and the slow groan of the wind.
He blinked, disoriented. "Shit."
Pulling out his phone, he turned on the flashlight, its narrow beam cutting a weak cone through the darkness. As he stepped out into the hallway, he heard it.
Footsteps.
Soft. Slow. Purposeful.
He lifted his phone higher, turning toward the sound—
And froze.
Mae.
Soaked head to toe. Hair stuck to her face. Eyelashes matted with rain. Lips chapped and cracked. Her eyes—those eyes—void of life, void of fear, yet burning with something else.
Hate.
Damien's jaw tightened. "What the hell are—"
"Don't you dare say a word." Her voice cracked like glass, loud and sudden.
He stepped back involuntarily.
"I've heard enough," she said, walking toward him, her boots wet, squelching softly with each step.
Now they were inches apart.
The light from his phone cast long shadows over her face.
Her skin was pale. Her expression—a ruin of exhaustion. But her eyes… her eyes glistened like the edge of a knife.
"You destroyed me," she whispered. "And for what? Because you couldn't admit it was your brother who made the mistake? Because you needed someone to bleed for your pride?"
Damien opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"I came to prove the truth," she continued, breath trembling. "I searched every log, every email, every version. I brought it all here."
She reached up and poked his chest, her fingertip like a dagger.
"You'll read it. You'll see how wrong you were. And it won't matter."
Her voice grew lower—deadly.
"Because I'm not here for your apology. I'm here for your curse."
His brows pulled in, confused. But she leaned closer, her voice cold and slow.
"I will haunt you, Damien. I'll be the echo in your house. I'll be the taste in your food. I'll sleep beside you like a shadow and claw at your peace every time you close your eyes."
He recoiled slightly. "Mae—"
"I'll curse you to eternity," she hissed.
Then—slam.
She shoved the folder against his chest, almost throwing it.
"I hope every word you've ever said to me rots in your throat. I hope you choke on your own power."
She turned, shoulder brushing his as she passed him. Her coat dragging wet trails across the floor. Her steps calm, but something deeper than calm—deadened.
Damien stood frozen, shaken.
Then—
a low metallic click.
Footsteps.
A figure was walking toward him. Just in front of Mae.
In the flash of light, Mae saw it first—a glint of metal in the figure's hand aiming towards Damien's back.
She didn't scream. She didn't shout. She just shook her head, not ready for what was coming Damien's way. She wasn't going to let him get away with it that easy. She just moved.
And—
Bang.
Her body jerked with the impact.
She collided into Damien, arms knocking him sideways as she took the bullet meant for him. Her back hit the floor with a wet, sickening smack. Blood bloomed beneath her like ink soaking a canvas.
The hooded man turned and vanished in an almost hurry. Damien lay on the floor, stunned, blinking—until he saw her.
Mae on the ground beside him. Horrified he sat up reaching his hand to Mae.
"No—no, no, no—Mae," he whispered, dropping beside her.
Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising in jagged tremors. The room remained dim, only then backup emergency light flickering back to life—and with it, her wound came into full, horrifying view.
Scarlet through her black clothes. Warm blood oozing out of her body and clearly Life being sucked out of her body.
She smiled. Barely. Her lips twitched with effort.
He stared at her, torn between panic and guilt.
"Why… why would you…?"
Her head lolled. Her lips moved like wind-blown ash.
"Because," she rasped, blood coating her teeth now, "I want you alive." almost choking.
Her hand clutched weakly at his collar, pulling him just close enough.
"You don't… deserve peace."
He blinked, breath frozen.
"I want you to live," she whispered.
"So you can rot slowly."
Her final breath hitched—
And she collapsed against him, her body limp.