In the morning, I entered the clinic. No glances, no fuss. Reception, hallway, office - all in a straight line, just the way I like it.
The doctor turned out to be one of those who smiles in advance. I didn't smile.
"I need to get some tests done. Urgently," I said and sat down.
"What exactly is bothering you?"
"Yesterday, the alcohol affected me strangely. Not like it usually does. I want to check for any foreign substances. Narcotics. Or any other surprises."
"Anything specific?"
"No. Just a test for everything possible. And also birth control pills. Normal ones. No philosophy."
He nodded as if it were a standard Monday.
I gave blood. Everything went quickly, like a routine operation to remove awkwardness. A step to the left, a step to the right, and I already had a pack of pills in my hand. Right there, I took one and swallowed it. Not because I believe in instant contraception, but because it makes me feel calmer.
I arrived at work on time. A perfect illusion of a normal day. Nothing foretold anything, until Theron's personal bodyguard appeared in the doorway, as always with a face of granite and a small paper bag in hand. I immediately knew what kind of visit this was.
He handed me the bag in silence. Didn't say a word. But my phone vibrated. As always, right on time:
10:00 - "Drink this."
I opened it. The same pills. The same shape. The same dosage. Funny. I looked him in the eyes, not as a challenge, just so he'd understand. I know. I'm fine with it. I took one out and swallowed it on the spot. No water. No theatrics. He watched. I didn't look away.
When he left, I took out the pack I'd been given that morning. Empty. I laid it out on the table. Next to it, the doctor's note: date, signature, prescription. Beside it, the second pack, the one from Theron. Also empty. I photographed everything carefully and sent it to Theron.
This entire routine and ordinary situation eased my thoughts. It was just a drunken impulse or, you could say, a standoff between two stubborn people. Deep down, I still believed nothing would change. But if they brought me just the pills and not a resignation letter, that was already a good sign.
Ostin came in after knocking. He always does that. Respect has always been his first priority.
"Everything alright?" he asked. I nodded. If it weren't "alright," he would've known anyway.
"We're going together today," he said. "He asked me to escort you to Phoenix."
"Can that be considered proof that I failed the task assigned to me?" I asked dryly, expecting a harsh truth.
"I don't think so." He seemed sincere. "I've been instructed to remind Rick and Jen who they work for. So pack up and..." He studied me closely and added, "Theron's not in the mood. Better to head out early."
That phrase was enough for me to react. I simply stood up and started getting ready. In this structure, pauses don't solve anything. Ostin left the same way he came, quietly.
A minute later, the door opened again, not so calmly this time. Dave. He walked in with the look of a man who wants to be feared but is forced to remind people of it with words.
"I hope you remember what we talked about," he began. "This company's been under my control for five years. Mistakes will reflect on you." I looked at him for a long time. Not as a challenge. Without emotion.
"I heard you," I said. I promised nothing. Agreed to nothing. He didn't notice, or pretended not to.
When he left, the room fell silent again. I finished getting ready. Without haste. Without thoughts.
We arrived without warning. Ostin didn't think it necessary to notify anyone in advance. He acted quickly, precisely, without excess words. He wasn't interested in others' opinions. Only the result.
Everything looked the same. At reception, a familiar face. Security, assistants, employees. Only this time, they looked differently: carefully, tensely. Ostin walked first, evenly, calmly. He said nothing, just walked. That alone was enough to shift all attention to us.
"Where's the director?" he asked at the front desk. There was no answer right away. Anna at reception began dialing someone on the phone. Ostin was already moving on. He opened the right door himself, without waiting.
Staff began to gather in the conference room. No one spoke. No one sat down. Everyone waited.
Ostin started immediately.
"Who handed documents to Mirey?"
"Why are there no reports?"
"Who signed the last data package?"
The answers were uncertain, vague. Most were attempts to explain. He didn't interrupt. Listened to the end. After each answer, a short pause.
"Alright. So, no one," he said.
His voice was even, without raising his tone, but it was clear to everyone that the situation was critical.
Ostin's words always reflected Theron's position. Everyone knew that.
"So, Miss Mirey needs all reports on investments and expenses for the past three years." I handed the list to the people. "You have one hour to get all these documents into her hands. And where is Mister Thompson?"
Silence followed. Just frightened glances exchanged. Ostin gave a nod, and people started to move.
The commotion began. Employees ran between floors, searching for the right documents, trying to approach me, offering help, bringing papers. They spoke to me politely, apologized, asked whether I needed a separate room or access to the archives. No one argued. No one refused.
I watched them calmly.
Then, finally, Ricky appeared. Ostin invited me into his office.
When I entered, I was slightly taken aback by the situation. Ostin was sitting in Thompson's chair behind the desk, and he, like an ordinary employee, stood in front of him, arms straight at his sides.
"Explain yourself," Ostin commanded.
"I think there was a misunderstanding," Thompson began, already lying.
I felt sick from the pretense. As usual, they'd try to blame everything on my inexperience or stupidity, claim I misunderstood something, and so on. I automatically rolled my eyes and braced myself for another round of nonsense. In offices, this was standard fare.
Ostin turned the monitor toward Thompson and me. And just like that, Ricky's drama veered off script. On the screen was security footage clearly showing him throwing away my sheet of paper.
"Bravo, Ostin — didn't see that coming." I applauded silently inside myself.
"I think you've gotten too comfortable playing the Director, Mister Thompson," Ostin continued, just as calm and polite. "See to it that all documents requested by Miss Mirey are gathered, and report to the VECS headquarters."
"Yes," Ricky said, without any extra words. He turned, gave me a furious look, clenched his fists, and walked out of the office.
I followed him. I had to monitor the correctness and completeness of the documents. But then I noticed something.
One of the few who hadn't changed her behavior was Anna, the blonde at reception. She continued working at her computer, without reacting to anything happening around her. She didn't look in our direction. Ostin didn't elicit a single emotion from her. That made her stand out among the others.
Later, Ostin approached me.
"I have to leave," he said. "You'll manage here on your own, right?"
I nodded. His question felt like a needle prick. I had clearly failed my task.
"Theron is flying out. Urgent business trip."
He didn't elaborate further. He didn't need to. I knew what to do. We said goodbye.
I was left alone. Went through the documents. Sorted them. Almost everything was sent to the central office. I kept only two folders for myself. Unimportant ones.
As expected, they didn't manage it all in an hour.
It was around eight. Returning to the office no longer made sense. I left the building and, in the street noise, exhausted, headed home.
As if nothing had happened yesterday.
And then I remembered the test results. I quickly opened my email on my phone and read them.
NOTHING. No substances or traces of narcotics were detected in my system.
Had I simply given in to emotional lust last night?
My thoughts on the way home were interrupted by a familiar figure.
FBI agent.
"Do you have a minute?"
"No," I replied and, reaching the entrance, closed the door in his face.
That was starting to make me uneasy. Either they knew something or... I didn't see any other options, but there was no point in winding myself up in advance.
The next day, my office was buried in documents.
It looked more like a storage room. Papers were everywhere — on the windowsill, on top of the cabinet, under the desk. Only a narrow path to the chair and a corner of the desk surface remained free.
There was a lot of work. I had prepared in advance: two cups of coffee and a long sandwich. Step in once, don't leave again.
I sat down. Turned on my phone. Opened my messages. Yesterday's one to Theron was still unread.
I reminded myself that he and Ostin were on a business trip.
He had more important things to deal with.
I put the phone aside.
Opened the first folder. Began reviewing documents.
After lunch, my attention was pulled from the paperwork by the phone vibrating. Incoming message at
14:50 - "Did you receive all the requested documents?" — Ostin.
I barely had time to glance at it when Dave entered the office without knocking, just as rude as ever.
Quickly typing a reply
14:51 - "Still in review"
I tucked the phone out of sight.
"Mirey, I thought we had an understanding," he said in a calm tone, which for him was highly unusual.
I looked at Dave and replied firmly,
"I follow Theron's instructions. Do you really expect me to disobey him and start taking orders from you behind his back?"
There was not the slightest desire to play this exhausting game. By saying everything directly, I only made the tension worse. His eyes widened slightly, anger flashed in them, but he was clearly trying to keep control. As he approached, he carefully stepped around tables piled with documents.
"You're not stupid, and you're beautiful too. I'm just trying to help you. I've run this company for five years and I know both investments and expenses very well," he said, leaning on my desk and inclining slightly closer. "If we work together, Theron will get all the reports much faster."
He reached out and ran his hand along my cheek.
I jumped up instantly, rising from the chair. His reaction was a smirk. With lazy confidence, he slowly came closer, reducing the distance between us. There was nowhere left to retreat. Papers were everywhere. No way back.
With one swift motion, Dave grabbed my waist, and his other hand slid over my hips. I froze in shock, paralyzed by what was happening. The absurdity of the situation screamed inside me, but my body seemed to have lost all movement. Seeing me motionless, he insolently unbuttoned the top button of my blouse.
A pounding drum filled my head. Fear seized my thoughts.
"We could have a great time together," he sneered, slowly running his fingers from the open button toward my neck.
This… my worst fear was materializing before my eyes. Sexual harassment. Even the idea of it was unbearable. I had endured my stepfather's violence: the burns, the cuts, the physical pain—those were familiar. But this, no. I would not be able to withstand this. It would break me to the core.
Swallowing the lump of fear lodged in my throat and gathering what remained of my will, I tried to push him away from my space. But he was much stronger. He quickly caught my wrists and forced them behind my back in a tight lock. My heart was pounding wildly, beating out the rhythm of terror under a flood of subconscious nightmares.
No. Don't show fear. Fight. Mirey, fight.
The words boiled inside my mind. I said sharply, "Take your hands off me. I'm not interested. For your information, I prefer women."
"Really?" he squinted in mock surprise, ignoring what I said and brazenly leaning closer to my neck. The foul cold of his breath burned my skin without touching it, and a wave of disgust churned inside me.
"You have a beautiful body, despite all your dullness," he said with irony, tightening one hand on me and provocatively letting the other slide down my hips again before reaching up to touch my chest.
"Enough."
His grip weakened slightly, and that single instant was all I needed. With all my strength, I shoved him back. This time, I managed to break free.
Fear still clung to me from within, but I had to get Dave out. I couldn't endure his presence right now, couldn't allow myself to show weakness in front of him. Waves of anxiety rose again, threatening to break through.
"Leave," I hissed, trying to maintain a calm and indifferent mask as I buttoned up my blouse. I prayed my hands wouldn't betray me and start to shake.
"Don't forget who you work for," he said with a nasty smile, fully aware he had hit a nerve.
"Thanks for the reminder," I replied firmly, finishing with the last button on my suit. "I work for Theron. Now get out."
His face twisted with fury he had until now kept in check. On his way out, he deliberately kicked over a stack of papers on my desk. The pages scattered across the already cluttered floor.
I took a deep breath, trying to stabilize myself. I had nearly broken. Almost shown my weakness. Looking around, I realized it would be hard to focus now. I needed to leave the office.
It was already three o'clock. One more hour of work remained, but the leadership had long since left. No one was really watching me anymore, which, frankly, was surprising. Gathering a few folders to work on at home, I quietly left the office and stepped outside.
Walking through the central park, I tried to distract myself from what had happened. But my thoughts kept circling back—to the incident, to that fear that still wouldn't let me go. Dave's touch repulsed me, but I had had sex on the desk with Theron without hesitation. They both worked there. The only difference was status. Both were part of the mafia. Neither of them were exactly gentlemen. So why did I want Theron? Was it just intoxication or a surge of weakness?
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. On the way home, I stopped for a bottle of white wine and a pizza. The sun had already set; the walk had taken much longer than I expected.
As I approached my building, I noticed a familiar figure from the corner of my eye. The FBI agent was back. He was walking directly toward me.
"We need to talk," he said, insistent.
"Look, I don't know what you want. Honestly, you've got the wrong person," I replied coldly, continuing toward the entrance.
"Have you noticed any suspicious activity in your company?" he pressed on.
"What activity? I just check invoices for cleaning supplies. What are you even talking about?" I snapped, clearly showing my indifference.
He tried to add something else, but I wasn't listening anymore. I slammed the door in his face. Breathing out with relief, I was glad to be rid of his questions.
But just as I began climbing the stairs, I suddenly heard a voice behind me. That voice.
"Knew it. You were the easiest one to catch."
The satisfaction in his tone made me freeze.
Dave.