"Let's be real, Mr. Laurent," Eris said lightly, voice sugar-sweet but eyes locked in. "She's gorgeous. Big boss's secretary, smart, polished, always in heels. So why do you look like you'd rather jump out the window every time she walks in?"
One of Laurent's eyebrows ticked up. Classic. Ice in a suit. Probably trained in emotional suppression at Harvard.
He glanced at his screen, but his eyes weren't reading, just resting. His hand rotated his wedding ring slowly, deliberately.
"Personal question, Moreau."
Eris gave a half-smile, sharp as a blade under silk. "Not the first time I've asked one of those."
Silence.
Then his breath, a long one. Not tired. More like… buying time. Holding something back.
He turned, gaze slicing through the air like it owed him money. "She's not a problem. She's just… persistently nostalgic."
Persistently nostalgic?
That phrase slammed open a tiny door in Eris' head. A draft of curiosity slipped through.
She leaned in a little toward the desk, fingers playing with a pen like it was some innocent thing.
"So there's history," she murmured, voice low, more bar talk than boardroom. Laurent looked at her. Too long for it to mean nothing.
"Don't start acting like Clara. I don't hand out gossip for scrapbooking." His tone was firm, but beneath it? There was something… tired. Not the kind you sleep off.
She should back off. Really. But that itch in her gut, the one wired for patterns, inconsistencies, answers, had its claws in her now.
He was dangerous. But the kind of danger you wanted to taste, just once, just to see if it'd burn.
"If it's not gossip," she said, shoulders rising in a soft shrug, "let's call it analysis training. I'm trying to understand the senior communication style around here."
He didn't laugh.
But something shifted, barely, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. More a warning dressed like one.
"My style?" His voice dropped half a register. "Selective. Direct. And usually…" His eyes flicked down. To her mouth. Lingering.
"...effective."
Her blood lit up like someone struck a match behind her ears.
Oh. Fuck. What the hell was that.
She straightened too quickly. The pen slipped from her hand, thunk. She grabbed it, fast. But her fingers weren't exactly steady.
Calm down. This is just textbook predator-flirting. Bored married man. Midlife crisis with great tailoring. You've seen worse, Eris. You've handled worse.
Still… her inner voice wouldn't shut up.
Damn.
Because that? That wasn't supposed to make her feel hot. It was just a line. Just a well-placed trap disguised as casual.
Laurent turned back to his keyboard. Typing like none of that had happened. Cool. Detached.
"Sidenote," he said, dry as toast. "Don't get too curious about people who can end your career before you've had your first sip of coffee."
Eris smiled. Pretty, polite. But at the edges? Bitter. "Too late," she whispered, mostly to herself.
Eris inhaled, deep and slow, then exhaled like she was trying to exorcise a demon from her chest.
Okay. Focus. You're not some overheated intern getting flustered just because a frosty exec gave you a look. Get your shit together.
Laurent was still typing. Fingers sharp, fast, and way too elegant for someone who probably knew ten different ways to commit murder without leaving prints.
Then, he stopped. Didn't look her way. Eyes glued to the screen like whatever he was about to say wasn't a bomb about to drop.
"Moreau."
Her spine straightened on instinct. "Yes?"
"If they invite you out for drinks after work," his tone was too casual to be casual, "don't go." The words hit like a rock skimming water, delay, delay, then ripples.
Her brain caught up. "…Excuse me?" Sweet voice, razored edge.
Laurent turned, finally.
"Just advice," he said, flat as ice. But those eyes, calm, cool, and unbothered, didn't deny the threat curled beneath it. "Or a warning. Whichever helps you sleep at night."
Whichever helps you sleep. Sure. And technically, arsenic's just a spice if you add it slow enough.
Eris tilted her head, smile coiled. "Right. So, advice… delivered like an ultimatum. Let me guess, someone I should avoid? Or is it a hidden camera situation where drunk interns make good blackmail material?"
No answer. Which, honestly? More infuriating than a slap in the face.
He went back to typing like nothing happened.
Fake focus. Real control. And the worst part?
He knew exactly how curious that would make her. He was feeding it.
Eris checked the clock, then stood, slowly. Deliberate. Like a cat stretching before it claws something.
"Noted," she said, voice light. "But I'm not promising anything. You did say 'your choice'."
Laurent gave a single nod. Unbothered. Blank. "Good. I like people who can make their own decisions." Pause. "But don't expect anyone to catch you when you fall."
Well, fuck. That was colder than death.
She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the smile. It burned a little, like swallowing something sweet that came with a hidden sting.
She walked to the door, hand brushing the handle, then paused, half-turned.
"If I fall," she murmured, "I'm taking someone down with me. At least I won't fall alone."
He didn't say a word. But his eyes? That wasn't a boss looking at an employee. That was a predator eyeing prey who'd just grown fangs.
And the worst, most unhinged part of all? Eris didn't hate the feeling. Not even close.
Eris walked back to her cubicle slower than usual, not from fatigue. No, her heels weren't the problem. It was him. Laurent's voice still echoed in her skull, too flat to be friendly, too sharp to ignore.
"Don't go."
Two words. Tiny rocks in her shoe. Invisible, but annoying every time she moved.
She passed the rows of desks with her head bowed just enough to fake interest in her phone screen. A blank notes app. No messages. No reason. Just something to stare at so no one would see the what-the-fuck swirling in her eyes.
God, why did that man talk like a broken riddle?
Sliding into her chair, she sank down a little too hard, shoulders sagging. Not because she was tired. She'd worked longer shifts on worse days with worse people. No. This weight?
She'd made Violette leave. And Laurent said thank you. Seriously. What kind of corporate soap opera is this shit?
She barely had time to suck in a breath when Clara popped up from behind the partition like a gossip ghost summoned by panic.
"ERIS…" her whisper was almost a scream. "Oh my god, you just got called into Laurent's office? What did he say?"
Eris looked up, slow, one eyebrow raised like, You really think I'm gonna spill? That's cute.
But she smiled anyway, sweet, fake. "Just asked me to help print some reports." Clara deflated instantly. Like someone had canceled her blind date mid-lipstick.
"Ugh. I was hoping for some spice. You and him, alone in a room? Come on."
Eris snorted, half amused, half exhausted. "Sorry to disappoint. The drama's all in your head, babe."
Clara pouted, but bounced back like she was built of sugar and caffeine. "Anywayyy, day's almost over! I heard everyone's heading to a bar later. Adam found a place that 'won't bankrupt us before payday.' His words."
And, speak of the devil, Adam appeared right on cue, leaning on the partition with his usual cocky charm dialed just low enough to seem effortless.
"Ladies," he said, grin cocked. "So… drinks tonight? My treat. Gotta celebrate the newbie, right?"
Eris smiled, polite. But her stomach twisted like she'd swallowed a whole ice cube. She felt his gaze. Playful. Gentle. Too easy.
Too familiar. And she didn't need a full minute to connect the dots. This. This is what Laurent meant.
And yet… God, the stubborn part of her hated being told what to do.
Wanted to say yes just to prove she could. That she could handle herself. That she wasn't fragile just because he said so.
Clara was already sparkling, eyes wide like a kid at an ice cream shop with a fistful of coupons. "Eriiiis, come on! Just an hour!"
Silence.
Clara's hopeful grin. Adam's waiting smirk. And Laurent's voice still lingering like smoke in her lungs.
Don't go. But she wasn't his puppet. She drew in a sharp breath. Her decision tasted like adrenaline and defiance.
"One hour," she said, standing, grabbing her bag. Adam smiled, victorious. Clara squealed.
And Eris? All she felt was one thing: If this is a trap… I'll be the one to step on the damn wire.
Work ended too quietly for the way anxiety was crawling up Eris's throat.
The time in the corner of her screen blinked to the next number. Officially done. Unofficially? Her brain was still pacing in heels.
Before she could even shut her laptop, Clara popped up like a live-action alarm clock with aggressive eyeliner.
"Omg, Eris. I am so ready. I think the last time I partied with the whole team was, like… last year? Or two? Whatever. Back when HR made us play board games before drinks. Peak corporate trauma."
Eris smirked, barely listening, fingers busy dragging files into a flash drive. She was going, sure. But not staying. Not long enough to regret it.
Clara bumped her shoulder. "Don't tell me you're still thinking about work? Babe. We are off the clock."
Across the room, Mira hovered beside her desk. Cardigan in muted sage, hands fiddling with her bag strap like it had the answers. Sweet girl voice, soft like a breeze. Probably says sorry even when someone else steps on her.
"I think I'll skip tonight…" she said, barely audible, like the words themselves were shy.
Cue Adam.
Because of course.
He strolled in with a grin that knew its angles, brushing Mira's arm with the ease of someone who'd done this a dozen times. "C'mon, soft girl. We need our moral compass. You wouldn't leave us to Clara's chaos, would you?"
Mira giggled, eyes darting down. "I'm not chaotic…"
"But you're adorable when you feel guilty for drinking juice while everyone else downs two bottles," he replied smoothly, light voice, sharp gaze. Smiling like a fox in silk.
Mira's will crumpled like tissue paper. "Okay… maybe just an hour." One hour. Everyone said that before tumbling in headfirst.
Eris stayed seated, eyes briefly catching Adam's. Quick flash, but enough. She knew men like him. The ones who stood a little too close, spoke a little too low. The kind who made flirting look like a casual habit.
Sweet. In that sticky, annoying way a candy melts on your fingers in the heat.
From the corner, one of the senior analysts, usually halfway out the door by now, spoke up. "I'll come too. Been a while since we all went out."
Huh. Plot twist.
Eris glanced around. One by one, the office faces she'd only seen under fluorescent exhaustion were lighting up. Like someone had hit the hidden party mode switch on corporate drones.
And her? Still stuck in her chair. Half-in. Half-out.
Laurent's voice still echoed, all frost and maybe-meaning. But so did Mira's laugh. And the way everyone else suddenly looked… alive. Unbothered. Free.
A twitch in her chest. Jealousy? Curiosity? Some cocktail of both. She didn't want to miss anything.
But if she went… she might see too much.
Eris stood up.
Bag slung over her shoulder. Clara's perfume already thick in the air, floral and fearless. Adam's smile, polished. Mira's giggle, soft as paper. Even the seniors had that glint, like they remembered how to live for one night.
Eris stepped into the flow. Quiet. Measured. Just one hour. That's what she told herself. Just enough to see how deep this rabbit hole went. Well. She'd fall with good heels on.
They'd just stepped out of the elevator, Clara already bouncing like they were headed to Coachella, jacket slung over one shoulder; Adam busy adjusting his collar in the reflection of some brushed steel, when Eris nearly collided with a body at the corner.
"Whoa, sorry!"
Male voice. Warm. A little wobbly, like nerves had caught his throat mid-sentence. She looked up and, ah, shit.
Nathaniel.
The guy stood frozen for a second, his wide brown eyes blinking like a puppy that just got lightly smacked with a newspaper. Then came the smile, shy, too fast, like he hit 'send' before proofreading.
"Eris. Hey."
Full golden retriever mode: slightly messy hair like he'd just scratched his head and forgotten to fix it, messenger bag slung like he still had a class to catch, and cheeks, oh god, blushing?
"Hey, Nate," Eris grinned, the kind of smile that rode the line between tease and sugar. "Almost knocked you flat. You alright there?"
He gave a small laugh, sheepish, immediately adjusting his glasses even though they weren't even crooked. Cute.
"Yeah! I, I was looking for Mr. Laurent, but they said he already left…" His eyes flicked past her, scanning the small crowd behind. "You guys heading out?"
Eris tilted her head, mock-considering. "Hmm. Let's see. Group of people, semi-formal outfits, just clocked out… Where could we be going?"
Nathaniel chuckled, the sound low and shy, dragged out like he was embarrassed it even existed. "A party?"
"Smart." She winked, voice dropping half an octave. "Careful, Nate. Say things like that and I might actually fall for you."
And, God, he short-circuited.
Looked away like the floor was suddenly fascinating, smile jerking awkwardly to the side, mouth moving but brain clearly buffering.
"I, uh, I didn't mean, I mean, you, I, hah…" Behind her, Clara practically wheezed. "Eris, stop. You just made Nate crash his own OS."
Eris just smirked, shoulder shrug loose, the sparkle in her eyes betraying her amusement.
Nathaniel, clutching his bag like a flotation device, finally managed a breath. "Are you… going too?"
She tilted her chin, casually. "Yup. Still deciding if I'm staying for an hour or until the world ends."
"Oh." His smile flickered again, small and stupidly sincere.
The kind of smile that warmed your ribs from the inside out. No agenda. No edge. Just… honest.
"Have fun, yeah?"
She paused.
Because under all that awkwardness, Nate was real. Not calculated like Adam. Not unreadable like Laurent. And definitely not… whatever the hell Darian Gravelle was.
Real. Probably too soft for this circle of hell.
Eris stepped back, giving him a smile that turned uncharacteristically gentle. "Thanks. And Nate?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time, if it's you asking me out… I might actually say yes."
His blush deepened. Impressive, really, she didn't even think people could turn that red without spontaneous combustion.
Before he could implode entirely, she spun back toward the group.
Clara giggled. Adam muttered something under his breath. Mira went all sparkly-eyed: "Aww…"
Eris just grinned and twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. A little flirting never killed anyone. Besides, golden retrievers like him? Dangerously sweet.
They crossed the street together, a messy cluster of limbs and chatter. Neon signs flickered to life like lazy fireflies, painting the pavement in colors that didn't match. Evening had stopped pretending it wasn't night. The city smelled like fried food and ambition.
Adam, naturally, couldn't shut up.
"You…" he pointed his bubble tea straw like it was a damn wand, "...look like every HR's dream, but you flirt like a pervy department head with zero boundaries."
Eris didn't even break stride. One brow arched. "Bold of you to assume I'm not describing you, Adam."
Clara snorted, almost tripping over her own feet. Mira caught her by the elbow without blinking, and Adam? He sucked in a dramatic breath like he was on stage and about to monologue his tragic backstory.
"I'm wounded. Deeply. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, flirting is social diplomacy. It's not a crime."
Clara, bless her impulsive mouth, cut in. "So if someone files a report, you'll just argue it was a political maneuver?"
"Exactly," Adam said, beaming like he'd solved world peace. "But Eris? No. She's different. It's the face. That face. Too innocent."
And then, like a goddamn cold front… A voice. Low. Detached. A blade dipped in ice.
"That's the dangerous kind."
Leon.
Black hoodie. Hands jammed into pockets. Walking like a shadow that forgot how to leave. He never joined conversations unless he could set the temperature to chill-your-spine.
All heads turned.
Leon didn't smile. He didn't do smiling.
"People who look clean on the surface," he said, still watching the street ahead like none of them mattered, "they're the ones you miss. Until it's too late. You don't see the knife 'til it's inside you."
Clara blinked. Twice. "W-wait, hold up. Are you saying Eris is a secret psychopath?" Mira gasped, all soft panic and blinking eyes. "Eris? No way... right?"
Eris just smiled. Slow. Controlled. Like poison pretending to be perfume. "Well," she said, voice syrupy-smooth, "who knows?"
Clara shrieked. "WHAT THE HELL, IS THIS A TWIST? I WAS NOT READY."
Adam face-palmed. Mira muttered something that might've been a prayer. Leon let the corner of his mouth twitch, barely there, but she saw it.
Eris saw everything.
Because unlike the others, Leon didn't laugh it off. Didn't dismiss the performance. He watched her the way wolves watch fire, fascinated, but knowing better than to touch.
The others thought they knew her. Leon, He didn't buy the packaging. He looked for the edges underneath.
Something cold uncoiled down her spine. Not fear. Just, awareness. They kept walking. The air grew sharper. The jokes louder.
Eris smiled again. A tilt of the mouth. Soft. Sweet. But inside, her thoughts curled like smoke.
If only they knew.