A Warning Behind Glass Walls

The office was too quiet.

Not the calm, productive kind of silence but one thick with unspoken tension, the sort that lingered even after the storm had passed.

Silas stood in front of the towering glass wall of Veylan Cross’s office, the skyline stretched behind the CEO like a painting in motion. Neon bled into dusk, reflecting in the sharp panes that surrounded them. The city moved, pulsed, lived—while inside, only the faint ticking of the clock dared to intrude.

Veylan was seated behind his sleek desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled back just enough to reveal his wrists, elegant and dangerous in the same breath. He didn’t look up immediately when Silas stepped in. Instead, he kept reading the documents spread before him, pen scratching against the margin as though Silas’s presence was nothing more than air.

It wasn’t air. It was suffocating.

Silas swallowed, shifting slightly, his hands clasped behind his back in the formal posture of an employee waiting for orders. Yet, his pulse betrayed him, beating too fast for someone standing still. He thought about what had happened earlier—about the two men who had walked into the boardroom uninvited. About the suffocating aura of Cassian Rho, the man whose gaze was like steel, and Darius Valen, whose stare had been colder than any winter Silas had endured.

They hadn’t looked at the documents, or at the other directors. Their focus had been fixed squarely on one man—Veylan Cross.

And in that suffocating triangle of power, Silas had somehow been noticed too.

Finally, Veylan set his pen down. The sound was deliberate, soft but commanding enough to draw Silas’s attention sharply. Then those dark eyes lifted, and the weight of them fell entirely on Silas.

“Close the door,” Veylan said. His voice was smooth, but there was something underneath—something unshakable, like velvet hiding steel.

Silas obeyed. The click of the lock echoed, sealing him inside.

“Sit.”

The chair across from Veylan’s desk looked deceptively ordinary. Sitting in it, however, always felt like stepping into a spotlight. Silas eased into it, trying not to fidget, though his mind raced.

Veylan leaned back slightly, one hand lifting to rest against his chin, fingers brushing his lips as though he were studying Silas the way a predator studies the nervous twitch of prey.

“You handled yourself,” Veylan said, breaking the silence. His tone wasn’t quite praise, wasn’t quite indifference either—it was more dangerous than both. “Not everyone in this building can remain upright when those two walk in.”

Silas’s throat tightened. He remembered Cassian’s eyes cutting through the boardroom like a blade, and Darius’s faint smile that looked more like a warning than anything else. He hadn’t remained upright. He had barely remained himself.

“I… just did my job,” Silas managed, though his voice sounded smaller than he’d intended.

Veylan tilted his head, watching him with unsettling calm. Then he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. The space between them seemed to shrink until Silas could see the faint gleam in his eyes.

“Listen carefully, Silas.” His tone dropped, low, deliberate. “Cassian Rho and Darius Valen are not men you want to be near. If they look at you, they are not seeing you. They’re seeing leverage. Weakness. A tool.”

Silas stiffened, uncertain how to respond. He wanted to ask why him, why they’d even noticed him at all. But he bit back the words.

Veylan continued, as if he’d read the question from his silence. “They are dangerous because they do not play by rules. And you—” his eyes narrowed, voice sharpened, “—you are new. Too new. Don’t mistake their interest for anything but calculation. Do you understand?”

The words felt like a command wrapped in warning. Silas nodded. “Yes, Mr. Cross.”

Veylan’s lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was amusement, one edged with something cruel. “Good. Stay out of their way. Keep your head down. I don’t need pawns in my office—I need employees who know their place.”

The words stung. Silas lowered his gaze, forcing himself to nod again. “I understand.”

For a long moment, silence stretched again. The hum of the city outside filled the cracks between heartbeats. Then, abruptly, Veylan shifted gears. He reached for a new file on his desk and slid it across the polished surface toward Silas.

“Work,” Veylan said. “Your hesitation earlier cost me ten minutes. I don’t allow repeats.”

Silas blinked, caught off guard by the sudden dismissal of tension. But he picked up the file, flipping it open. Numbers, charts, contracts—complex, intimidating at first glance.

“This is—”

“A merger draft,” Veylan cut in, his tone clipped. “Review it tonight. I’ll expect a summary on my desk by morning. Keep it concise. If I see fluff, I’ll assume you’re wasting my time.”

Silas nodded, gripping the file a little tighter than necessary. His mind still churned with the earlier warning, but Veylan’s words allowed no room for lingering thoughts.

“Go,” Veylan said simply.

Silas stood, but before he could turn, Veylan’s voice followed him, softer this time—almost too soft, but heavy with intent.

“And Silas?”

He froze, glancing back. Veylan’s gaze was steady, unreadable.

“Remember what I said. Curiosity is a luxury you can’t afford here.”

The words echoed like a verdict, trailing after Silas as he left the office with the file clutched to his chest.

The night stretched long. Silas worked at his desk, pouring over numbers until the symbols blurred into one another. He forced himself to focus, to drown out the lingering memory of Cassian’s sharp stare and Darius’s unsettling smirk. Veylan’s warning pulsed at the back of his mind, steady as the city lights blinking outside the window.

By the time he finished and neatly stacked the papers, the office floor was deserted. Shadows filled the hall, broken only by the dim glow of emergency lights. Silas gathered his things, stepping quietly toward the elevators.

But when the doors slid open, he froze.

A man stood inside, waiting.

Cassian Rho.

The general’s tailored suit looked sharper in the dim light, his presence filling the confined space of the elevator with something suffocating. His eyes flicked to Silas instantly, and that faint curl of lips appeared, not a smile but something colder.

“Working late?” Cassian asked, his voice smooth, deceptively casual.

Silas’s pulse hammered. He glanced at the stairwell sign nearby, calculating escape—but the doors slid shut before he moved.

Cassian’s hand hovered over the control panel. “Relax. I don’t bite.” His eyes gleamed as they traveled slowly down, lingering a beat too long before returning to Silas’s face. “Not unless I want to.”

The elevator descended, each second stretched unbearably. Silas gripped the file tighter, forcing his expression to remain calm.

Veylan’s warning echoed: Stay out of their way. Don’t mistake their interest for anything but calculation.

Yet standing trapped inside a steel box with Cassian Rho, Silas couldn’t shake the feeling—

—he’d already been marked.

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