The Elevator Walls

The elevator doors closed with a smooth chime, sealing Silas in the confined space with Cassian Rho.

The man’s presence was suffocating—charismatic, sharp, and dangerous all at once. He leaned casually against the mirrored wall, tie slightly loosened as though the boardroom rules bent for him alone. Cassian’s eyes swept over Silas in a way that was both evaluating and mocking, like a predator deciding whether its prey was worth the chase.

“So,” Cassian’s lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer, “you’re the one Veylan decided to pick up off the street.”

Silas didn’t flinch, though his pulse quickened. “I was hired through HR.”

Cassian chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “HR, right. That department wouldn’t dare hire without his approval. Don’t play naïve. Veylan doesn’t let people into his office unless he wants something from them. The question is—” His gaze locked firmly on Silas, voice dropping into something silkier. “—what exactly does he want from you?”

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, the tension inside far heavier than the mechanical pull. Silas kept his face neutral, professional. “I’m here to do my job, Mr. Rho. Nothing else.”

“Mr. Rho,” Cassian repeated slowly, tasting the formality on his tongue before laughing outright. “Cute. But formality won’t shield you here, Silas Voss. People like us…” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “We eat people like you for breakfast.”

Silas finally turned to face him, meeting his gaze with quiet steadiness. “Then I hope you like your meal bitter, Mr. Rho. I don’t break easily.”

That surprised Cassian. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, sharper this time, like a blade being honed. “Bold. No wonder Veylan keeps you around.”

The elevator dinged. They’d reached the executive floor. Cassian straightened his suit jacket, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his lapel. “Careful, Silas. This building isn’t made of steel—it’s glass. One crack, and the whole thing comes crashing down.”

With that parting line, he strode out, leaving Silas alone with his reflection staring back at him. His fists had clenched without him noticing.

Back to Work

Veylan Cross’s office was quieter than before. The man himself sat behind his desk, papers scattered across the surface in neat disarray, the kind only someone in complete control could maintain. He didn’t look up as Silas entered, but his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Cassian didn’t eat you alive in the elevator?”

Silas blinked. “You knew he was waiting?”

“I know everything that happens in this building,” Veylan said casually, signing a document. He finally raised his gaze, eyes locking on Silas with unnerving precision. “So. What did he say to you?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” Silas replied, careful with his words.

Veylan leaned back in his chair, studying him. Then, as if amused by Silas’s restraint, he let out a low laugh. “Good answer. But I’ll warn you once, Silas. Cassian and Darius—don’t get too close to either of them. Their interests rarely align with mine. And by extension…” His gaze sharpened. “…rarely align with yours.”

The warning was delivered smoothly, but there was no mistaking the underlying steel.

Silas nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Veylan slid a folder across the desk. “Then let’s get back to what you were actually hired for. Numbers. Projections. Strategy.”

Silas opened the file and scanned the contents. It was a quarterly performance breakdown—profits, subsidiary losses, expansion risks. It was the kind of raw, messy data that most executives hated, but Silas’s mind automatically began piecing it together into patterns.

“You’ll be responsible for reorganizing these into a report I can present at the board meeting tomorrow,” Veylan said. “Make it ruthless. I want the shareholders to see our dominance, not our vulnerabilities.”

Silas’s lips twitched faintly. “So, make us look like sharks instead of fish.”

Veylan’s smirk returned, sharp and approving. “Exactly.”

The Silent Battlefield of Numbers

The hours bled together in a blur of graphs, spreadsheets, and financial forecasts. Silas immersed himself in the work, his analytical mind cutting through the clutter with precision. Every time he glanced up, he felt Veylan’s presence behind him—not hovering, not intrusive, but always aware.

At one point, Veylan moved to stand behind Silas, leaning slightly over his shoulder to skim the draft on the screen. His cologne lingered—clean, subtle, intoxicating.

“You’re not bad at this,” Veylan murmured.

Silas kept typing, though his pulse betrayed him. “Wasn’t that the point of hiring me?”

“Hiring you was a gamble,” Veylan said smoothly. “But you’re starting to prove you might be worth the bet.”

The compliment was backhanded, yet Silas couldn’t stop the small flicker of satisfaction that stirred inside him.

The Board Meeting

The next morning arrived too quickly. Silas found himself standing to the side of the grand conference room, the glass walls overlooking the city skyline like a throne room of modern kings. The board members filled their seats, murmuring among themselves.

Veylan entered last. The atmosphere shifted immediately, as though the oxygen itself bent to his will. He didn’t need to raise his voice; his presence was enough.

Silas handed him the finalized report, neatly bound and flawless. Veylan flipped through it once, lips curving. Then he began the presentation, turning dry numbers into a vision so sharp it cut through every doubt in the room.

“…and as you can see,” Veylan concluded, eyes sweeping over the table, “Cross Enterprises not only weathered the storm this quarter—we steered it. Competitors are struggling to breathe. We’re expanding.”

The board members nodded, some even clapping lightly.

Silas caught Cassian across the table, watching him with an unreadable expression. Next to him sat Darius Valen, his fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood, a faint smile on his lips that made Silas uneasy.

After the Meeting

When the room emptied, only Veylan, Silas, and the lingering scent of expensive cigars remained. Veylan closed the folder with a decisive snap.

“You did well,” he said, almost reluctantly. “You made me look untouchable.”

Silas tilted his head. “That was the assignment.”

“And yet,” Veylan drawled, standing and moving toward him, “most people would have drowned in the details. You swam.”

The words carried weight, but Silas couldn’t tell if it was praise or another test.

“Sir,” Silas said evenly, “I don’t plan on drowning here.”

Veylan’s smirk deepened, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “Good. Then let’s see how long you can hold your breath.”

The game had only just begun.

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