DON'T LIE TO ME.
I couldn't help but smile.
Really?
I already knew the answer.
"You already know that."
He leaned in slightly, his breath warming my ear.
"Still, I want to hear it," he murmured.
He straightened up.
I didn't dare look at him.
Not yet.
"For you," I said.
"Don't lie. You came in, but you didn't go to my bedroom. You came here. You snooped around. You drank my whisky…"
I took a deep breath.
Yes. So what?
The reason was still him.
And yes, I had gone to his bedroom.
Was he testing me, or did he genuinely not know?
I slid off the desk and one of the glasses fell to the floor with a dry clink.
It didn't break.
I looked at the other one.
There was a faint lipstick mark I hadn't noticed before.
I sat in his armchair. Facing him.
I crossed and uncrossed my legs.
I looked at him.
"I don't have an answer for that," I admitted. "But it was for you."
He narrowed his eyes as if reading me.
But I didn't let the silence settle.
"Why did you let me?"
He leaned forward and that scent of his was right there. Unchanged.
I pressed my fists against my thighs.
"You already have that answer."
"Since when have you known my name?"
He smiled and glanced at my hands.
"Why the gloves?"
"Because I get cold. And I like them."
"Strange," he murmured. "It almost looks like you're avoiding leaving fingerprints."
I felt my cheeks burn.
Lying wouldn't help.
"That too," I confessed. "Have you always seen me come in? Why confront me today? Did you get tired of it?"
He stood.
Walked over until he was brushing my knees.
"Because I already know everything I needed to know."
"So… is it over?"
He shrugged and walked to the shelf.
Glasses. Bottles.
"Do you want it to end?"
I said nothing.
He came back with two glasses and handed me one.
"Drink. And answer."
I obeyed.
He didn't stop watching me until I finished the last drop.
"You know how to drink," he observed.
His tone was almost admiring.
"Like a man," I said.
"Then, Isabella… do you want it to end?"
I stood too quickly and lost my balance.
He caught me.
For barely a second his arm wrapped around my waist.
Brief. But enough.
He pulled away to pour more whisky.
While I kept feeling his touch burning on my skin.
"No," I said.
My voice sounded like a verdict amid the clinking of glass.
"I don't want that."
He turned. But he wasn't smiling.
And he threw the most dangerous question of all.
"How far would you be willing to go?"
A deliberate pause.
"And above all…" he added, "…what happens if I win?"
I opened my mouth at the exact moment his phone vibrated.
The tension snapped.
I saw the annoyance in his eyes when he pulled it out.
But when he looked at the screen, it got worse.
His jaw hardened.
And he walked out without looking at me.
When he did, I finally breathed.
I was going to need every bit of cunning I had.
I should have waited.
But I didn't.
I moved toward the half-open door.
He was still in the hallway.
A difficult conversation, and I caught only fragments.
"Videos… checks… contract… dismissal."
I didn't move when he turned and caught me watching.
No anger in his eyes.
Something darker. More dangerous than I was willing to admit right then.
"We'll see each other shortly. At the office," was the last thing he said before hanging up.
His gaze stayed fixed on me.
I stood motionless in the doorway.
Calculating.
"Was it important?" I asked.
"Depends."
One word. Enough to put me on alert.
Because of the way it was said.
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not."
Silence.
Nothing happened for long seconds.
Until he moved — not toward me.
"Go now," he said as he walked away. "Tomorrow I'll change the access code again. So you'll have work to do."
The hallway swallowed him.
I could only smile.
I had barely made one move.
Incomplete.
The game hadn't even started.
I went back and poured myself more whisky.
And this time…
it wasn't to wait.
Because I had no intention of leaving that night.
---
**IT WASN'T HIS VOICE.**
I walked barefoot through the dark hallways, which seemed to stretch with every step.
The cold floor against my bare feet was…
sensual.
I had walked there before.
But never with this intention.
I had always been sneaking.
Now I moved freely.
It was no longer a crime.
And I intended to enjoy it.
Because the owner had given me permission.
Him. Hugo.
My Hugo.
My CEO turned into my sin.
I burst out laughing.
The painted walls threw back a different echo.
Dark.
Off-key.
Bottle in hand, I wandered into dusty rooms.
Rooms that smelled of dampness and forgetting.
Canopies and furniture aging in silence.
Resigned.
I ran my fingers along cracked, rough walls.
Witnesses to stories I longed to know.
And repeat.
Almost drunk, I entered the last room of all.
I stopped dead in the middle of the space.
Empty.
And at the same time, full.
Oppressive.
A room lined with mirrors.
Stained.
Fractured.
Mirrors that almost seemed to breathe.
And in each one…
a different version of me.
I approached one — laughing — where I looked deformed.
I pressed my hand against the surface.
And a red-eyed monster smiled back at me.
I pulled away as if it burned.
Stumbled back, unsteady.
A bitter taste rose in my throat, mixing with the whisky.
I brought a hand to my neck.
And the bottle slipped from the other.
A deafening crash.
In the middle of the silence.
Murky.
Unsettling…
I looked back at the mirror.
The monster was still there.
Dressed like me.
I shuddered and crouched to pick up the shards.
"Fuck…"
I cursed when I cut myself.
My glove had a tear and blood was seeping through.
"Damn… shit."
I let out a broken laugh
that shattered like glass.
I decided to leave when a freezing gust of air whipped the back of my neck.
Before going, I turned around.
Because I heard my name.
I stumbled back to the office.
I swear I wasn't afraid.
I don't know how much time passed.
I was lying on the sofa pressed against the wall beside the door.
I didn't remember getting there.
But there I was, sinking into the cold leather.
I heard my name again.
Slow.
Raspy.
Savored.
I half-opened my eyes.
"Hugo…" I mumbled.
He was there.
If he was even real.
He murmured something.
I smiled — or made a grimace.
My face felt too big.
Too much.
And then I saw a shadow slip behind him.
But I couldn't move.
I was drunk.
That's what I wanted to believe.
The cut on my hand throbbed.
The blood had dried along the broken edge.
I heard Hugo again.
Closer this time.
Right against my ear.
"Poor little thing… that glove is ruined," he whispered. "You always break things…"
I tried to say something.
"Shh… I'll take care of everything."
My eyes fell shut.
Heavy.
The last thing I heard was a murmur.
Two voices, tangled together.
One final phrase.
"Everything is ready now."
And it wasn't Hugo's voice.