Chapter 2: New Friends, Old Secrets (And It’s All So Wrong)

"Hey, newbie, don't look so lost. The floors won't clean themselves, ya know."

The teasing voice comes from behind me. I spin around, nearly dropping the mop in my hands. Standing there, leaning against the doorframe of the supply closet, is a guy—tall, lanky, with messy dark hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in days. He's wearing the same janitor uniform as me, but there's something different about him. His grin is lopsided, mischievous, like he's in on some cosmic joke that no one else gets.

"Lennox Harlan, but you can call me Nox," he says, pushing off the doorframe and walking over. "And you must be the new kid on the block."

"Cady," I reply, trying to muster a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Cady," he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp, like he's sizing me up. "First day, huh? How's it treating you so far?"

I shrug, forcing down the anxiety that's been eating at me since the run-in with Tate Mercer. "It's... something."

Nox snorts. "Yeah, well, get used to it. This place can be a real piece of work. But don't worry, I'll show you the ropes. Just don't take everything too seriously, okay? Especially the bigwigs upstairs."

He says it with a grin, but there's something in-between his words, something almost like a warning. I can't tell if he's joking or if there's more to it, but before I can ask, he's already walking past me, grabbing a mop of his own.

"So, how'd you end up here?" he asks, his back turned to me as he starts mopping the floor with surprising speed.

"Just needed the job," I say, keeping it vague. I don't want to go into details—how I'm barely scraping by, how this was my last option. "And you?"

"Ah, you know," Nox says, glancing back at me with a smirk. "Same old story. Kid from nowhere, ends up in a fancy building like this. But hey, it pays the bills. And you meet some... interesting people along the way."

"Interesting?" I repeat, curious now.

"Yeah, interesting." He stops mopping for a moment, leaning on the handle and giving me a look. "Listen, Cady. You seem like a good kid, so I'm gonna give you some advice. Keep your head down, do your job, and don't go poking around where you shouldn't. This place? It's got secrets. Dark ones. And trust me, you don't want to get involved."

His words send a chill down my spine. I want to ask more, to press him for details, but something in his tone tells me it's better if I don't. So I nod, trying to push the unease to the back of my mind. 

"Thanks for the advice," I mumble, getting back to work.

But it's hard to focus after that. Nox's words keep playing in my head, mixing with the strange things I've already noticed. Like the way the women here seem... different. The way they dress, all tight skirts and low-cut blouses, like they're trying to outdo each other. And the way they act around the executives—around Tate. 

It's unsettling, but I try to shake it off. Maybe Nox is just messing with me, trying to scare the new girl. 

But then, during my lunch break, something happens that I can't ignore.

I'm in the break room, sipping on a soda, when two of the women from upstairs walk in, talking in hushed tones. They don't see me—or maybe they do and just don't care. Either way, they're too wrapped up in their conversation to notice.

"...so he just called you in, out of the blue?" one of them asks, her voice low and anxious.

"Yeah," the other replies, biting her lip. "He said he had a 'special assignment' for me. You know what that means, right?"

The first woman's face pales. "You're kidding. What did you say?"

"What could I say? I agreed. But I'm scared, Lily. I've heard stories..."

The rest of their conversation fades into the background as I stare at my soda can, my mind racing. A special assignment? Stories? Who's the 'he'? What the hell is going on here?

I finish my drink quickly and get back to work, but the seed of curiosity has been planted, and it's growing fast. By the time my shift ends, I've decided—I need to know what's really going on in this place.

That night, I stay late, long after everyone else has gone home. It's quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your skin prickle. I'm on the executive floor again, the same one where I had my embarrassing run-in with Tate. But this time, I'm not cleaning. I'm searching.

I don't even know what I'm looking for, but something's pulling me, leading me down the hallway, past the closed office doors. I've already checked a few, finding nothing but pristine desks and expensive artwork. But then, I reach the end of the hall, where Tate's office looms like a dark cloud.

The door is slightly ajar, and I hesitate, my heart pounding. I shouldn't be here. I should just turn around and leave. But I can't. Something compels me forward, makes me push the door open a little wider, just enough to slip inside.

The office is massive, cold, and empty. But it's not what I'm looking at. It's the door at the far end of the room, a door I hadn't noticed before. It's slightly hidden, blending into the wall, like it's meant to be overlooked. But now that I've seen it, I can't unsee it.

My hand shakes as I reach for the handle. I don't know what I expect to find, but when the door swings open, what I see takes my breath away.

The room beyond is small, cramped, almost like a storage closet. But it's what's inside that makes me freeze—a bed, neatly made, with silk sheets and velvet pillows. And beside it, on a small table, a set of leather restraints, a camera on a tripod, and a laptop. 

But that's not all. There are files, thick, bulging with papers, scattered across the floor. My stomach turns as I pick one up, flipping it open. Photos spill out—photos of women, some I recognize from the office, others I don't. All of them are in various states of undress, their expressions blank, lifeless. And then there are the contracts, signed with trembling hands, binding them to something dark, something twisted.

I feel sick, my head spinning as I shove the photos back into the file. I need to get out of here, but I can't leave empty-handed. I grab a handful of the photos and contracts, stuffing them into my pocket. I don't know what I'm going to do with them, but I need proof—proof that I'm not crazy, that there's something horribly wrong here.

I'm out of the room in seconds, the door clicking shut behind me. My heart's pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else, and I practically sprint down the hall, not stopping until I'm in the elevator, the doors closing me in.

I did it. I found something. But now what?

The elevator dings, and I'm on the ground floor. I step out, forcing myself to walk calmly, like everything's normal. But nothing is normal anymore. Not after what I've seen.

As I push through the glass doors and into the cool night air, I know one thing for sure—I'm in way over my head. And there's no turning back now.