The Intense Office Confrontation

After the heart-stopping 'accident' in the office, a strange kind of calm settled over everything.

Like the pause after a lightning strike, when the air still smells of ozone, and you know the storm isn't over, just gathering strength.

I knew Claire wouldn't just let it go.

And Sebastian… the way he looked at me had changed. Still probing, still wary, but now with something else mixed in… possessiveness?

Turns out monsters are drawn to each other, or at least, wary of one another.

What I didn't know was that a net, intricate and unseen, was already closing in around me.

Meanwhile, across the city, in a dimly lit, smoke-filled detective agency office.

A middle-aged man, greasy hair slicked back, wearing a rumpled trench coat, spoke into the phone, his voice a mix of servility and excitement.

"Yeah, Miss Linda, got somethin' for ya."

"This girl, Elara Grant… her backstory's got some… interesting bits."

He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of grey smoke, flipping through a messy pile of notes and grainy photos.

Photos of me, skinny and scared, scrubbing floors in Victoria's backyard in an ill-fitting maid's uniform.

Older ones from the orphanage, looking mostly like the other kids, except for that persistent… guarded look in my eyes.

"The family that took her in, yeah, they treated her like dirt. Neighbours confirm it. Beatings, yelling, the whole nine yards."

"But the real interesting part," his voice dropped conspiratorially, "is her birth mother…"

"Not much on file, name's… Lilian. Died young."

"But I poked around that little seaside town she used to live in. Lotta weird stories floatin' around about her."

"Said she was a real loner, kept to herself, spent hours just starin' out at the ocean."

"Some folks even said…" he lowered his voice further, "that she was… kinda spooky."

"Like, old fishermen swear they saw her takin' a little boat out during storms so bad, nobody else dared even open their door!"

"Someone else mentioned her eyes… said sometimes they'd turn blue… like the deep sea…"

"Course, that's just old gossip, probably nothin' to it." The man chuckled nervously.

A moment of silence on the other end, then Linda's voice, cold and sharp, cut through the line: "Keep digging."

"Everything about the mother, Lilian. I want every detail."

"Focus on anything… weird."

"Money is no object."

"You got it, Miss Linda! Consider it done!"

The man hung up, practically salivating, eyes gleaming with greed.

He had no idea he wasn't just digging into the past of an illegitimate girl. He was uncovering secrets ancient enough, powerful enough, to shatter the world as he knew it.

And me? I remained oblivious.

Except for those occasional, inexplicable shivers down my spine.

Like… cold eyes watching me from across time itself.

Sebastian was… acting strangely.

He seemed to be around more often.

Still cold, still radiating that 'keep clear' aura, but his gaze lingered on me more frequently.

It wasn't just assessment anymore.

There was something else… something complex I couldn't decipher.

And beneath it all… a sharp, almost primal alertness.

Like he was guarding against an unseen threat.

"For security reasons," he informed me one afternoon, his tone strictly business, leaving no room for argument, "until more suitable arrangements can be made, you'll need to work late."

The excuse was plausible.

"In case Claire, or anyone else, tries anything."

I didn't argue.

Firstly, I literally had nowhere safer to go.

Secondly, I knew it wasn't just about the 'contract' anymore.

He was… watching me.

And maybe… protecting me?

The thought sent a jolt through me.

That night, the vast office floor was deserted, silent except for the low hum of computers and the soft glow from my workstation lamp.

I was supposed to be analyzing a report on new marine sonar technology – complex fluid dynamics charts, acoustic data streams.

Staring at the swirling blue patterns on the screen, I drifted off.

My fingers, acting on their own accord, began tracing patterns on the smooth, cool surface of the desk.

Leaving behind faint, shimmering trails… like damp seafoam on dark sand.

That familiar, icy-wet sensation pricked at my fingertips.

Damn it. Seawater. Leaking out uncontrollably again.

I jumped, snatching my hand back, quickly wiping the desk with a tissue.

Can't let anyone see!

"What are you looking at?"

His cold voice materialized right above my head.

I flinched violently, nearly leaping out of my chair.

When had he gotten there? He moved like a damn ghost!

I scrambled to minimize the sonar charts on the screen.

He stood behind me, his tall frame casting a long shadow, boxing me in against the desk.

He carried the chill of the late night air, and that increasingly noticeable… dangerous scent of the wolf.

His sharp eyes scanned the screen, then flickered down to my hand, the one still clutching the damp tissue.

"Nothing…" I muttered, trying to close the program.

He leaned down abruptly. One hand braced on the desk beside my keyboard, the other shot out, clamping down on my wrist, stopping my movement cold.

His hand was… unnaturally, shockingly cold!

Like gripping a block of ice dredged from the arctic depths!

Nothing like the warmth of a living human.

The coldness seeped through my skin, a sharp shock that made me gasp.

"Complex current patterns," his gaze returned to the screen, thoughtful, intense. "You seem… unusually interested?"

I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was like steel.

"It's just part of the job," I replied stiffly.

He ignored my struggle. His attention shifted slightly, towards the water cooler in the corner.

That damned machine was acting up again, gurgling ominously.

The internal pipes seemed to vibrate under unseen pressure.

Like it was about to explode!

Me! It was me again! My damn nerves, my stupid, uncontrollable power surging!

Panic tightened my chest. I tried desperately to mentally rein it in.

"Don't lose focus."

Sebastian's voice was low, almost a growl, heavy with warning.

His grip on my wrist tightened.

An icy, suppressive energy flowed from his palm into me.

It was bizarre.

His power felt like absolute zero, yet somehow… it seemed to soothe the chaotic, churning ocean energy inside me?

The water cooler settled down. The gurgling stopped.

The only sound in the vast, empty office was the ragged cadence of our breathing, unnaturally loud in the silence.

His face was incredibly close to mine.

Close enough to see the golden slit pupils, stark and predatory, burning within the black irises.

Close enough to inhale that unique, non-human scent – cedar, frost, and the faint, metallic tang of something wild.

Intimate.

Dangerous.

Volatile.

"Control it, Elara," he murmured, his voice rough, almost commanding.

"Or else," his gaze flicked down to my hand, where my knuckles were white and moisture beaded on my fingertips again, "it's going to cause us… a lot of trouble."

Us.

He said us.

My heart did a stupid, painful flip-flop in my chest.

The next day, right on cue, Claire appeared.

Her smile was blindingly bright, perfectly fake.

"Elara, darling, I have an urgent project for you. Top priority."

She handed me a sleek, official-looking file folder.

"It involves some core company secrets, quite sensitive data. You'll probably need to work late to get it done properly."

Her tone was sweet, encouraging, like she was entrusting me with something incredibly important.

But I saw the calculating glint deep in her eyes. I felt the lie coiling beneath the surface.

Here it comes.

The trap.

This 'core secret' project was bullshit.

Her real goal was to get me out of my usual office, isolated, vulnerable, so someone could…

"Of course, Miss Devereux," I took the folder, managing a slightly awed, grateful expression.

"I'll get right on it. Thank you for the opportunity."

"Excellent." Claire nodded, radiating false satisfaction. "The data interface and security clearance are all set up for you in… let's see… the isolated computer room on the third floor. Next to the old archives."

The third floor?

Less foot traffic, weaker security protocols, and right next to that musty, forgotten archive room?

Subtle as a sledgehammer, Claire.

"Okay," I said, maintaining my smile.

Watching her walk away, high heels clicking confidently on the polished floor, I gripped the file folder tightly.

She thinks she's so clever.

She thinks I'm still that easily manipulated girl she met at the gala.

She has no idea.

I might still be clumsy with this power thrumming inside me. I might not understand it fully.

But I'm not alone anymore.

And whatever this power is… it really doesn't like being cornered.

That evening, I followed Claire's instructions, heading down to the third-floor computer room.

It was small, windowless, filled with the low hum of servers.

I deliberately took my time, pretending to wrestle with the complex (and likely meaningless) data Claire had assigned.

But my senses were on high alert, straining for any sound, any movement in the deserted corridor outside.

And there it was.

While I feigned a trip to the distant break room for a non-existent coffee, a figure detached itself from the shadows near the archives.

Dressed in nondescript maintenance overalls, but moving with a furtive quickness.

The private investigator.

He slipped into my regular office upstairs, the one I'd just vacated.

I saw him through the security feed I'd discreetly accessed on the third-floor terminal – something Sebastian's IT department probably didn't anticipate their 'temporary assistant' knowing how to do.

He moved straight to my computer, tools out, prying open the casing.

Trying to plant spyware? A physical bug?

Let him think he has the upper hand.

I didn't go back immediately.

Not yet.

Top floor. Sebastian's office.

Sebastian stood motionless by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at the city lights, a predator surveying his domain.

His fingers rested lightly on the heavy glass, tapping a slow, silent rhythm.

Suddenly, his head tilted.

His entire body went rigid.

He heard it.

Faint, almost subsonic, but clear as a bell to his enhanced hearing.

The subtle click and scrape of metal tools against a computer casing.

And… a foreign scent. Unfamiliar sweat, cheap cologne, underlying fear.

Coming from the third floor.

Her office.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed, the darkness within them hardening instantly into something ancient and lethal.

The hunter recognizing intrusion into his territory.

In the next instant, his form seemed to shimmer, blur.

He vanished from the spot, moving with a speed that defied physics, silent as falling snow.

Third floor. My office.

The private investigator grunted softly in satisfaction as he carefully slotted a tiny listening device and a GPS tracker onto my computer's motherboard.

Piece of cake. Rich people and their predictable paranoia.

Suddenly!

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled ice-cold!

A primal sense of wrongness, of imminent danger, flooded his senses!

He spun around wildly!

Nothing.

The office doorway was empty, framing the dimly lit corridor beyond.

Just nerves?

He swallowed, his palms suddenly slick with sweat.

He fumbled slightly, trying to hurry and close the computer casing.

Just as his fingers closed around the panel—

A hand clamped onto his wrist.

An impossibly strong hand. Cold as death.

The grip shattered bone.

The investigator didn't even have time to scream.

All he saw, looming out of the shadows, were… eyes.

Eyes that burned with a cold, merciless golden light, the pupils narrowed into sharp, vertical slits.

Then, irresistible force lifted him off his feet like a child's toy.

Fingers like steel vises closed around his throat.

Air crushed from his lungs.

Terror choked him. He stared, wide-eyed, into the face of the monster that had materialized from nowhere.

Speed! Strength!

This wasn't human!

Sebastian's face was a blank mask of lethal efficiency, his eyes devoid of any emotion save cold purpose.

He dragged the investigator, already limp from oxygen deprivation, into the adjacent, unused utility closet with the ease of carrying a bag of laundry.

The movements were fluid, silent, utterly precise.

Inside the closet, he expertly removed the planted devices from the investigator's pockets and tools, checked the computer again, ensuring nothing was missed.

Then, he pulled out his own encrypted phone, dialing a single number.

"John," his voice was low, flat, devoid of inflection. "Third-floor utility closet. Clean up. Make it disappear."

As easily as ordering takeout.

Finished, he pocketed the investigator's data retrieval device – a standard-looking USB drive.

He glanced around the office one last time, confirming no trace remained.

Then, he melted back into the shadows as silently as he had appeared.

The entire sequence took less than three minutes.

Undetected. Unwitnessed.

As if nothing had happened at all.

I strolled back into my office, carrying a cup of water I didn't need.

Everything looked exactly as I'd left it.

The computer sat innocently on the desk.

But the air… the air tasted different.

Underneath the usual stale office scent, there was a faint, lingering trace of… fear. Human fear, sharp and sour.

And something else, much stronger.

Cold. Predatory. Tinged with controlled violence.

Sebastian's scent. The wolf's scent.

He'd been here.

The problem had been… dealt with.

I walked to my desk, sat down.

A small, silver USB drive lay innocuously next to my keyboard.

The investigator's device.

Wiped clean, I presumed.

But its presence was a statement. A confirmation.

Sebastian knew.

The office door slid open soundlessly.

Sebastian walked in.

He looked… normal. Mostly. Except for the unnerving pallor beneath his tan, and the golden lines in his eyes that seemed permanently etched there now. The perfect mask of the cold CEO was back in place.

"It seems," he stopped in front of my desk, leaning down slightly, bracing his hands on its surface, boxing me in again, his gaze locking onto mine, "your trouble attracts more trouble."

His voice was quiet, low, carrying a weariness I hadn't heard before. Or maybe… something else?

"Claire is digging into your past."

He stated it as fact, his voice flat.

"And," his eyes narrowed, becoming sharper, "I don't think she's just interested in your time as a maid anymore."

My stomach tightened into a cold knot.

He knew. Or at least, he suspected.

Claire wasn't just after dirt; she was sniffing around the roots of my existence, my bloodline.

My secret wasn't safe. It felt like a live grenade in my pocket, the pin loosened.

If it exploded…

It wouldn't just destroy me.

It would drag him down too.

A werewolf CEO of a global conglomerate secretly entangled with a… whatever I was… a descendant of Poseidon?

The scandal wouldn't just be headlines; it would be a war cry for forces I couldn't even imagine.

I lifted my chin, meeting his intense, complicated gaze.

In that moment, the flimsy contract between us, built on lies and mutual exploitation, felt utterly irrelevant.

What mattered now…

Was the shared danger.

The shared enemy.

The shared, world-shattering secrets we both carried.

For the very first time, I felt like we were truly on the same side.

Not master and possession.

But two monsters, backed into a corner, turning to face the darkness together.

"Let her dig," I picked up the USB drive, the cool metal a solid weight in my hand.

My voice was soft, but held a new edge, a coldness that surprised even me.

"Let her scrabble in the dirt."

I looked directly into his eyes, letting him see the shift in me.

"But…"

"I worry," I finished, a strange, icy calm settling over me, "that what she unearths… might just bury her alive."

Sebastian watched me, his expression unreadable.

But deep within his eyes, that predatory golden light… seemed to flare, just a little brighter.