~~Sinveer POV ~~~
I see she's acting like her usual self now. She didn't react when I entered the room, what a good pretender.
She doesn't even blink when I stand too close. But her breath always gives her away, just a little hitch. The faintest hesitation.
I've started building entire days around that single sound, teasing her, occupying her space, sometimes I touch her slightly and and act like it was a mistake, and it's funny how she reacts
Everyone else has gone home but Liach hasn't. She's still at her desk, typing reports that don't matter, dressed like she doesn't know I'm watching her, in that slacks tailored sharp blouse pristine she is wearing. And that pale neck of hers exposed like a goddamn invitation.
I don't say a word, I let her work. Because I'm waiting to tease her more tonight. For I've prepared a special room for her after her traitorous act.
~7:28 PM – EAST WING,THE MIRROR ROOM~
The room is cold. One floor-to-ceiling glass, and mirrors in the remaining walls of the room and table at the end of the room, a bar cart close to the entrance. This room has been untouched since we shut this wing down three months ago.
I had it cleaned this morning.
I told her to meet me here for a 'strategy briefing.' but trustfully, this place will be her home soon. Her beautiful girly decorated room with chains, and her locked onto those chains.
I just said, "Be here. Bring the Petrov file. 7:30."
She is here already! Two minutes early. She always does keep time. She steps inside like she owns, which she'd soon start paying rent for.
Her heels click across marble. Folder in her hand. Expression blank, but body taut. She sees the mirrors instantly. Take it in. But, doesn't show it matters. Good. I like how nonchalantly and absentmindedly she is acting.
"Mr. De Luna," she says. Her voice is composed.
I lean against the bar, facing her directly. "Close the door." She obeys.
Click, it shut.
She walks toward the table, opens the folder. "Petrov's rerouting assets through Montenegro. It looks like—"
"I'm not interested in the files," I interrupt, my voice is smooth and slow.
She pauses, lifting her gaze to meet mine. "Then why—?"
I push off the bar and cross the room. Not fast, every step I take is deliberate and measured.
She watches me, approach like she's not nervous. Like she doesn't remember the last time we were alone. Her hands stayed on the table, fingers spread just slightly.
I step behind her, close enough to smell her. That scent—sweet and acidic. Like sex wrapped in steel.
My voice is low at her ear. "You ever wonder who watches you when you think no one's around?"
She tenses, not visibly but her shoulders rise half an inch. I saw everything, since I'm taller and almost hovering over her.
"You always sit in the same chair in the archive room or at your desk," I murmur. "You trace the rim of your coffee cup when you're bored. And when you're focused, you press your legs together."
I felt her breath stutter, as she swallowed hard. She says nothing.
So I let silence settle between us.
Then I circle around her
She stands her ground. Straightens her spine. Eyes on mine as if not shaken. But, I believe there is heat growing within her, and suspicion. Which is perfect.
"I had this room cleaned for a reason," I say. "I wanted to see you in it."
Her jaw flexes. "Why?"
I don't answer.
I step forward, backing her against the table.
She moves one step back.
Then another.
Until her hips touch the edge.
And I stopped an inch from her.
I lift my hand—slowly—and trace my knuckle along the edge of her jaw. The other falls on her waist.
"I think you lie to me," I say quietly.
Her gaze sharpens. "About what?"
"About everything."
Her lips part slightly. My eyes drop to them. Lingering on them, but I don't move closer.
I lifted her onto the table, my arms each at the edge of the table Liach in the middle boxing her in.
Her breathes, just inches across my face. She is nervous.
"You've built a perfect little story," I continue. "Smart, loyal, quiet. No enemies. No secrets."
I dip my head just enough that our noses nearly brush.
"But people like you don't exist."
Her voice cracks slightly. "What kind of people am I, exactly?"
I smile. Small. "The kind that bites when no one's watching."
She doesn't answer.
So I press further, not with questions. With presence.
I placed my hand to her waist, fingers curling over her hip.
She stiffens—but doesn't pull away.
I lean in until my mouth brushes her ear.
"Do you know why I haven't touched you like this before?"
She stays silent.
"Because I wanted to see how long you'd last."
My hand slides to her lower back.
I step closer, my lips at her neck. Now our bodies touch—front to front.
Just enough to feel the tension between us.
Enough for her to know she can't run.
Not here.
Not now.
"You've been playing a very careful game," I whisper, voice like a secret. "But the cracks are starting to show Liach."
Her breathing is shallow, but her eyes? They still remain Sharp, controlled and unwavering.
"Are you accusing me of something, Mr. De Luna?"
I meet her gaze, and lie with a smile."No."
She relaxes— but barely.
I press a little harder against her neck, a moan escapes her lips.
Mmm, that's what I was hoping for, then i said. "Not yet."
She's burning under her skin.
I can feel it, it's in her throat, the way it pulses. In her hands the way it clenched too tightly at her sides.
And when I speak again, it's barely audible.
"I wonder," I murmur, "if I pushed your skirt up right now… would you stop me?"
Her lips part.
But no words come.
I slide my hand just slightly down her spine.
Her pupils dilate.
Then she spoke.
"Mr De Luna could you please move back a little.
I move closer still.
Now my thigh is between hers.
My other hand lifts— To the mirror at the side, trace a finger through the fog left by her breath.
Draw a single word.
LIAR.
She watches me do it.
Silent.
Then I pull back..
I fix my cuff, straighten my collar.
"Thank you for the file," I say.
She doesn't move.
Not even when I walk past her towards the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Brain."