Sinful desire

 Elara wakes up the next morning with a renewed sense of determination. The cryptic message from the night before lingers in her mind. "You're being watched. Careful who you trust." It wasn't Cassian's style to send anonymous warnings, he was far too direct for that. This was someone else.

As she sips her morning coffee, her eyes scan her apartment like it's an unfamiliar battleground. "Watched, huh?" she mutters to herself, glancing at the windows, checking for anything unusual.. Was it one of the department heads she exposed? Or someone higher up?, She thought.

Before she leaves, she slips a small pocketknife into her purse. It's not much, but it makes her feel like she's in control.

Elara steps into Blackwood Enterprises with a sharper edge. Today, she isn't just ready for Cassian's mind games, she's ready for whoever else might be watching. Her black blouse and deep burgundy slacks scream "untouchable." She walks with purpose, her eyes scanning faces as she moves.

The receptionist watches her, but this time, there's something different in her gaze—like she's studying Elara, not just noticing her. Elara clocks it immediately but doesn't react. "Everyone's a player in this place," she reminds herself. "Don't show your hand."

On the 40th floor, Cassian is already waiting. Today, he's back in his signature suit, sharp as a blade, and just as lethal. His eyes flick to her as she steps out of the elevator. He tilts his head slightly, that faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Early again," he says, his voice smooth as silk. "Consistency is rare these days."

"Rare things are worth protecting," she replies with an edge of challenge. Her gaze doesn't waver from his, and for a moment, she swears she sees something flash behind his eyes. Interest? Respect? Amusement? She's not sure.

"Come with me," he says, turning on his heel, his pace steady but commanding.

He leads her past the main conference room to an area she hasn't seen before— a private boardroom with frosted glass walls. Inside, three figures are already seated. She recognizes two of them: Senior executives she's seen in passing. The third is unfamiliar—a man in a charcoal suit with eyes as cold as winter steel. He glances at her as she enters, and she feels it—the shift. Like a predator noticing fresh prey.

Cassian doesn't introduce her. He simply points to the seat at his right. A deliberate move, she notes. He's putting me in a position of power.

"Today," Cassian says, his gaze sweeping across the room, "we're going to play a different game."

He taps a button on the wall, and a live feed appears on a large screen. It's a grid of video surveillance footage from around the company. Hallways. Elevators. Offices. Her heart skips. Is he watching her apartment too?

"Someone's been leaking information," Cassian continues, his voice sharp as glass. "Last night, certain files regarding Project Echelon were accessed remotely." His eyes move to Elara, but he doesn't linger on her. He keeps scanning the room, watching the other three. He's watching for cracks, she realizes. Looking for the weak link.

Her mind goes into overdrive. Was the message from the leaker? Were they warning me? Or were they warning me about Cassian? She keeps her face calm, unreadable.

"The four of you," Cassian says, leaning forward, his hands on the table, "are here because you each had access to those files. One of you is the leak." His eyes narrow, his gaze as deadly as a sniper's scope. "And before this meeting is over, I'll know who."

The tension in the room grows thick as Cassian paces behind them. No one speaks at first. Then the unfamiliar man in the charcoal suit, whose name tag reads "Victor Hale," clears his throat.

"Let's not play games, Cassian," Victor says, his voice smooth but condescending. "If you had proof, you wouldn't need this little theater. You'd have already fired someone."

Cassian's laugh is soft, dangerous. He walks behind Victor's chair, his hands trailing along the backrest. Elara sees it—the flicker of discomfort in Victor's eyes. He's scared of him, she notes. Smart man.

"Firing's too easy," Cassian says, his voice low, like he's sharing a secret. "I prefer lessons."

He stops walking and looks directly at Elara. Her pulse quickens, but she keeps her face neutral.

"Elara," he says, "which one do you think it is?"

Her breath stills. This is the test. Her eyes scan the room. The two executives look tense but quiet. Victor? Too cocky. Too controlled. Overconfidence is a mask, she thinks.

She tilts her head, locking eyes with Cassian. "Victor," she says with absolute calm. "He's too comfortable. People who know they're safe don't try so hard to control the room."

Victor's eyes narrow on her. His jaw tightens. Hit a nerve.

"You don't know me," Victor says with a smirk. "And you're making accusations based on nothing."

"Not nothing," Elara replies, her eyes sharp. "Your watch."

His brows furrow in confusion.

"You tapped it twice when the surveillance feed came on," she explains. "A stress tell. Like a nervous tic. You've been controlling your breathing since I walked in. That's not calm. That's someone calculating." She narrows her eyes. "Calculating people are dangerous."

Silence.

Cassian's gaze shifts from her to Victor. His smile widens, slow, predatory. "Well done, Elara."

Victor's eyes flicker with something dark, something unsettled. "This is ridiculous," he says, rising to his feet. "You don't have proof."

"You're right," Cassian replies, his grin vanishing. "But I will."

Before Victor can react, two men in black suits enter the room, swift and silent. They approach Victor, one on each side. His eyes go wide, and for the first time, Elara sees it—fear.

"Escort Mr. Hale to the compliance department," Cassian orders. "He'll be staying for a... long chat."

"No, wait—!" Victor's voice cuts off as the two men drag him from the room.

The door shuts, and the silence is thick. Elara's heart is still pounding, but she hides it well. Cassian walks toward her, his eyes sharp with something new.

"Not bad," he says, stopping just inches from her. His eyes scan her face like he's searching for a crack. "You play well under pressure."

"Pressure makes diamonds," she replies smoothly, tilting her head.

He huffs a short laugh, his eyes narrowing in that way that always makes her feel exposed. "Diamonds can be shattered too, Elara."

Their gazes lock. The air is charged, but this time, she doesn't back down. If this is how he plays, she'll play too.

"Then I guess you better handle me carefully," she says, voice low, controlled.

Cassian's eyes darken, but he doesn't reply. Instead, he turns away, his voice colder than before. "Go home, Elara. You've done enough damage for one day."

Her eyes narrow. Damage?

But she doesn't press it. She leaves the boardroom, her mind running over every word, every look. As she rides the elevator down, her phone buzzes. Another message from the unknown number:

"Nice work today, Elara. But don't get too comfortable. Cassian's not the only one watching you."

Her blood turns to ice. She grips the phone tighter, scanning the elevator walls for cameras. Who the hell is this?

Her fingers type back one word: "Who are you?"

The reply comes almost instantly:

"A friend. For now."

Her heart pounds in her chest. What kind of friend hides in shadows?

She steps out into the street, eyes scanning the crowd. She can feel it now—eyes on her. Not Cassian's. Not his executives. Someone else.

"Let them watch," she mutters to herself. Her eyes narrow with cold resolve. I'm done playing defense.