Evelyn smoothed her skirt, adjusted her gloves, and took a deep breath. Her heels clicked softly as she pushed the door open.
The room was dim, the only light coming from a desk lamp casting long shadows across polished concrete walls. And there he was: Silas Montclair.
He sat in a chair, handcuffed, yet impossibly composed. One leg crossed over the other, a glass of amber liquid in hand, swirling it lazily. His expression was calm, almost amused. Dark eyes studied her like a predator weighing prey. A faint scar etched along his chin caught the light.
Evelyn froze for a heartbeat, a thousand thoughts colliding. He's cuffed… yet he's drinking whiskey. He isn't scared. He isn't desperate. This man isn't like anyone I've ever investigated. He's… untouchable, rich, dangerous. And he knows it.
Her boss's voice broke through her thoughts. "Miss Ashford, you'll be handling this case personally. Discretion is critical."
Silas's lips curved into a slow, teasing smile.
"Discretion," he echoed, swirling the liquid again. "I like that word. Tell me, do you, Miss Ashford, understand what discretion truly costs?"
Evelyn's fingers tightened around her bag strap. Her chest rose and fell steadily, hiding the swirl of adrenaline.
Every instinct screams danger. He's the kind of man who would test every limit… yet here he sits, handcuffed, sipping whiskey as if he owns the room. Why? Because he can.
She stepped further inside, heels clicking softly.
Every polished motion, every calm breath was her shield. I won't let him know the shadows I carry. Not yet.
Her boss cleared his throat, sliding the file across the table.
"Everything you need is here. But remember, Evelyn… he plays by his own rules."
Silas's dark eyes never left hers, the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I look forward to seeing if you do too," he said.
Evelyn forced a serene smile, the mask flawless. Let the game begin, she thought.
Her boss nodded once, sharply, and left, his steps fading down the corridor. Evelyn took a seat across from Silas, letting her posture speak of confidence, her mask perfect. For a few moments, silence hung in the dimly lit room, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation.
She opened her notebook, pen poised. Let him speak. Let him reveal himself… or at least part of him.
"Tell me everything about you," she began, voice calm, controlled.
Silas scoffed, leaning back in his chair, dark eyes gleaming. "You ought to have known everything about me before stepping into my case."
Evelyn's smile didn't waver. Poise is power, she reminded herself. "Sometimes," she said softly, "we don't look deep into the personalities of our suspects until they become culprits. We give them a chance to express their point of view. So… please. Go ahead."
He nodded once, setting his whiskey glass down with deliberate finality. He leaned forward slightly, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.
"A chance, I see," he said slowly. "If I accept this allegation… will you grant me the right to appeal?"
Evelyn looked down at her notebook, tracing the edge of the page, then lifted her eyes to meet his. "At that level, I would no longer handle your case. It would be escalated to the court. For now, I need everything from you: your name, age, height, profession. I could have gathered it anywhere, but I want to hear it from you. So you are accountable for your words."
Silas studied her for a long moment, his dark gaze flicking between her eyes and her pen, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"You are very… ironical, aren't you?" he said, voice smooth and teasing. "Well… I won't keep a pretty lady waiting."
Evelyn adjusted slightly, giving a subtle nod. Flawless, she thought. "That's the best option, Mister."
Silas leaned back, crossing his legs deliberately the other way, as if testing her composure. "Twenty-nine years of boredom," he said casually, his voice almost dismissive. "As it stands… I'm taller than you. Add whatever you like to my height. About my job, my residence… I'll leave that to the professional lady to figure out."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Confident, arrogant… dangerous. But her smile remained perfect, her pen ready, her mind racing, cataloging every flicker of expression, every word, every pause. This is the man I have to unmask… without letting him unmask me.
Evelyn jotted a few notes, then pressed the record button. She looked up, eyes sharp and controlled.
"Scale yourself, one to ten… how innocent are you?"
Silas smirked, dark eyes glinting. "Zero," he said calmly, as if the word were air.
Evelyn nodded, pen poised. "So… you're giving yourself in?"
He chuckled, leaning back, legs uncrossing with deliberate ease. "You asked how innocent I am. Tell me, do I in any way look innocent to you?"
Evelyn exhaled quietly. This is how they toy with officers — teasing, poking, making them slip, making the case slip away.
"I meant… concerning this case," she said, adjusting her hair.
His gaze followed the movement, lingering. "Miss Evelyn… with your platinum-silver hair plastered all over the news, I could barely watch my favorite shows."
She looked down, then back at him, cool and steady. "You still haven't answered my questions."
He glanced at his watch, slow and deliberate. "Thirty minutes more for you to waste my time. Nine out of ten… I'm giving you the task to find evidence. Or do you work without evidence?"
Her throat dried. Direct. Piercing. Trouble incarnate. "Sir… would you start talking about yourself instead of me?"
"I won't say anything until I see at least one piece of evidence about me. Conversation without proof is… destruction," he said, eyes flicking to the recorder, then the screen — he knew they were listening, waiting.
He leaned closer, voice low, dangerous. "Tell me, Miss Evelyn… if you find evidence about me that could either save or destroy my life… what will you do with it?"
Evelyn swallowed. Her heart pounded, but she smiled, tucking hair behind her ear. "I'll take it to court for further investigation." Confidence rang in her words, but just barely — a crack in her facade.
"Hmm." He let the word linger, watching her. "You looked innocent when you had that long platinum hair… why shorten it?"
She didn't respond, scribbling meaningless notes, though every instinct screamed to strategize. This isn't how I handle cases… not even close.
"Before I dismiss you," she said, leaning back, "you've given us the right to investigate without your consent. One last question — any mental records?"
Silas sighed. "If I had one, I'd have ripped your hair off myself."
Evelyn stood, straightening her jacket, chair snapping back lightly. "As it stands, this conversation ends here. I'll handle it myself."
He rose, handcuffs clinking faintly.
His eyes locked onto hers. "Tell me, Miss Evelyn… planning to judge my case as you did the other man?"
She paused, weighing him, every nerve taut. Trouble… trouble… she thought.
"Don't worry. I've got this handled," she said, steady, elegant.
The door opened. A colleague stepped in, unlocking the cuffs. Silas gave her a lingering look, then followed, calm, dangerous, untouchable.
Evelyn did not go back to her desk immediately after the interrogation.
Instead, she stood in the hallway outside the observation room, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
The office around her buzzed with its usual late-afternoon rhythm—phones ringing, printers humming, muted conversations drifting through glass walls—but none of it settled the unease twisting inside her.
Silas's voice kept replaying in her head.
Tell me, Miss Evelyn… if you find evidence that could either save or destroy my life, what will you do with it?
Her jaw tightened.
It had been a question, yes—but it hadn't sounded like one. It had sounded like a warning.
Evelyn pushed open the door to her office and stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. For a moment she simply stood there, staring at the quiet room as if the answer might be written somewhere on the walls.
"Does he know?" she murmured under her breath.
Her fingers drummed once against the desk.
Impossible.