Valeria's pov
I walked into my office, my expression the polished look everyone expected of Mr. Alaric's secretary.
The second I opened the door, I froze.
Something was different.
My chair was tilted exactly two degrees to the right and my pen was moved too. I was possessive about my layout even though my actual apartment looked like a warzone of messy clothes, and discarded caffeine tabs.
Who the hell was here and what was the person looking for?
I didn't have time to dwell on it. I grabbed the Sterling files and headed toward the executive suite.
As I turned the corner into the main hallway, I saw him. Alaric was leaning against the floor-to-ceiling glass, his phone pressed to his ear.
"Stop the trace, Michael. It's a loop,"
I stepped back into the shadow of a pillar, my fingers digging into the edge of the file.
"The entry point wasn't a server," Alaric continued. "It was a person. It's a masterpiece."
A dark, twisted spark of pride flared in my chest. A masterpiece. The man I was trying to ruin was admiring the craftsmanship.
"Forget the money," Alaric's voice turned predatory. "I want the person behind it. It's too clean."
He turned and walked away, his stride long and confident. I stayed pinned to the wall for a full minute, smoothed my skirt, adjusted my face, and walked into the War Room.
The atmosphere inside was already toxic. Marcus Sterling looked haggard as he paced the length of table.
I took my place behind Alaric, pen poised over my legal pad, playing the invisible subordinate while he dominated the room.
"We need your security team to track the IP, Alaric," Marcus roared. "My engineers are useless. They keep hitting dead ends."
Alaric didn't even glance at him. He was staring at a point on the wall, his expression bored. "You're looking for a wire, Marcus. That's your first mistake."
"What else is there?" Marcus snapped.
"Intent," Alaric replied.
The meeting was a circus, and Marcus was the lead clown. For a man so feared in the shadows, he was a panicked rat the second his wallet took a hit.
it's funny how it was just fifty million that was making him this way, I wonder what he would do when he wakes up to find his whole empire destroyed.
By the time the meeting adjourned, my head was thumping behind my eyes. I needed caffeine before I committed felony.
I stepped into the breakroom,reached for a soda in the vending machine, but my hand stopped mid-air.
Taped to the glass, directly over the slot for the Diet Coke, was a piece of paper. It was old. The edges were curled and yellowed.
Admissions: Faculty of Medicine. Class of 2020.
My heart did a slow, sickening slide into my stomach. My name wasn't on it. It couldn't have been.
I had erased myself from those records years ago. But this was physical. A hard copy. My fingers tightened around the page until I was crumpling it.
I looked around the empty room, the door to the HR annex was propped open.
Sarah, a junior clerk who spent more time on TikTok than on spreadsheets, was leaning against the frame, filing a nail.
"Hey," I snapped. "Who was just in here? Someone left their trash on the machine."
"I didn't see. I'm busy, you know."
She flicked a glance at the paper. "Why? You find a winning lottery ticket?"
"Yeah," I said, my grip tightening on the list until it crinkled. "A real jackpot."
I turned to leave, my mind racing through every weird thing happening today. But as the elevator doors opened, Alaric was already inside.
He was leaning back , one earbud in. The tinny sound of music leaked out—a raw, heavy beat. King Von.
That was the same song I'd been dancing to in the dark of my apartment.
Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe everyone in this city likes Chicago drill music. Maybe it's a coincidence.
I stepped inside and kept my eyes on the glowing floor numbers and my expression neutral, but every nerve in my body was screaming.
"You're breathing too fast."
"I had coffee,"
"And here I thought I was the one making you nervous."
"You overestimate your charm."
"No," he said, turning his head slowly to look at me. "I estimate it very accurately."
The elevator slowed and before stepping out he said.
"You should change your locks."
I thought about it, it didn't make mess. Alaric hated drill music and suddenly he was listening to one and talking about changing my locks.
I shoved his office door open without knocking and also without thinking it through, I was so angry that I let rage override my thoughts.
He was behind his desk, tablet in hand, looking like he hadn't just spent the day stalking my sanity.
"You were at my apartment," I spat.
Alaric didn't look up. "I have better things to do than visit a nondescript flat in a dying district."
"The lock comment.The music. Don't play dumb, Alaric."
" You're not that important, Valeria."
He saw my face change and smiled. He reached for my hand before I could jerk back. His fingers closed around my wrist, turning my hand over. His thumb pressed into the center of my palm, tracing the Palmar creases.
"What are you doing?" I hissed.
He didn't answer. He lifted my hand, his eyes locked on mine, and dragged my thumb into his mouth.
My breath stopped. It was slow, deliberate, and possessive.
His mouth was warm, his gaze dark and unreadable, watching every flicker of shock and crack in my control.
He sucked once.
My fingers twitched helplessly in his grip.
"Alaric—"
He released my thumb with infuriating calm. "You taste like adrenaline," he said, his voice a low rasp.
I snatched my hand back like it had been burned. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"A long list," he said. "Would you like it alphabetically or by severity?"
I stood there breathing too fast, staring at the man who had just weaponized my own pulse against me.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
"You keep walking into rooms you're not ready for, Valeria."
"And you keep touching things that don't belong to you."
"That," he said softly, his eyes darkening with a hunger that I could swear had nothing to do with business, "depends on who they belong to."