ANYA'S POV
If the PM floor were a shark pit, my new workstation would be the display tank.
Kenji had called it a "Lead Station," but as I sat down, I realized it was actually a glass island. The desk was a curved, transparent slab of reinforced acrylic, positioned exactly twenty feet from his frosted office doors. There were no cubicle walls. No monitors to hide behind. Just me, a holographic interface, and a room full of people who looked like they were calculating the exact cost of my soul.
The silence on the floor wasn't peaceful; it was heavy with a toxic, refined resentment. Every time I looked up from my screen, I caught them. A dozen pairs of eyes—sharp, cold, and dripping with the kind of elitist venom only found in the top one percent.
The cleaner. I could practically hear the word vibrating through the air-conditioned vents. The North District glitch in the Tanaka mainframe.
The woman to my left, a Senior Analyst with a sharp bob and a watch that cost more than my apartment, didn't even bother to mask her disgust. She studied me over the rim of her privacy screen, her gaze dissecting my silk dress with the clinical disdain of a coroner. If looks could kill, I'd have been a chalk outline on the polished floor ten minutes ago.
I tried to focus. The Red Ledger was a labyrinth of offshore accounts and digital ghost-trails. But it was hard to code when you could feel the collective weight of fifty people tracking your every breath, waiting for you to fail.
Every time I shifted in my chair, I heard the faint, pressurized hiss of Kenji's office door. He didn't come out. But through the frosted glass, I could see his silhouette. He was stationary. Observing the room as it observed me.
A small, blue laser dot appeared on the edge of my glass desk. It was the target sensor from his internal tracking system. He wasn't just staring; he was recording how my heart reacted to the silent war in the room.
HEART RATE SPIKE DETECTED. CALIBRATION REQUIRED?
"Go to hell, Kenji," I muttered, flicking the notification away.
I stood up to go to the breakroom, my legs feeling stiff in the expensive silk. The moment my weight left the chair, the entire floor seemed to hold its breath. I walked past the rows of desks, and the air grew cold. The analysts didn't just look at me; they glared. It was a synchronized wall of silent, high-society hate.
I stopped at the coffee machine, my hands trembling as I reached for a cup.
"A bit jumpy for a Senior Encoder, aren't we?"
I jumped, spilling water on my hand. It was a lead analyst named Vance. He leaned against the counter, blocking my path, while the rest of the office watched with hungry, expectant eyes.
"You look like a rabbit in a snare," Vance whispered, his fingers brushing mine as he reached for my cup. "Word of advice, North District. Tanaka Global doesn't have a budget for charity cases. Kenji likes his assets high-yield and low-maintenance. Once you stop being an 'interest' and start being an 'expense,' you'll be deleted before you hit the lobby."
A low, jagged titter of laughter rippled through the cubicles. They were waiting for me to break.
Then, the air in the room died.
Through the glass wall of Kenji's office, the frosting cleared. Kenji was sitting at his desk, but his head snapped in our direction. He didn't move. He didn't shout. He simply picked up a glass of water and set it down.
Crack.
A hairline fracture spider-webbed across the base of his glass. The gesture felt like a physical strike.
Vance saw it. His face turned a sickly, translucent shade of grey. He pulled his hand back as if I were made of molten lava. "I... I have a report due," he stammered, backing away so fast he nearly tripped over his own ego. The smirks in the office were replaced by a sudden, frantic interest in spreadsheets.
I walked back to my glass island, the office's hatred now laced with a burning, terrified envy. An hour later, a private file popped up on my screen—a live feed of my father's hospital room.
My breath hitched. He was sleeping, but there was a new icon pulsing next to his vitals: ENCRYPTED CLEARANCE REQUIRED.
The shadow in the office moved. The door hissed open, and suddenly, Kenji was behind me.
He didn't just stand there. He leaned over, his chest brushing my shoulder, his hands slamming down on either side of my keyboard. He trapped me in the small circle of his arms, his body a wall of heat against my back.
I heard a collective, sharp intake of breath from the floor.
I looked up. The office wasn't just studying us; they were reeling. Sarah was white-knuckling her desk, her eyes wide with a murderous, agonizing jealousy. The Senior Analyst next to me looked like she'd been physically slapped. To them, this wasn't a reprimand. It looked like a claim. It looked like Kenji Tanaka—the man who never touched anyone—was marking a janitor as his own in front of the whole world.
"The Ledger has a leak, Anya," Kenji's voice was like velvet over gravel, vibrating directly into my ear. "If you don't find it by midnight, the 'Encrypted Clearance' for your father's room... expires."
I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles white. "You're using him to force me?"
"I'm using the only thing that works," Kenji murmured. He didn't pull away. He leaned lower, his lips almost touching my neck, his eyes fixed on the room full of analysts who were staring at us with burning, jealous eyes. He wanted them to see. He wanted them to know I was his variable.
"Find the leak, Anya. Or we'll both find out how long a human heart can beat without a machine to guide it."
He stayed there, his hands pinning me to the glass, his presence a suffocating, intoxicating weight that I was terrified to realize I was starting to crave.
STATUS: COMPROMISED.
HEART RATE: 180 BPM.