ANYA'S POV
I will need to hide it from everyone now.
The thought didn't just fade; it grew teeth. It sat in the back of my mind, gnawing at my composure while I tried to remember how to function like a normal human being.
The mark on my neck.
The crushing weight of his coat.
The way my body had practically vibrated the second his teeth grazed me.
All of it.
If the Tanaka employees found out the "North District Stray" had been marked by the *Silent Blade*, I wouldn't be fired. No, Kenji had made it clear I was "essential." But I would be bullied until there was nothing left of me but a memory. They'd shred me—socially, professionally, and probably literally.
In this building, being his favorite didn't make you a queen. It made you the biggest target in the room.
"Sit."
I stilled.
Of course. The King has spoken, and the Golden Retriever from the slums better obey.
I didn't turn immediately. I needed a second to make sure my face didn't look like a neon sign for *Confused and Flustered*.
"Now, Anya."
I turned. My knees, the ultimate traitors, moved before my brain could protest.
Kenji was already behind his desk. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a luxury watch ad, not like he'd spent the last few minutes branding my skin in the dark.
The silence stretched. It was too quiet. The kind of silence that makes you think you can hear the servers humming three floors down.
His gaze lifted briefly—a cold, scanning look—then dropped back to his screen. Like I was just another line of code he'd successfully debugged.
"Stay there," he said.
"I'm already sitting, Kenji. I'm practically part of the furniture."
A pause. His eyes didn't move, but the air in the room felt like it just got five degrees heavier.
"My assistant will bring you a change of clothes."
Right. The coffee. I glanced down at the brown, soggy disaster on my skirt. Still there. Still a reminder that Sarah's pettiness was the only thing in this building that made sense.
The door opened.
Kenji's assistant stepped in. She moved like a ghost—efficient, precise, and probably doesn't even have a heartbeat. She carried a structured black garment bag like it held a state secret.
She placed it on the chair beside me.
"Mr. Tanaka's instructions."
And just like that—she vanished.
I stared at the bag. I didn't touch it.
"It probably costs more than my soul," I muttered. "I can't accept it."
Silence.
Then—slowly—he looked up. Not annoyed. Not angry. Worse. He looked at me with that absolute certainty that made my arguments feel like paper in a hurricane.
"You're not accepting anything," he said, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. **"You're complying. There is a difference between a gift and an investment, Anya. Don't make me explain which one you are."**
"Right. I forgot. I work at a tech firm that's secretly a dictatorship. My bad."
I caught the faintest, almost invisible twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm still not wearing it," I muttered, clinging to the last shred of my pride.
Mistake.
He stood.
Not fast. But with the kind of deliberate grace that made my heart do a panicky somersault. He closed the distance between us, each step measured, until he stopped right in front of me.
Close enough that the scent of him—cold rain and power—wrapped around me like a cage. He lifted his hand, pointing toward a door behind his desk.
"The bathroom."
I frowned. "What?"
His gaze shifted to me. Slow. Unreadable.
**"If you want to change in front of me, I've already decided I don't mind watching," he said calmly. "The question is... do you?"**
My brain short-circuited. My mouth opened, but only a small, embarrassed squeak came out. He sat back down on the edge of his desk, watching me with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
I grabbed the garment bag so fast I nearly fell out of the chair.
"Yeah," I muttered, my face feeling like it was on fire. "Let's not give you that kind of entertainment. I'm pretty sure it's not in my contract."
I scrambled into the bathroom and clicked the lock.
"Unbelievable," I whispered, leaning against the cold tile. "He's serious. He has absolutely no sense of boundaries. Or shame."
I opened the bag.
Of course it was perfect. A charcoal-grey pencil skirt and a silk blouse that felt like cool water. Clean. Sharp. Minimal.
Like him.
I changed quickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. The fabric settled against my skin like it belonged there. Which was horrifying. How did he know my size? Did he have a file on my measurements?
I turned to the mirror to fix my hair, and then I saw it.
The mark.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a bruise-colored brand, sitting right where my shoulder met my neck. It looked intentional. It looked like a warning.
My pulse spiked.
Why did he do it? Why mark me if he was just going to ignore me ten minutes later?
I pulled the silk collar up, but it wasn't enough. I'd have to keep his coat on to stay safe.
I stepped back out into the office—and stopped.
Something felt off.
I looked at the glass walls. Outside, the corridor was humming with movement. People were passing by, but they looked... blurred. Distorted.
I walked toward the glass. I could see the shadows of the Tanaka employees, but I couldn't see their faces. And they weren't looking in.
"One-way privacy glass," Kenji said from his desk.
Of course. He hadn't just controlled the room. He had controlled the very concept of being seen. We were in a bubble. A private sanctuary in the middle of a war zone.
He looked up. His gaze moved over the new clothes, slow and assessing. He didn't say I looked good. He didn't have to. The way his eyes darkened as they hit the collar of the blouse told me enough.
"Sit."
I sat.
The system lit up in front of me. Rows of encrypted code waiting for my touch.
"You encode," he said, his voice back to that professional frost. "Nothing more."
"Nothing more. Got it. I'm just a keyboard with a heartbeat."
"Focus."
I exhaled and started typing. I could feel him. Even without looking, I knew exactly where he was. The air in the room felt charged, like it was waiting for a spark.
*This is just work,* I told myself. *Just work.*
But my mind kept drifting back to the heat of his mouth.
Why? Why did he touch me like that?
Was I a person to him, or just a variable he needed to keep under his thumb?
My cursor paused. Just for a second.
"Focus," he repeated, not even looking up.
"I am."
"You're thinking."
"I'll try not to," I muttered. "It's a dangerous habit in this building."
Silence.
I stared at the screen, but the code was just a blur of white lines. Nothing about this felt simple. Not the job. Not the clothes. Not the man who didn't know the meaning of mercy.
I told myself it didn't mean anything. That this was just proximity. Just the pressure of the organization.
But as I felt the sting on my neck, I knew better.
I will need to hide it from everyone now.
But as the door handle to the office turned from the outside—and Kenji didn't even reach for the lock—I realized the "Silent Blade" hadn't just marked me for himself.
He had marked me for them.
And the door was about to open.