Chapter 5 Too Close To Lie

• “Get here... now,” Victor says, his voice sharp with urgency and irritation.
• A cold rush of anxiety grips my chest. Does he know? Does he already know I’m working with Alexander to bring down his company? The thought presses against my mind like a vice.
• I take a slow breath, trying to steady myself before I push the glass door open and step inside. “Mr Hale, you asked me to come?”
• Victor doesn’t look up right away. His eyes stay glued to the papers in front of him. The room is silent, except for the faint rustle of paper, but the weight of his stillness presses down on me. I shift my weight, restless, not wanting to be the one to break the quiet. His gaze stays fixed, like he’s waiting for something.
• Finally, he lowers the papers and meets my eyes.
• “Close the door,” he says, his voice flat but carrying an edge. It’s not quite anger, but something more dangerous.
• I hesitate, only for a moment. The door clicks shut behind me louder than I expected. My stomach tightens. There’s no going back now.
• Victor leans back in his chair, stretching his arms slightly, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm on the desk.
• “I might have trusted you more than I should, right?”
• The question catches me off guard.
• I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
• A slow, almost predatory smile spreads across his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He slides a file across the desk toward me, his finger following the edge like he’s marking territory.
• “These… all wrong. What were you thinking when you were checking them?”
• I feel my face flush, my skin prickling with heat. Sweat seems to be pouring out of me, though I try to keep my expression neutral. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid hammering of my heart.
• “I’m sorry, Mr Hale. I’m correcting it right now.”
• Almost instinctively, I start to move toward the door, but Victor’s voice stops me.
• “Fix them tomorrow,” he says, his tone final. “Now you need to come with me to a seminar.”
• A seminar?
• I freeze, momentarily thrown off guard. He’s not letting me off the hook, but at least it’s a distraction from the pressure mounting in my chest.
• The seminar is being held at a nearby hospital, with Victor attending as the chief guest. I accompany him, along with two other assistants.
• The seminar is held at a nearby hospital, with Victor as the chief guest. The air inside is filled with sterile professionalism, clinical and efficient. High-level executives like Victor don’t waste time. Not only he speaks with authority, but also his sharp and purposeful words command attention from everyone in the room. When he finishes his speech, the room erupts into applause, but his face remains unreadable, distant.
• After the seminar, Victor dismisses us. “Go home,” he says curtly. “We’ll go over the minutes tomorrow.”
• Outside, the rain falls heavily, accompanied by thunder. I pull my jacket tighter around me as I step into the downpour, wishing I were anywhere else.
• But before I can hail a cab, a car halts beside me. The tinted windows roll down, and there, sitting inside, is Victor. He looks at me with his usual unreadable expression.
• “Get inside,” he says, his voice firm.
• I hesitate, instinctively thinking about how odd this situation feels, but I don’t want to appear suspicious to him. So I climb in.
• “Fasten your seat-belt,” he instructs.
• I fumble with them, but my hands are shaking too much to do it properly.
• Victor leans over, his movements smooth and efficient as he tries to help buckle me in.
• Just then, a loud crack of thunder shakes the car, and I flinch. I jerk back in surprise, my forehead colliding with his chest.
• “Sorry!” I blurt, pulling away quickly, feeling the warmth of his body through his suit.
• Victor doesn’t seem phased by the sudden movement, but the tension in the car feels thicker now, an awkward silence stretching between us.
• As soon as he finishes fastening the seat-belt, he starts to lean back into his seat. And a sudden, delicate pull tugs at my scalp.
• The sound that leaves me is small, caught somewhere between breath and pain. I stiffen, my fingers curling slightly against my lap as the sensation anchors me in place.
• Victor stills. Not fully, but enough. His movement pauses midway, close enough that I can feel the shift in the air between us. His gaze lifts to my face, searching, lingering a second longer than necessary.
• I don’t speak. I barely breathe.
• He tries to move back again.
• The pull returns, sharper this time.
• My breath hitches.
• And then I see it. A thin strand of my hair, caught in the button of his shirt.
• Heat creeps up my neck, slow and inevitable. I don’t reach for it. I don’t fix it. I just sit there, aware of him, of the distance that no longer exists.
• Victor has seen it too. He closes the distance with measured control. Every inch leaves no room for hesitation. The space between us dissolves slowly, his presence settling around me, steady, certain, and impossible to ignore.
• A quiet exhale leaves him, warm against the crown of my head, sending a subtle shiver down my spine.
• I lift my hand slowly, careful, as if any sudden movement might make it worse. My fingers find the trapped strand, but they don’t cooperate the way they should. They tremble, just slightly, but enough to make the fine strands slip instead of loosen.
• I try again, slower this time, more deliberate, but the nearness of him makes it harder to focus.
• He doesn’t move away.
• If anything, I feel closer to him.
• The warmth of him presses into my awareness, steady and consuming. When I tilt my head just a fraction to see better, my forehead brushes against his.
• I freeze.
• The contact is light, barely there, but it lands like something far heavier.
• My breath falters, catching somewhere in my chest as the space between us disappears completely.
• I don’t pull back.
• Neither does he.
• My fingers hover uselessly for a second before I force them to move again, trying to free the strand. They shake more now, clumsy, betraying me. The simple task stretches on, longer than it should, longer than I want it to.
• Or maybe not.
• Because moving away would mean breaking this.
• His gaze lingers, I can feel it without looking. It traces over my face, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing something he has no right to claim.
• My pulse stutters.
• The distance between our lips is almost nonexistent now. One small shift, just a fraction, and it would vanish entirely.
• The thought settles in, dangerous and quiet.
• I focus on the strand again, forcing my fingers to work, to finish what they started. It finally loosens, slipping free
• at last.
• But I don’t move.
• Not immediately.
• Because even without the pull, something else still holds me there.