Chapter 7 Straight To the Top

Isadora

I keep my hands folded in my lap for a full ten seconds before I touch anything.

Elise is still beside me, explaining call transfers and visitor badges, but my eyes move over the screen in front of me, taking in the little things the same way I take in rooms. A staff directory icon sits in the bottom left. A visitor management system is already open on the taskbar. A security alert banner stretches along the top of the screen, green for normal. The company logo sits in the corner, a black rook chess piece on a white shield.

Rook Security Group.

Always watching. Always quiet.

Elise leans over me and taps the visitor log. “This is what you’ll use most. Every client, contractor, cleaner, courier, and visitor is entered here. The system flags anyone linked to an active file or executive appointment.”

I nod like I am listening to the job and not memorising the layout.

“Executive appointment?”

“Top floor only,” she says. “You won’t handle much of that down here unless something comes through incorrectly.”

“Of course.”

Her hand moves over the mouse, and the calendar opens.

Names fill the day in neat black rows.

Most mean nothing at first glance, but I have learned not to trust first glances. Names are doors. Some are locked. Some only look that way. My eyes skim the list while Elise keeps talking, and I find three I recognise from the wall in my apartment.

“Any questions?” she asks.

I look up with Hannah’s polite smile. “No. It seems straightforward.”

“Good. Take your time this morning. Everyone knows you’re new.”

Elise leaves me with a slim folder, a login card, and a list of internal extensions.

I open the training module because a girl who has spent a year surviving knows when to look obedient. The first lesson walks me through client confidentiality. The second one explains access levels. The third one warns employees against entering restricted areas without clearance. I read each screen with only one thought: get through this fast and stay useful.

I press my lips together and keep reading until a shadow falls across my desk.

“Hannah Lane?”

I look up.

The woman standing in front of me is the same one I saw near the private elevator earlier. Tall, smooth-skinned, and beautifully dressed in a black suit that fits her as though it was sewn around her bones. Her dark hair is pulled back into a perfect bun, and she holds a tablet against one hip.

“Yes.”

“The boss would like to speak with you.”

For a moment, my mind goes blank.

“The boss?”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Top floor.”

I let my eyes widen just enough to look startled. “Of course. Did I do something wrong?”

“I’m sure he’ll explain.”

That is not an answer, but it is an invitation. Straight to the top floor on my first day.

The tiny, reckless part of me that Hannah Lane has not managed to smother sits up and smiles.

This is perfect.

I thought I would have to spend weeks earning trust. I thought I would need to memorise shift changes, steal an access card, charm a junior analyst, or trail some overworked assistant through a restricted door with a stack of coffees in my hands. Now I just need to get inside and see what the boss wants.

I stand and smooth my skirt, letting my fingers brush the hidden pocket of my bag where the flash drive waits.

“Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.”

Yeah, I’m not leaving my bag behind.

The woman turns and walks away without checking whether I follow, which tells me she is used to people obeying her. I fall into step behind her, my shoes quiet against the grey carpet as we pass the rows of desks, the glass meeting rooms, the printer, the coded file room.

I glance at the keypad as we pass.

Six digits, with a fresh smudge on the three, and a tiny scratch near the seven.

Then we reach the private elevator at the end of the hall.

The woman presses her thumb to the black panel beside the doors and enters a code too quickly for me to catch it all.

Three. Eight. Eight again. Something low. Dammit.

The elevator opens without a sound, and I step inside beside her, before the doors close us in.

The walls are mirrored, dark enough that my reflection looks like someone standing underwater. Brown hair. Brown eyes. White blouse. Charcoal blazer. A new girl on her first day, holding a cheap bag and wearing a smile she has practised so many times it no longer feels attached to her face.

My pulse counts the floors to fill the silence.

The elevator gives no numbers, no music, no friendly little ding at each level. It only rises, smooth and silent, carrying me away from the bright fourth floor and into whatever part of Rook Security Group they do not show new employees.

My stomach tightens with each new height we take. I don’t know what’s up there. I haven’t had time to do anything wrong yet. So what is it that they want me up there for?

Keep it together, Izzy. I hear Hannah’s voice in my head. My silent companion through all of this.

The elevator opens, and the top floor is nothing like the rest of the building.

Black marble stretches beneath my shoes. Smoked glass walls reflect thin strips of light. There are no ringing phones, no chatter, no cheap carpet, no rows of desks with mugs and family photos. Everything is sleek and dark and still, as though the floor itself is brooding.

The woman walks ahead of me, and I follow. With every step, I build Hannah around myself. Nervous smile. Soft voice. Hands clasped. Grateful to be here. Sorry if there has been a mistake. I can play small. I can play stupid. I can play impressed. Men in expensive offices love all three.

We stop outside a black door with no nameplate, and the woman knocks once, then opens it.

“Miss Lane is here.”

“Send her in.”

A deep, low male voice says calmly, though it slides right under my skin.

The woman steps aside, and I walk in.

The office is huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a black desk positioned in front of the city like a throne no one bothered to decorate. There is no clutter, no warm little signs of human weakness. Only a closed folder on the desk, a glass of water, and my employee file placed neatly beneath one large hand.

The door closes behind me.

I lift my gaze with Hannah’s practised smile already in place.

Then I lock eyes with a man with dark hair, darker eyes, a black suit, and a jawline that could cut. He’s younger than I expected for someone sitting in that chair with all this power, though there’s something in those eyes that tells me there is nothing innocent about him.

My polite smile holds.

His mouth curves.

“Hello, Isadora Sterling.”