Chapter 6 Into The Monster’s Den
Into The Monster's Den
ELENA’S heels clicked sharply across the polished concrete as she made her way back into Lunaris Tech Innovation’s headquarters. The building’s glass façade reflected the rising Manhattan sun, streaking the city in fractured lines of orange and gold.
It felt cruel, almost mocking, nature didn’t pause for fear or panic. The world kept turning, shining and glowing, even while her own life was falling apart.
Her hands trembled as she pushed through the tall revolving doors. The cool blast of central air swallowed her, but couldn’t cool the heat pulsing through her chest. Her heart hammered violently, still echoing the image burned into her mind— Eamon. Fangs. Red eyes. Marcus dangling off the wall like a helpless ragdoll.
She swallowed hard.
‘What just happened? What is he? How is he even real? How the hell did this Friday turn turpsy-turvy for her? Just how?’
But she had begged, God, she had begged, and now her life belonged to him. She couldn’t make sense of that part yet. She was still trying to breathe correctly, still trying not to cry, still trying not to collapse on the sleek, marble lobby floor.
She forced her legs to keep moving, heading for the elevator, his office. He told her to come to his office.
She kept replaying his voice in her head, that smooth, calm and merciless voice. Even the way he had said ‘excellent’ had chilled her. As if her desperation had been exactly what he wanted. As if saving Marcus hadn’t been mercy, but a transaction he had long waited to make.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. She stepped inside, hugging her arms close. The ride to the top floor felt like it took hours. Her reflection in the mirrored walls looked pale, shaken, but determined. Or maybe just resigned.
The lift ascended. Her pulse only climbed higher, and so did her thoughts.
Everyone in the office had heard of Eamon Valerius— the 28 year old enigmatic CEO who rarely attended meetings in person, rarely spoke unless necessary, and yet somehow ran one of the fastest-growing tech corporations in the country. Investors worshipped him, employees feared him, competitors envied him.
She used to think the rumors were exaggerated. Now she knew better. But what she still couldn't comprehend was the ‘monster’ part, who else knew about it? The question lingered in her mind.
When the elevator finally reached the executive floor, she stepped out into the private hallway. It was too quiet, like the air was holding its breath. Eamon’s office was at the far end, its imposing black door carved with the Lunaris crest, glossy under the soft lighting.
Her footsteps grew softer as she approached the huge double doors at the far end of the hall. They towered above everything else, black oak framed with brushed steel. Now, no nameplate was needed. His presence was enough.
She stopped just in front of them. Her hands had gone cold. She pressed her palms together, breathing slowly.
“You made a bargain,” she whispered to herself. “You promised to go.”
A soft tremor slipped through her. Her husband, her broken, cruel, damaged husband was alive because of her, yes.
She couldn’t back out now.
Elena paused in front of it, her hand hovered in the air.
“Do I knock?” She asked herself.
Her heart said yes, her pride and déjà vu said no. The beginning of this whole nightmare started because she walked in without knocking. Maybe it was fitting to continue that way.
“Fine…” she whispered and lowered her hand.
She pushed the door open.
The office greeted her with its usual overwhelming richness, deep mahogany, smoky glass, and subtle warm lighting that made everything luxurious but intimidating. She stepped inside cautiously, half expecting him to jump out from a dark corner with those glistening fangs.
But there was nothing. No movement, no presence, no cold whisper of air hinting at supernatural speed.
“Um… hello?” she called softly.
Silence replied.
She took a few steps in.
“Mr. Eamon?”
The stillness stood.
Her stomach tightened. ‘He’s not here.’ And that realization made her boldness slowly leak back in, like her fear loosened its claws for the moment.
She wandered further into the massive space. The walls were lined with shelves, books, artifacts, framed achievements, things that looked too old or too rare for a modern billionaire CEO. She ran her fingers along the edge of his desk, feeling the smooth, strangely cool glass.
“What are you?” she murmured to no one.
She checked the books next, most were old, leather-bound volumes with titles she didn’t recognize. Some weren’t even in English. Latin maybe? Or something even older. She flipped one open and saw symbols she had never seen in her life— circles, slashes, spirals that made her skin prickle, and her eyes blur.
Quickly, she shut it.
Her eyes moved to a set of drawers. They were locked, all of them. She tried the cabinet near the lounge area, it was the same thing, sealed tight.
“Of course everything is locked,” she muttered. “You are a monster but also a very private monster. Or should I say a vampire?”
She kept searching, moving to the far side where a striking metallic sculpture sat on a pedestal. It wasn’t decorative. She could feel it. It looked ancient, like it belonged in a museum or buried underground. She touched it lightly and jerked back immediately, the surface was ice cold.
“This makes no sense,” she whispered. “Does anyone even know what he is? In this company? In this entire country?”
No clues, nothing that made sense. No explanation as to how a man who ran one of the biggest corporations in the United States could also be something out of nightmares.
Deflated, she exhaled and walked to his massive leather chair, the throne of the monster himself.
“Maybe there is something here,” she murmured, lowering herself into it.
The seat enveloped her instantly, soft, rich, smelling faintly like cedar and something darker she couldn’t place. She glanced around his desk again, hoping the shift in perspective would reveal something.
Nope. Still nothing.
She let out a breath and leaned back, letting herself spin the chair slightly, then a little more. The motion felt oddly soothing, and for a moment, her nerves loosened.
She swirled again, and again. Until finally, she completed a full turn, now fully backing the door.
She was still backing the door, gently swirling in the oversized chair, when a soft click sounded behind her, the unmistakable sound of the office door opening.
She froze. Footsteps followed instantly, light and confident, almost playful.
Ava.
The financial director strode in with a bright smile curving her lips, her heels barely making a sound on the velvet carpet. Seeing the chair turned away from her, she lit up even more, cheeks flushing with excitement.
“Oh, finally,” she whispered to herself, joy overtaking reason.
She tiptoed toward the chair, hands clasped behind her back like she was surprising a lover. When she reached it, she leaned over the top of the seat and without bothering to look, grabbed the armrests and spun it around toward her.
And then she kissed the person seated in it. Her lips pressed fully, intimately, confidently against Elena’s.
Elena’s entire body went rigid. Her eyes flew wide open. Her brain shut down with shock so intense she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even raise a hand. She just sat there, petrified, with Ava’s mouth on hers.
A heartbeat passed.
And at that very moment, the door clicked again, and in walked Eamon.
His movements, silent and sharp, watching like a hawk.
Ava’s eyes snapped open at the same moment. She pulled back instantly, stumbling a step away as if burned. Her hand flew to her mouth, scrubbing at the kiss with disgust and disbelief.
“Wh— what?!” she sputtered, staring at Elena. “What are you doing here?!”
Elena wiped her mouth too, equally horrified. Before she could form an actual sentence, a deep voice cut across the room.
“She works with me.”
Ava spun around, and Elena with her, both snapping their heads toward the doorway.
Eamon stood there, expression unreadable, eyes dark and unblinking, taking in the entire scene as if committing it to memory.
The room fell into a brittle, suffocating silence.
