Chapter 4
555words
Sunlight poured through the windows like molten gold. I was deep in an encryption algorithm for an AI prediction model, fingers dancing across the keyboard. Damian wasn't around—he'd stepped out for a video conference, leaving me alone in the office.
This should have been the perfect hunting moment.
Just then, the office door silently slid open.
Thinking it was Damian returning, I spoke without looking up: "I need more computing resources. The simulation's crawling."
No one answered.
A strange, sickly sweet cigar scent filled the air. The smell hit me like a venomous snake, instantly coiling around my throat, freezing the blood in my veins.
I jerked my head up.
A man stood in the doorway. Expensive tailored suit, meticulously groomed hair, and that uniquely hypocritical smile that only politicians perfect. But I could never forget those eyes—those cold blue eyes that had destroyed everything I had.
Senator Marcus Thorne.
Ten years. Every night for ten years, I'd relived this face in my nightmares. Now he stood before me in the flesh.
I used every ounce of willpower to force back the scream and curses that nearly escaped my lips, swallowing them down. My nails dug deep into my palms, the pain keeping me focused.
Play your role well, Ilara. You're just an innocent intern.
"Hello?" I managed, my voice slightly hoarse.
He ignored me and walked straight to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at his city. Acting like he owned the damn place. After a moment, he slowly turned, his gaze falling on me as if appraising an interesting piece of furniture.
"So you're the little genius Damian picked up?" His tone was so friendly it made my skin crawl. "I've heard about you. Very interesting."
Just then, Damian returned.
The moment he saw Thorne, I felt the air around him instantly freeze. But his face remained expressionless as he asked flatly: "Marcus, why didn't you notify me before coming?"
"Surprise, my dear boy!" Thorne opened his arms and embraced him like a long-lost son, then affectionately patted his shoulder. "Just checking on my investment, and… your new pet."
His gaze turned to me again, filled with undisguised scrutiny. Like an experienced customs officer searching for contraband in every flicker of my expression.
"Come here, child," he beckoned. "Let me get a good look at you."
My legs trembled, but I forced myself forward.
I stood before them like a mortal before two gods. Thorne's hypocrisy and Damian's coldness wove an invisible net around me, threatening to strangle me where I stood.
Thorne began interrogating me about my school, background, projects. Each question probed like a surgical instrument trying to crack open my skull. I responded with my well-rehearsed, flawless cover story, playing the tech nerd who understood nothing beyond code.
I dared not look at Damian. But I felt his gaze burning into me.
When Thorne turned to pour himself a drink, I finally risked a quick glance at Damian.
And that's when I caught it.
Beneath that cold mask, something flashed across his face. Not impatience. Not vigilance.
It was hatred.
A deep, bone-penetrating hatred straight from hell—identical to what burned in my own eyes.
This discovery hit me like lightning, shattering everything I thought I knew.
He wasn't Thorne's lackey.
My heart skipped a beat.
