Sadie
The office looked different when I returned to my desk. Nothing had physically changed — same gray carpeting, same flickering overhead lights, same background hum of printers and keyboards — but the atmosphere felt… altered.Like someone had reached into the room and turned a dial only I could feel.
People glanced at me when they thought I wasn't looking. Some glanced away quickly. Others held the stare half a second too long.
I wondered what they knew.Or worse — what they assumed.
James's words echoed in my mind:
"Someone requested oversight reports on your department."
Someone.But we both knew it wasn't just anyone.
My phone buzzed once.
Unknown Number:You handled yourself well.
A cold breath escaped me.The text felt like fingers grazing the back of my neck — not a touch, but the thought of one.
I locked my phone immediately, my pulse thrumming.
No name.No signature.Just his cadence.
He always spoke like he was evaluating me, not messaging me.
I swallowed and kept my eyes on the screen in front of me, pretending to type while trying to steady my breathing. My heart felt like a fragile thing trapped in a glass box.
A second buzz.
Unknown Number:You don't owe him explanations.Remember that.
I forced my phone face-down and shoved it beneath a stack of papers as a coworker walked past. My cheeks warmed, though I had no reason to be embarrassed — these messages weren't romantic. They weren't even kind.
They were… possession wearing politeness like a costume.
I took a shaky breath.
"Sadie?"
I jumped. It was June, an intern a few years older than me. Her eyes were soft and sympathetic.
"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I tried to smile. "Just a lot happening."
She hesitated, then stepped a little closer.
"I don't know what's going on," she whispered, "but word is the upper floors have been asking questions about your department. That never happens. Ever."
My stomach tightened.
"And… I'm not saying this to scare you," she continued, "but Mr. James looked shaken after you left his office."
Shaken.James.Shaken.
That shouldn't have been possible. His presence radiated discipline and control like concrete — steady, unmovable, cold.
I suddenly understood something he hadn't said out loud:
He wasn't worried about me.
He was worried about whoever was behind me.
"Thank you for telling me," I murmured.
She nodded and walked off, but her parting glance was full of something unsettling:
Pity.
I stared at the empty space where she'd been.Why pity?
Because she thinks I'm connected to someone frightening.
She wouldn't be wrong.
At lunch, I took my break outside, needing air. Seattle's breeze was cool and carried the faint scent of rain. I sat on a bench overlooking the courtyard, hugging my jacket a little tighter.
I counted three things within one minute:
A man in a navy suit pretending to talk on the phone but glancing at me repeatedly.
A sleek black car across the street with tinted windows that hadn't moved since I arrived.
A woman feeding pigeons who clearly didn't care about pigeons — she kept checking her watch.
None of them approached me.None felt threatening.But they were watching.
All of them.
And all because of him.
My phone buzzed a third time.
I almost didn't want to read it.I already knew the shape of the words before I saw them.
Unknown Number:You are safe.Ignore the observers.They're there for you.
I closed my eyes, unsure if I felt relief… or something sharper.
A hand tapped my shoulder lightly.
I startled. It was Mr. James.
He looked… uncomfortable. Almost tense.
"Miss Robertson," he said. "A word?"
I stood slowly. "Is something wrong?"
His jaw flexed. "Not if we handle things correctly."
My pulse jumped, but I followed him a few steps away from other employees. His voice dropped to a near-whisper.
"I received an email just now," he said. "From a level of authority… above me."
A cold weight settled in my stomach.
"Not directed at you," he added quickly. "Directed at me."
I swallowed. "About what?"
His eyes met mine, sharp and cautious.
"About you."
A breath left my lips, shaky and involuntary.
"What did it say?"
He exhaled through his nose, looking like someone forced to relay a message he wanted no part in delivering.
"It said," he murmured, "to ensure that you are treated with… exceptional consideration."
I froze.
Exceptional consideration.
Not protection.Not supervision.Not courtesy.
Those words meant something else entirely.
They meant:Treat her like she is untouchable.
James lowered his voice further.
"Miss Robertson… whoever has taken an interest in you is not the kind of person a department should cross."
My throat tightened.
He wasn't warning me about danger.
He was warning me about power.
"You're not in trouble," he added. "But you are… watched."
He hesitated, studying me.
"And I don't know if that is good fortune or misfortune."
When I finally sat back down at my desk, my phone buzzed one last time.
Unknown Number:You're doing well, princess.
No threat.No question.Just a statement.
But the words curled around me like a shadow pulling closer.
And for the first time, I wondered if I was really walking into his world…
…or if I was already in the center of it.