Cynthia Brooks was not stalking her boss.
She was simply… walking. At 7:30 a.m. On the exact same route as Alexander Blackwood. At the exact same speed.
Holding coffee.
Totally normal.
She took a quick sip and pretended to admire a lamppost as he suddenly slowed down.
Too late.
Without turning, he said, "Miss Brooks, you've been behind me for three blocks."
Her eyes flew wide. "No! I just—walk fast You walk fast. It's like synchronized… walking. Olympic speed-walking."
He finally turned his head, giving her that flat, razor-sharp look.
"Miss Brooks, if you're planning to kidnap me, bring a bigger bag."
She clutched her coffee. "Please. I can't even carry my rent"
For the first time, he actually laughed.
Not a smirk. Not an exhale.
A real, soft, startled laugh — as though he didn't know he was capable of it.
Both of them froze.
Cynthia stared. "Wait—did you just laugh?"
His face locked down instantly. "No."
"You totally did! The Ice Prince can laugh!"
"Miss Brooks," he said dryly, "if you value your job, you'll erase that memory immediately."
"Too late," she whispered dramatically.
They walked into the lobby.
But as the sliding doors closed behind them, Alexander stopped abruptly.
His phone buzzed. Once.
Then again.
Then again — faster, like an alarm.
He checked the screen, and his expression changed so fast it chilled her. The warm moment vanished.
His jaw tightened. His shoulders stiffened.
His eyes darkened into something sharp, dangerous… hunted.
Cynthia hesitated. "Are you okay?"
He didn't look at her. "I'm fine."
But his voice wasn't cold — it was shaken.
Just slightly.
Just enough for her to notice.
Then the lobby lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Alexander's eyes flicked upward, scanning the ceiling, the corners, the cameras — like someone trained to search for threats.
Cynthia shivered.
He whispered, so low she almost didn't hear it:
"Some things are better buried, Cynthia."
Her breath caught.
Cynthia. Not "Miss Brooks."
He only used her first name when something was wrong.
The elevator dinged.
Alexander stepped in first — posture stiff, phone clenched hard in his hand, eyes distant in a way that made her chest tighten.
As she entered, she caught a reflection in the elevator's mirrored walls — a shadow at the far end of the lobby. Too still to be a passerby. Too slow to turn away.
When she blinked, it was gone.
But the elevator doors closed with a heavy thud that made her heart race.
Cynthia didn't know what frightened her more —
Alexander's sudden coldness…
or the feeling that something — or someone — had just started following both