Midnight had long since claimed the Sydney business district, leaving the executive floor in a heavy, conditioned chill. Phoebe sat motionless behind her vast desk, her silhouette framed by the glow of multiple screens, a woman who refused to let the day end until every fire was extinguished.
"Still at the office? Is there something you're finishing up?" Julian's voice came through the speaker, a gentle intrusion into her solitude.
"Yes, there's a mountain of work that needs immediate attention," she replied, her eyes never leaving the glowing data on the screen.
"Can't it wait until tomorrow? You need to rest," Julian urged softly.
"No, I want it done now. You know as well as I do that if I trade work for rest now, I won't actually find peace. Even if I went home, my mind would be right back at this desk or worse, I'll wake up to double the workload tomorrow."
Julian didn't argue further, he understood her nature too well, she was a woman who defined herself by her relentless momentum. "I could come over and keep you company? How about that?"
"No need. I need absolute focus right now."
"Alright then, but promise me you'll rest afterward."
"I'll thank you."
"Anytime for you."
Shortly after the call ended, the door creaked open. Zara entered, carrying a steaming cup. "Miss, how much longer do you plan on staying? Are you truly intending to pull an all-nighter?"
"I'm working late, Zara. You don't need to worry, you're free to head home now."
"Actually, this isn't your usual hot americano," Zara said, placing the cup down. "It's a mochaccino. I thought you might need something with a bit of sweetness to keep you going."
Phoebe glanced at the cup, the rich scent of cocoa and espresso momentarily distracting her. "Thank you and really, don't wait for me. You should have left hours ago."
Zara offered a small, knowing smile. She stayed not because she had to, but because she was a friend. "It's no trouble, but I think I will head out now."
"Yes, go. You can handle the rest tomorrow."
"Understood, Miss."
As Zara slipped out of the room, Phoebe finally paused. She took a slow sip of the mochaccino, letting the warmth settle the growing ache in her head. The exhaustion was beginning to claw at her, but she forced herself back into the rhythm of the files.
****
Time bled away unnoticed until the walls of the office began to feel too small. Needing air, she stepped out onto the private balcony. The night sky over Sydney was expansive, and the wind carried a chill sharper than usual, but tonight, she welcomed it.
Leaning against the railing, she cradled the remnants of the Mochaccino in her slender hands, looking out at the glittering cityscape. She was entirely alone or so she thought.
A few hundred yards away, tucked into the darkness of a neighboring balcony, Raymond watched. He remained perfectly still, his gaze anchored to the solitary figure across the gap. The moonlight caught her at just the right angle, illuminating the fatigue she tried so hard to hide. He didn't look away. Instead, a predatory grin spread across his face. For him, she wasn't just a CEO, she was a vision of beautiful, exhausted defiance.
The silence o the night air seemed to amplify the intrusive thoughts Phoebe had been trying to suppress. Out of nowhere, Raymond's materialized in her mind, accompanied by a swirl of question and lingering suspicions. Even the memory of that night, the intensity, the atmosphere, began to replay with a vivid beauty that made her heart race.
"God, why am I suddenly thinking about that man?" she muttered, trying to brush the thoughts away. But her heart seemed to be sending a different signal. "He can appear whenever he wants, even at my front door first thing in the morning … but, if I wanted to find him, how would I even do it? I don't even have a way to contact him."
She stared blankly into the distance, her mind spinning in circles, until the quiet longing to see him was shattered by the sharp vibration of her phone. Walking back into her office to retrieve it, she frowned at the unfamiliar number on the screen.
"Who could be calling me this late?" Curious, she swiped to answer. "Hello?" she said, her footsteps leading her back toward the balcony. She wasn't ready to give up the view of city lights just yet.
"Good evening, Miss Fortunata."
Phoebe froze instantly, she didn't need to ask who was on the other end. That deep, gravelly resonance, a voice that felt like a low vibration against her skin, and that specific, formal way he addressed her were unmistakable.
He's calling me? She wondered, her eyes scanning the horizon in disbelief. Without realizing it, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, though she quickly forced her voice to remain cold and defensive.
"Why are you calling me?" she asked, her sharp tone betraying the sudden spark of excitement she felt inside.
"I just wanted to remind you that the night is better spent resting. Don't focus too much on work, your body needs it." Raymond's casual, attentive remark sent Phoebe's gaze darting across the horizon, a sharp blend of curiosity and suspicion instantly taking hold.
"How do you know I'm still working and haven't rested?" she demanded, her voice heavy with emphasis.
"I know," he replied smoothly. "In fact, I know there's a beautiful woman currently standing on her balcony, enjoying the night air."
Phoebe's heart skipped a beat. Confusion flooded her mind as she scanned the surrounding skyline, trying to pinpoint his location. It felt like a futile search, even if he were in one of the high-rises directly across from her, she wouldn't know which window held his gaze.
"How could you possibly know that? Don't tell me you're spying on me!"
As her anger flared, Raymond only grew more relaxed. "I won't say it, because I know a brilliant Boss like you can easily figure out for yourself."
"You're crossing the line!" she hissed, her frustration peaking. "Spying on someone is a criminal act, do you hear me? It's a total violation of privacy!"
"Yes, I know. I know very well."
"Then why do it? Why commit an act you know perfectly well is a crime?" Phoebe's breathing was shallow and rapid, her emotions running high. On the other side of the line, Raymond remained unfazed, his eyes fixed on a screen displaying her very move.
"You're a criminal, Raymond!"
"Yes, I am," he answered. His voice was cool, effortlessly masculine, and carried a resonance that, despite her better judgment, sent a thrill through her. Even as logic told her she should be afraid, Phoebe couldn't deny the magnetic pull of his unwavering composure.
Phoebe's body turned to stone. She stood frozen, the phone pressed hard against her ear as Raymond's confession settled into the air between them. There was a faint, dark amusement in his voice, the kind of tone that might suggest he was joking, but Phoebe took it with deadly seriousness.
"Are you proud of it?" Phoebe asked, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Are you proud to admit that you're a criminal?"
A slight tremor ran through her, but it wasn't out of fear. As an independent woman who had built her own empire from the ground up, Phoebe didn't intimidate easily. Her strength was forged in high-stakes negotiations and corporate battles; she wasn't about to be broken by a few chilling words over a phone line.
"Absolutely," Raymond replied, his composure unshakable.
"And why is that?"
"Because I know that a criminal is exactly the kind of man you like."
Phoebe went silent, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. "What on earth are you talking about? I don't have a taste for criminals!"
"Are you sure about that?" Raymond's voice dropped an octave, dripping with a playful, lethal charm. "Didn't you just confess it to the world? Something about being in love with one?"
For a moment, she was lost, her mind racing to find the thread of his logic, then the realization hit her like a physical blow. In the midst of her late-night grind, she had been humming along to a track to break the suffocating silence of the office, specifically the part that went: 'Mama, I'm in love with a Criminal.'
"Hey! That was just a lyric! I was just listening to a song!" she snapped, her face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.
"And yet, you sang it with such conviction, didn't you, Miss Fortunata?"
Once again, Phoebe was struck dumb. Raymond wasn't just guessing, his calm, steady voice hit the mark with terrifying precision. He wasn't just watching her movements; he was listening to the very words she breathed when she thought she was alone.
How much does he actually know? She wondered, hir mind racing through every security protocol she had in place. Does he see everything? Who the hell is this man, and how has he managed to breach my world so effortlessly without me even noticing?
It galloped against her pride. Phoebe wasn't a naïve girl, she was a titan who had survived the cutthroat arenas of the corporate world. She had built her empire on instincts and ironclad defenses, navigating betrayals and power plays that would have broken a lesser person. She had stayed on top because she was always three steps ahead, yet here she was, blindsided by a voice on the phone. For the first time in years, she felt exposed, outplayed in her own sanctuary. The frustration was sharp, but the curiosity was sharper. Raymond wasn't just a nuisance anymore, he was a puzzle she was becoming obsessed with solving.
"Where are you right now? I want to see you!" Phoebe demanded, her voice cutting through the air with absolute seriousness. She had reached her limit, there were too many unanswered questions and far too many games that needed to end.
"You want to meet me, Miss Fortunata?" Raymond replied, his tone smooth and infuriatingly calm.
Phoebe let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "Tell me where you are. Right now! I'm coming to find you!"
"Why such a hurry to see me? Have you missed me already?"
The teasing in his voice was like fuel to her fire. Phoebe felt a surge of genuine irritation; she wanted a face-to-face confrontation to settle this once and for all, yet Raymond seemed determined to drag her deeper into his web of games. He was intentionally pushing her buttons, enjoying the way he could stir the emotions of a woman who was usually so composed.