CHAPTER 6- THE ASSIGNMENT

I reached for the folder, my fingers hovering over its cold surface. What game was Kaelen Sanders playing? And why did I have the feeling I was walking straight into a trap?

I don't know what I was expecting. Encrypted files, evidence of bribery tucked between the pages. Instead, I found page after page of ordinary corporate records.

I flipped through the pages while Kaelen stared at me without saying a word. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.

​When I reached the last page, I closed the folder and looked up.

​"These numbers are clean," I said, my voice deadpan.

​"Go on," Kaelen urged.

​"That's the problem. They're too perfect."

I tapped the report.

"No company this size has books that look like this. There are always small mistakes—rounding errors, damaged inventory, exchange-rate differences. But this?" I looked back at him. "Someone polished these records until they looked flawless. That's what makes them suspicious.”

​A minute passed.

​"Someone's hiding," I continued, stepping closer to the desk.

​"Someone's rotting," Kaelen corrected, his voice dangerously low. "And rot spreads quietly if you let it."

​He leaned back in his heavy leather chair, his hands clasped beneath his chin. "You have three days."

​My brow lifted. "Three days for what, exactly?"

​"To find the leak. To find out whose hands are on the pen that rewrote those numbers."

​A sharp laugh nearly escaped my throat, but I caught it, locking it behind a tight, flat line. "Three days? To audit two quarters of deliberately scrubbed regional logistics data while managing your calendar and handling phone calls? Mr. Sanders, that is not my job. I was hired as your personal assistant, not your internal affairs division."

“You were hired, Miss Hale..”

"You didn't apply here.”

He became silent after that to gauge my reaction.

"Three jobs in five months."

He held my gaze.

"People like you don't accidentally end up inside my company."

​"I want to know who is bleeding my company dry from the inside. Bring me the architect of that folder in three days.”

​There it was.

The real reason I'd been brought here.

If I walked away now, I'd never learn why I had been chosen in the first place.

​I swallowed the bitter taste of defeat, keeping my chin high. "And if the rot leads somewhere you don't like?"

​"Then I'll know exactly how deep it goes," Kaelen said coldly. "And who is standing on it?"

​I nodded once, my voice tightly controlled. "Understood. Three days."

​I turned toward the door, the weight of the black folder heavy in my grip.

​"Miss Hale," Kaelen called out just as my hand touched the brass handle.

​I paused, looking back over my shoulder.

​"This stays strictly between us," he said, his tone dropping into a lower, firmer finality. A deliberate pause hung in the air before he delivered the blow. "Not even Peter."

For the first time since walking into his office, I almost reacted.

Peter.

I had never mentioned him.

Not once.

How did Kaelen know?

​"Of course," I said smoothly, pushing through the heavy executive doors and stepping back out into the world.

By the time I returned to my cubicle, everything felt different.

The hum of the lights. The tapping of keyboards. The quiet chatter around the office. A few minutes ago, it had all sounded ordinary. Now it felt like everyone was hiding something.

I slipped the black folder into my desk drawer, locked it, and logged back into the system. The damaged registry file was still waiting for me.

I had to act as if nothing had happened.

Just another overworked assistant trying to survive her first week.

​"Well, look who survived round two."

​I slowly turned my head to see Robert, one of the senior procurement analysts, leaning casually against the partition of my cubicle. He was holding a ceramic mug, and a pleasant, entirely manufactured smile stretched across his face. He looked like the textbook definition of a helpful, seasoned coworker.

​"I have to hand it to you, Miss Hale," Robert said, his voice loud enough to carry over the dividers. "Most new hires would have broken or walked out by now under this kind of workload. You have an impressive threshold for pressure."

​"I don't break easily, Robert," I replied, keeping my hands resting flat on the desk, my tone perfectly level.

​He hummed, taking a slow sip from his mug. Then, he leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, the warmth vanishing from his eyes, replaced by a cold, transactional hardness.

​"An admirable trait," he whispered, his voice dropping below the hum of the office. "But a word of advice from someone who has survived this floor a long time—sometimes looking too tough just makes people want to see exactly how hard they have to push to watch you snap. Be very careful what doors you choose to walk into around here. Some weights are meant to crush you."

​The threat was beautiful in its subtle way wrapped up like a piece of friendly office advice.

​My lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. I leaned forward, meeting his gaze with a chilling stillness that caught him visibly off guard.

"Thanks for the advice."

I met his eyes.

"But I've learned that people who spend too much time trying to break someone usually forget to protect themselves.”

​"​Robert’s pleasant mask slipped for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth to respond, changed his mind, and straightened up. He gave a stiff, tight nod, held his mug tightly, and retreated down the aisle back toward his desk.

​I turned back to my dual monitors, my fingers resting on the keys, but I didn't type.

My thoughts refused to settle.

Nothing about this company was what it seemed.

​I closed my eyes for a single second, inhaling the sterile, corporate air of Sanders Tower.

What the hell did I actually walk into?